"There is a truth to sport, a purity, a drama, an intensity. A spirit that makes it irresistable to take part in, and irresistable to watch. In every Olympic sport there is all that matters in life.
And one day we will tell our children, and our grandchildren, than when our time came we did it right."
I was just reading a great column about the stories of the games on ESPN, and wanted to draw up my own little list. So, one last set of Olympic rings, one for each of my top five stories of London 2012:
Blue- Bert Le Clos, a man more proud of his son than anyone I've ever seen
Black - Manteo Mitchell, the American runner who finished his leg of a 400 metre relay heat on a broken leg for the good of his team-mates. The story of the team from the Bahamas beating the USA in the final was great, but sad if only for that fact that Mitchell had to settle for a silver medal after his extraordinary effort. Red - Mo Farah. Of course. You'll remember I was quite keen for people to support him. Being in the stadium, with a perfect view of the finish line no less, when Mo won his first gold and capped that insane 47 minutes of British athletics was the best moment of my life so far. Nothing less.
Gold - Kath Grainger. Three times a silver medal heartbreak and then back for gold, in front of a home crowd. The Scot has laid down a definitive example for every athlete who fell short at these games.
Green - The Games Makers. The great legacies of the second London Olympics, in 1948, was the volunteer programme. This idea has been used by every host city since, but few can have seen quite such a collective effort as 2012. Seeing a young volunteer standing half an hour away from a venue armed only with a pink hand, smiling and joking with twice the enjoyment of someone who actually had a seat for the games was one of the most inspirational sights of the whole fortnight. Full marks to whoever let them write their own scripts too - the inventiveness and wit was an absolute joy. How can we start a 'buy a Games Maker a pint' campaign? My absolute favourite Games Maker story is that of 78 year-old Keith Parkinson, who volunteered as a schoolboy in 1948 and was back in uniform again this year in Greenwich Park.
I can't begin to imagine what the world's athletes must be feeling now. How do you deal with the morning after four years' work? A lifetime's dreaming? I've just been a spectator and I'm struggling to fill the Olympics-shaped gap. I've been watching montages and reading articles all morning. This is the sports fan equivalent of re-reading old love letters the morning after a break-up. Soon I worry I'll graduate to Facebook stalking the IOC to see how it's getting on with its new city, Rio. She's got better legs but will she make them laugh?
On July 18th, 2002 I read an article on the front page of the Telegraph's sport pullout with the headline 'London Must Bid'. David Welch, the then sports editor of the paper, made the case that London would never have a better chance of hosting the Olympic Games than in 2012. Welch's prediction looks reasonable ten years on, with the next games in Rio likely to be followed by visits to Japan and the USA. I don't believe Europe will see another Summer Olympics before 2028.
"...it is not just about the regeneration of East London, laudable though that is. Nor just about the projected financial benefits that might accrue from investment and tourism. Nor the potential feel-good factor. It is also about sport... Why? Because sport matters in people's lives. Much more than some like to accept."
Welch sadly died last year, just missing the glorious festival of sport which through his paper's sustained campaign he did more than most to bring about. I remember reading those lines of his as if it were five minutes ago, however. From that moment on, for a decade, I have been imagining what these two weeks could be like. The odds were long and lengthening before Seb Coe took over the failing bid. Then, on July 6th 2005, I got to watch IOC President Jacques Rogge open an envelope and announce that I could start imagining what they would be like.
I spent that day sitting in Trafalgar Square imagining. I remember that a TV crew from Asia pointed a camera at me and asked me whether I thought the games would be a success here. I told them that it would because of the fanatical British love of sport. Sport matters in people's lives. I was confident that would be enough to overcome any obstacle. I took home a massive plastic banner reading 'London 2012 - Candidate City', which one day I'll find a use for, I swear.
Now I don't get to imagine any more. I suppose that's one of the reasons I feel a bit sad. For ten years and twenty five days I've been able to imagine what all or part of a London Olympics would be like. It's hit every one of my expectations (including being less than perfect, but honest about it). It's not coming back now, there won't be another one in my lifetime. I made the mistake of agreeing to be out of the country during the Paralympics. That future tense, with its unlimited possibilities, just became memory. But what a memory.
