Olympics 10: ATHLETICS

A very special evening. One of those rare times in life when you know, with complete certainty, that there is nowhere you would rather be on earth then exactly where you are. The Olympic stadium for an evening of athletics finals.

From the moment we won the tickets in the draw, this was the event that we were waiting for. Expectation had been building and building. Running out of work, jumping on a tube jam-packed with fans, entering the Olympic park, making our way over to the stadium, up the stairs and we were there. With a sigh of heightened expectation I walked into the arena.

 

A vast, beautiful theatre of sport. Packed to the rafters with expectant fans, the Olympic flame burning and the distinctive triangular floodlights of the stadium crowning it all. We were based half way up the stand by the 200m start line and had a great view of proceedings.

It started and ended with the men's decathlon. First up was the high jump, each success being greeted by a mass cheer. Last up the 400m, with many of the decathletes falling over that finish line after a tough day of competition. Our favourite was Brad Newdick from New Zealand, who has probably overcome much bullying to represent his country. In between was a whole host of running, jumping, hurdling and throwing. Each roared on by 80,000 people. 

There were of course a few events that particularly lit the touchpaper. It was only a semi-final, but the men's 200m was undoubtedly one of these. It was that man. The man. Usain Bolt. As he entered, the crowd erupted. This is a guy who knows it is his place and his time. Smiling, joking with the volunteers, communicating with the enamoured crowd. Stretch, crouch, on your marks, set.... The split second before BANG is the most magical moment of an athletics meet. The expectant audience takes a collective intake of breath, silence rules and thousands of flashes pierce the panorama. Only an instant and it's gone.

In the first 60m Bolt had destroyed the field. By 100m he was noticeably relaxing, by 150m slowing to a jog. Phenomenal. I just feel for the other guys. The only guy who compared was his training buddy and mate, Yohan Blake. He raced just before, similarly destroyed the field and slowed down so fast that he was almost pipped on the line.

As you would expect in London, the atmosphere revved up multiple notches whenever a Brit competed. Flags were raised and GB chants chanted. Shara Proctor in the long jump final, Lisa Dobriskey and Laura Weightman in the 1500m semi, Andy Turner and Lawrence Clarke in the 110m hurdles.

It was the last of these that put in the local performance of the night. Lawrence Clarke exceeded all expectations to make the final of 110m hurdles, so a fourth place in an Olympic final was fantastic and deservedly received a great reception from the crowd. So close to a medal, but we even got a bit of that with British high-jumper Robbie Grabarz receiving his bronze medal from the night before.

The Greek side of me was also delighted to watch a Greek man star in the javelin qualification. Seeing throws and jumps on TV is one thing, but viewing them in the flesh hammers home just close they come to conquering gravity. Spiridon Lebesis exceeded 80m with the javelin.

 

The night though belonged to the USA. Winner in the women's 200m, women's long jump and men's 110m hurdles. Only the Russians got in on the act, pipping them to the women's 400m hurdles. Each one fast, competitive races and followed up with flag-draped laps of honour. I was particularly impressed by Allyson Felix storming to 200m victory in 21.88 seconds. It was a privilege to witness these athletes reach such heights and join the crowd's outpouring of positive emotion towards them. 

I walked out of the Olympic stadium stuffed full of joy and so proud that my home city could put on such a show. A night at the Olympics athletics and a real dream fulfilled.

Olympics 9: Women's Footie Final

The grudge match. The USA, the most successful team in women's football history, were left in shock by a penalty shoot out defeat to the Japanese in the final of the last world cup. A gold medal was on offer at Wembley and the Americans were out for revenge.

After a bit of a debacle getting into the stadium where a rude Wembley employee prioritised assisting an NBA star over a heavily pregnant woman (the first example of thoroughly unhelpful assistance we have encountered at the games), we walked out into the top tier stand and were greeted by a wonderful scene. Over 80,000 fans to watch a women's match. A world record and great to witness.

There was a real contrast in style between the sides. The Japanese were all about slick smart passing. A real fluidity to their play and a pleasure to watch. The Americans were more about pace and power. Unfortunately, the more rugged approach of the USA gained them an early goal which meant the Japanese were facing a real uphill struggle.

