Let the games begin
Juice FM’s Andrea Fox has seen the light
As I write, the Olympic torch prepares to go to a mythical place where no Olympic flame has gone before: Walford’s Albert Square. The long-running soap opera will celebrate the fiery stick’s appearance with a live show depicting made-up character Billy Mitchell carrying the real flame through the very unreal London borough. I can only hope sticking with its history of gritty, true to life storylines that in future episodes Billy finds unwanted notoriety for trying to sell his replica torch on an online auction site for profit.
The build up to the Games seems to have got a bit of a bad rap so far. Leaked details of Danny Boyle’s opening ceremony sound comical (how many sheep?). Thanks to the well publicised security staffing shortages by a Sussex-based company, ‘G’ and ‘4’ and ‘S’ in that order have become a funny punchline. And I’ve even heard some back-benchers describing such issues as ‘inevitable.’ Now I’m all for a bit of classic British self-deprecation, but as you read this, with the Games actually taking place in the capital, I can’t help thinking as a nation it feels a bit like we’ve had our fill of all that now.
Instead of ironic comments, now feels like the time for the other Great British tradition: over enthusiasm for the national team. Now feels like the time for discussing with bus drivers whether you think Tom Daley will come away with a gold in the diving. Time instead to post ‘Wel jel’ under friends’ Facebook photos of their hard sought-after athletics tickets.
I’ve been avidly reading up on British hopefuls like young brothers Alistair and Jonny Brownlee, two triathlon competitors; learning important facts, like where the table tennis will be held (ExCel Arena), just how big Chris Hoy’s thighs are (width of a small horse) and what exactly is Greco Roman Wrestling (still not 100 per cent sure). So much to know! But what do we really care about? Well, winners of course.
Us Brits may love to back, and often be, the underdog, but when it comes to the all-time best nations for medals at the Olympics, we’re third! When it comes to the Games, we should get bronze! And third still equals a medal.
The end of the Olympic-bashing attitude seemed to me to coincide with the tour through Brighton and Hove of the torch. It reached us on day 59 of its arduous journey, which saw it man handled by everyone from Will.I.Am to Jedward and nearly nicked by two children in Coventry. On a grey July Monday the flame travelled through Arundel, Worthing and Lancing to arrive in Hove. Considering it had chucked it down just before it arrived in the city limits, an estimated whopping 80,000 of us turned out to see it that Monday evening in Hove alone. The next day 30,000 got up early to watch it leave town.
On Monday night I watched the flame from Old Shoreham Road just outside Hove Park, and then followed it on my bike as it snaked through the city to the seafront and back up to Hove Cricket Ground. Following behind the procession of promotional buses, official buses for torchbearers, some people in grey tracksuits, the flame itself, and police and security, one thing struck me. Everyone was smiling! It was raining for what felt like the 40th day in a row, and it’s not like people did a handstand with the thing. It’s a torch, on fire, carried through the streets. But loads of people turned out to watch and take photos, people who had told me they didn’t give two figs, and everyone seemed really pleased to see the flame go past their house. It reminded me of the crowds that came out to cheer Brighton Marathon runners on back in April. All the people I spoke to about the Olympics seemed to feel that it’s here now, and quite frankly we hope it all goes pretty well, thanks very much.
Here’s a picture of me with a torch. I think the gold suits me.
Dan Gasser and Foxy Monday to Friday from 6am