On the first morning of the games, I made a decision that since I was only ever going to get one Olympics in my home city, I was going to make the most of every second, and I was going to write down every memory so that I'd have something to look back on when there wasn't any more imagining to be done. The problem was finding time to to both, to witness and record. Trying not to view every event through a viewfinder or over the top of a laptop.
So in the past three days I've let this blog lapse, and just looked on.
I saw a handball semi final where a stadium of Norwiegans celebrated their comprehensive victory over South Korea, reminding me that for every curious Brit discovering a new sport there are a hundred dedicated followers worldwide who've been living and breathing it for decades.
Then I watched home favourite Lutalo Muhammad overcome his selection controversy to win bronze in the Taekwondo arena. I saw a beautiful moment that didn't make the montages where a bronze medalist from Italy put his arm around his opponent from Afghanistan to help him across the mat when the Afghan literally couldn't stand the disappointment.
Yesterday I watched the last silver medal of London 2012 won for Britain by Samantha Murray in the Modern Pentathlon, after an often surreal afternoon of horse riding, shooting and cross-country running. I saw a Mexican woman jump a fence while hanging underneath her horse, an overenthusiastic ride jump clean out of the arena rather than wait for their gate to be opened and an Egyptian athlete taking a baby who couldn't have been more than a few months old on her lap of honour (I've not been able to find out the baby's age, but I discovered instead that the athlete is Aya Medany, and that her father won a Nobel Peace Prize alongside Al Gore for his work on climate change). I'm worried that in years to come I'll be sad not to have better memories of those days, but maybe that'll leave some room for that lost imagination.
32 years after his death, John Lennon managed to steal the show at last night's closing ceremony with a song about the power of the imagination. The BBC used it to end their coverage of the games, and if you can watch it without a lump in your throat you should check your pulse. Perhaps my favourite response to the end of the games is a piece in the Guardian asking whether we can imagine a Britain that retains the magic of the past fortnight. Even getting ready to move back abroad next week, I can save a little imagination for the Paralympic games, which are going to be the best attended and supported in history.
So thanks, London 2012. Thanks for a fortnight of unmatchable memories. Perhaps thanks even more for a decade of imagination... though I could not, ever, have imagined 29 British golds. Or the sound 80,000 people can make when they will a man down a final straight. Or this.
The London Olympics: Sometimes even your imagination can't go far enough.
Broadcasters in America want the US men's basketball team playing late at night here, so that's exactly what broadcasters in America get. This is bad news for the fans who had bought tickets for the afternoon session at the North Greenwich Arena (the O2 to everyone outside the Olympics) hoping to see the stars of the US 'Dream Team'. Also affected are fans of every one of the other seven teams who suddenly find their nations competing in the other session. Broadcasters in America can do one.
We flash a home-made sign about for a bit, hoping to find a French or Spanish fan who wants to make a trade, but the Americans are the hottest ticket in town, and eventually it's time to give best and accept our new double-bill of Russia against Lithuania and France versus Spain. The seats are almost in the back row, but have as good a view as you could ever hope for in a venue of this size. There's the full American-style razzle dazzle, trampolining slam-dunkers at half time and the strange use of a noise that sounds as though Sonic the Hedgehog has collected a magic crystal every time baskets are scored. These are also, incidentally, the most comfortable seats at the games. Really depressingly, lots of US fans with premium seats seem to have decided not to bother.
The Russia and Lithuania game starts with a painful lack of quality. The Russians make handling errors, the Lithuanians are woeful shooters, and the only man who looks like he belongs on a top level court is Russian forward Andrei Kirilenko, the former NBA all-star. He dominates the paint, collecting rebounds and racking up points for Russia, who build a 14 point lead, to the anger of the huge Lithuanian support in the arena.