At least half of the crowd were flag waving Americans who basked in their side's early success. I know I have said it before in this blog, but it is a real pity they cannot learn a new chant. After a while "U S A, U S A" does start to grate. That said, they were really up for it and the USA takes a lot of credit for being the driving force behind women's football. There were a good 10,000 Japanese as well. Shouts of "NIPPON, NIPPON" rang around, taken up by the majority of the Brits in the crowd, as always supporting the underdog. The Japanese lady next door to us was so happy when we chanted along with her. This spurred on our already obvious support for the Japanese side to the clear and comical annoyance of the large American on our other side.

Enjoyable as this match was, it could not keep us away from Mr Bolt. We and I would guess a quarter of the stadium congregated under TVs in the refreshment areas at the start of the second half to watch the Jamaica 1-2-3 in the 200m final. An awesome performance from the big man.

While we were gone the USA had added a second and things looked desperate for the Japanese. This was a real test of character as the Japanese had had the better of the first half, hitting the woodwork twice, but were now two behind. What was their response? A goal. The Japanese then pressed on for the equaliser showing real spirit, but it was not to be. The Americans got their way and they retained their Olympic title.

A top evening and a real showcase for the women's game. It puts the half-arsed mostly under-23 men's competition to shame. It has come a long way in a short time and Sepp Blatter tried to grab some of the glory taking part in the presentation ceremony. We had left by then, but I was delighted to hear later that the crowd booed him en masse. The success of women's football has been achieved in spite of rather than because of such backward misogynists.

Olympics 8: Greco-Roman Wrestling

Oh yes, the king of all Olympics tickets. The final of the Greco-Roman wrestling! But before I write about that graceful, poetic sport, a shout out to a memorable moment. As luck would have it, not too long into our evening's entertainment, it was pointed out to us that Helen Glover was sitting just in front of us. Wow. Who? Before last week I would have had no idea either, but then she won Gold for GB in the rowing coxless pairs. Going against all my instincts to leave renowned people to their privacy, I approached her and the result was...

I am glad to report that she was very friendly and gracious. If she was bothered by the attention she did not show it and even let me touch the gold medal (awesome!!!). It is wonderful to see people like this get the attention they deserve for all their hard work. Move over Joey Barton.

THE WRESTLING

On entering the arena I was completely clueless as to what this sport was. Leaving, I was barely more in the know, but will do my best to interpret. Unlike freestyle wrestling where you can use your legs to attack and defend, in Greco-Roman you can only use your upper body. Lunging and slapping for a grip, muscle-bound dudes grab hold of each other's hands, neck, head or torso and tussle. It resembles a bear fight, especially with the hair on some of the Eastern Europeans.

The aim is to throw the other man onto his back or out of the ring with points scored for each. Whoever scores more points wins the round and whoever wins enough rounds wins the match. Simple. Not quite. There were a plethora of other niceties such as illegal moves and challenges (at one point a wrestler was so pissed with the decision of the judge that he refused to shake hands and stormed off down the wrong exit). The most peculiar bit though comes if the scores are level with 30 seconds to go in a round. One of the fighters lies prostate on the floor, the other one approaches slowly from behind, mounts and then, in tight embrace, tries to wrestle the other guy off the floor in the remaining time. More of that later... 

A full evening's entertainment included the repercharge, bronze and gold medal matches of the lightweights (sub 60 kg - approx a small woman), middleweights (sub 84 kg - approx me, on a good day) and heavyweights (sub 120 kg - approx MASSIVE). In many ways the small guys were more entertaining. Faster and with many more throws compared to the giants who seemed to be locked in a slow full body arm wrestle.

All this was fascinating to watch, but the crowd was just as interesting. It had passed under my radar that this sport was huge in a whole host of countries roughly equating to the combined range of the Byzantine and Russian empire. Turks, Georgians, Egyptians, Iranians, Poles, Kazakhs, Russians and... OK the pattern does not quite fit, a gigantic Cuban who won the heavyweight crown. Instead of being full of clueless Brits, the place teemed with noisy, partisan fans from each of these countries. Particularly good were a bunch of burly Georgian men congregated in the far corner, some rowdy Poles, hundreds of excited Iranians and two drunk Swedes kitted out in lycra who were man-handled out of the arena by security after running on to celebrate when their compatriot won bronze.

It was a special moment to see three gold medals awarded, complete with obligatory tears from the victors, but the lasting memory from my first encounter with this most ancient of Olympic events is its touching homo-eroticism, lost from so many modent sports. Fitting for a sport which originated in ancient Greece (although then it was done in the buff as opposed to overly tight lycra), the big matches were won in a groaning eliminator man tussle. A beautiful sight to behold.

Olympics 7: Volleyball

I'm not quite sure why, but my expectations were a good deal lower for the volleyball than for the other events I was due to attend at the Olympics. Perhaps it was the seemingly low key non-Olympic Park venue, Earls Court. Maybe it was because of GB's low standing in the sport. Almost certainly it was because of my general ignorance of all things volleyball. 

 

First to the venue. Tucked away in west London, Earls Court is a crumbly old exhibition centre. I am sure it was very impressive when first opened in 1937, but the intervening 75 years have taken the gloss off it. When you think of the Olympics you think of shiny new state of the art arenas rather than aged concrete monoliths complete with the odd missing roof tile and damp stained walls.You know what though, if a trick can work for dozens of temporary scaffold stands around the games it can work for an OAP of a venue. All it took was a bit of cover up. A few hundred meters of logo'ed cloth and a lick of bright paint made the place look up to scratch, with a sniff of a Berlin rave warehouse.

 

To the sport. GB were due on second, but the big draw of the night was the opening match between world number one Brazil and world number five USA. A real clash of heavy weights. The crowd went nuts as a dozen or so absurdly tall pumped up men stepped out onto court. I had clearly made the mistake of thinking that just because I do not care about volleyball others felt likewise. It could not be further from the truth. The placed was packed with at least 5,000 crazy Brazilians jumping, singing and shouting for every point. So distinctive in their green and yellow garb and wonderfully inhibitionless dance moves, the carnival had come to the borough of Kensington and Chelsea. 

 

As much as I hate to admit it, the few thousand Americans present did a pretty good job too. Countering the Brazilians flare with repetitive, monotone though undoubtedly enthusiastic "U S A, U S A" chants. Backed up by the neutrals who were easily persuaded to their cause, the Brazilians clearly won the fan war, but the match was closer.

Much more epic then I would have imagined, the two teams went at each other hammer and tongs. For the first two sets, neither side managed more than a couple of points gap with multiple changes of lead. The points were punishing, the players brutally digging (two hands down), setting (two hands up), spiking (one hand smashing down) and blocking (as it sounds) the ball. The guys really pushed themselves to the limit, diving all round the place and throwing themselves in the way of balls travelling at well over one hundred miles an hour.

 

The USA edged the first set, showing real composure when the pressure was on. Their aggressive style contrasted with a more skillful Brazil. Just like watching their football team, players often did the unexpected with a mixture of success but plenty of entertainment value. Loads of reverse passes, dummies and small flicks against the non-stop American pummelling. This helped Brazil to edge the second set by a couple of points.

The atmosphere was electric and building as the game went on. All in, some 15,000 peoples' cheers, shouts, claps and whistles echoed off the concrete walls and intermingled to a cacophony. The noise level was up there with most football games I have ever been to.

 

While I was out buying another exorbitant Olympic beer the USA took a decisive lead in the third set and held on to be within one set of victory. First to 25 with 2 clear points is a lot of sweaty game play. Moving into the fourth set we were approaching the two hour mark and my respect for these athletes was going right up. To the despair of the green and yellow samba army, the USA squeezed through in the fourth to win 3-1 and cause an upset. Credit where it is due, they had won a great game.

Next on were Team GB. A mentioned earlier, GB do not have any particular status in this sport so I expected very little when they came up against world number 11 Italy. For the hosts this was one of the scratch teams built up since London were awarded the Olympics with the aim of being more competitive than GB had been before and raising awareness of the sport in this country. They did not disappoint.

 

I won't build up expectations of a successful underdog upset. They lost in straight sets. What they did do though was fight toe-to-toe with the Italians for the first three quarters of each of the first two sets. Some inspirational spikes and blocks kept them in the game. Unfortunately the greater technique and experience of their opponents increasingly told. Whereas the Italians always seemed to have two or three men up for every block and multiple options for the spike, GB increasingly only had one of each.

 

Most of the crowd stayed on towards midnight to cheer the home side on and in the context of the sport's standing in this country they did a good job. Plenty of encouraging GB chants and flag waving showed the support of the viewing public. Hopefully the great arena sticky-plastered together for these games and the solid performance by the team will inspire more people to take it up. You never know we might even win a game next time. That is if we qualify...

A bit knackered, I wandered onto the tube feeling ever so less ignorant of volleyball and really impressed with what it entails when played at the top level. Next up the most randomly intriguing and homo-erotic of all my events, Greco-Roman Wrestling. Bring on the big hairy men!