After half time, though, the Russians embark on a run of the least adept ball handling this side of the school bike sheds, and Lithuania pull their lead back to a single point. Eventually the Russian advantage in size and strength pays off though, and they move into the semi finals.
The main event is a local derby between France and Spain. Both teams have multiple NBA-quality players in their teams, and there's great technique on show throughout. France run a skilful screen offense, while the Spanish can work through some genuinely talented big men on the inside. MVP for most of the game is French superstar Tony Parker. Both teams play great defense, and the final aggregate score ends up lower than the Americans rack up on their own against Australia later on.
Best moment of the session is at the end of the match, where everything turns heated as the Spaniards pull away. A US - Spain final still looks like an inevitability. I hope they don't suddenly decide to reschedule it...
Back in Windsor this morning for the finals of the Canoe Sprints. It's a muggy morning that feels as though could turn stormy, and the storm comes in the shape of a huge Hungarian contingent determined to blow their countrymen - and women - to glory.
We're here to support defending champion Tim Brabants in his K1 class, but more so for the four British girls in the K4. Brabants can only manage eight in his final, before we see a German and then a Hungarian pair delight their fans with a couple of golds.
The final race of the day is the K4. It's only as the British team race past me that it hits me that this is the most impressive thing I've seen done by anyone I've actually met.
The Brits' final result is a fifth place, behind a quartet of extremely strong boats. The Polish team qualified for the final with a world best time which would have won them gold today, but finish fourth. Victory in front of a home crowd would have been sensational, but with one of the youngest crews in the race, GB have laid some exciting foundations for Rio. Huge congratulations to Louisa and the rest of her team.
"Mrs Simpson, this is the most blatant case of false advertising since my suit against the movie The Neverending Story"
Greco-Roman Wrestling is not Greek. Or Roman. It was actually invented by the French, who presumably thought that French Wrestling sounded too much like a Blackadder punchline to be a credible sport. It differs from its freestyle counterpart in that all the holds must be above the waist. You win points by chucking your opponent out of the ring, pinning their shoulders to the ground, or by escaping this situation:
'Oh - THAT's where the Greek part comes from...'
The wrestling arena is a real bear pit. Hardcore groups of supporters from places like Georgia and Armenia cluster around massive flags and get some serious vocal support generated. The Iranians are out in force too, and having won two gold medals in two days here, they are all here to see their man make it a hat-trick in the final of the under 96kg competition. The towel used to mop the men between rounds is then flicked to dry them, producing billowing clouds of sweat. It's macho, very loud, and, oh, 'I kissed a girl' is on the PA system. Perhaps this is to enrage the competitors.
These are men built like brick walls, and fight like brick walls would fight if there were an Olympic medal at stake. A Georgian showboats momentarily on his way to a bronze medal, but that's the only moment of anything less than complete respect for the competition. It's an awesome sight to see men literally fighting for medals - even the winners emerge bruised, patched-up, exhausted. For those who can't claim the final victory there's nothing but complete exhaustion. An Armenian bronze medalist, even in victory, is too tired to celebrate. When a Korean and Hungarian face off in the final of a lighter weight class, the Korean throws his opponent for a victory and suddenly finds the reserves to jump around the arena.
The last fight of the day is a heavyweight clash between Iran and Russia. As the giant Iranian triumphs, his coach jumps onto the stage and celebrates by flinging his man over his head onto the mat. We've come a long way from the beach volleyball.
When China lose 1-0 to Japan yesterday afternoon, the British and Dutch women's hockey teams are assured of a place in the semi finals of the tournament. They meet in the evening to play for the top spot in their group, however, and the atmosphere is one of the best I've seen at these games. The Dutch turn up on a grand scale, almost outnumbering the home support, and sing throughout. By some amazing luck we've got incredible seats in the accessible walkway, where we can choose our own spot and move chairs around to the end the British are attacking in each half. There's nothing between us and the team benches except the walkway to the changing rooms. Best seats in the house.
There's some great skill on show in the first half, and the GB fans get a boost when their side take the lead from a penalty corner. Immediately afterwards the Dutch win one of their own, but Reading's Beth Storry produces the first of a trio of brilliant saves to ensure Britain lead at half time. When the away team set up to take a penalty, the sound system plays tension-mounting music and the opportunity is squandered. In the second, however, the top-ranked Dutch really show their class. They win an early penalty - this time accompanied by something far more uplifting - and respond in kind by levelling the scores. Sadly for GB the play is all Dutch from here, the Brits reduced to long ball attacks and unable to build any possession. The Netherlands score again and finish 2-1 winners, but GB can look forward to a semi final on Wednesday.
At the end of the contest both teams walk right around the crowd, clapping their support and taking their own applause. This is just one of the many touches that make me feel a lot of people who don't think they like sport would have a fantastic evening here. There's none of the cynicism of football, for instance, and the pace of play is kept up with quickly taken free hits and restarts. Unlike footballers, hockey players can take a free hit to themselves, choosing to dribble the ball forward rather than playing a pass, and this immediately speeds up play.
In the second game of the night, Australia and Argentina face off for the right to meet Team GB on Wednesday. The sport is huge in these countries, and the players can achieve real celebrity status. the Australians attack and defend in packs, the Argentinians make quick breaks from defence to attack. Neither team looks particularly used to the wet, chilly conditions which have developed, but there's total commitment and some great dribbling skill on show, particularly from the Argentinian attackers.
The match is goalless with five minutes to play, and Australia need a win to qualify. In another great moment, the Aussies substitute their goalkeeper for an outfield player in a desperate final push, but they can't break down their South American opponents, and the 1996 and 2000 winners bow out at the group stage.
The Duke of Wellington is famously claimed to have said that the Battle of Waterloo 'was won on the playing fields of Eton'. While this may or may not be the case, twenty six gold medals will be won on the boating lake of Eton this summer. Dorney Lake, host to the rowing and canoe sprint events, is, astonishingly, completely owned by the college and hired by the games this summer. At least there's no issue over legacy here.
Getting crowds of twenty thousand people out to the Windsor venue is a massive logistical challenge, but an army of shuttle busses from local stations manage to deliver nearly a capacity crowd for the very start of the morning's racing. They've come to see Tim Brabants, gold medal winner in Beijing, start the defence of his K1 100m title in the first heat of the day. Brabants, now 35, took eighteen months out of the sport to pursue his career as an Accident & Emergency doctor after winning gold. He's a youngster compared to the oldest competitor in the regatta, mind - the astonishing Josefa Idem of Italy is competing in her eighth olympics, having won a bronze medal her debut in Los Angeles in 1983 (and has qualified for the K1 final again this year)!
The powerhouses in Canoe Sprint are Hungary and Germany, but while European nations dominate alongside a few paddlers from North America and Australia, there are also representatives from countries as diverse as Samoa and Angola racing this morning. The crowd give them great support, encouraged by the sound system which has shunned the usual Olympic soundtrack for a light helping of dance tunes and even some drum'n'bass.
Surprisingly, several racers use the 1000m event as race practice for the 200m competition, working hard for that distance and then cruising the rest of the way. There is even one bizarre heat in which five boats compete for five qualifying spots. Unsurprisingly, a couple take it very easy indeed. In an Olympics where we've seen competitors disqualified from both Badminton and Athletics for taking tactical decisions not to give their full effort, I have to say I don't like this, and find it very strange that the Canoe Sprint authorities allow it to continue.
When the racing is good though, it's compelling. The precise coordination needed by pairs and quartets to match each others timing and technique is shaded only by the balance of the 'C' class racers, who kneel in their canoe and manage to keep themselves upright while pushing back water with incredible force.
Brabants makes his final, and the British K4 team (powered on by Louisa Sawers, who I spoke to yesterday) only just miss out on automatic qualification. They look good in their semi final though, and the crowd was delighted to see them into their final in the very last action of the day. Massive congratulations to the girls, who race after Brabants tomorrow morning.
