Happy Anniversary

 “Has it really been a year?” seems to have been the general theme around this weekend’s Anniversary Games. It does seem ridiculous that one year ago tonight, the soon-to-be Sir Bradley Wiggins, fresh from Tour de France glory, rang the bell to get Danny Boyle’s amazing opening ceremony underway and the Olympics gripped a large proportion of the British public in a way I don’t think anything ever has before. Seeing athletics take place once more in the Olympic Stadium brings back so many fond memories of that golden summer, which partially inspired me to start this blog. What better time, then, to bask once more in Britain’s golden summer and think back to my own Olympic experience?

Showing rather less foresight than usual, I hadn’t actually applied for any tickets and was greatly indebted to my friend Mark for his offer of a spare to see a morning athletics session in the Olympic Park. I’d resolved in advance to watch as much of the action as I possibly could, even taking the second week off work to do so. Despite missing so much of the live daytime action of the first week, I’d still managed to keep in touch with what was going on, even popping over to the canteen to see Wiggo cross the line to win time trial gold. But there’s nothing quite like seeing events unfold live, and with the Team GB gold-rush well underway, I spent a large chunk of my free-time welded to the sofa, watching one sport on the TV while keeping tabs on one or more in split-screen on the laptop. The middle weekend was especially incredible: triple gold in forty-five minutes at the athletics, Andy Murray thrashing Roger Federer to win the tennis and Ben Ainslie taking his fourth successive gold in the sailing amongst others. The latter demonstrated how even sports which I would never normally consider watching, and which don’t especially lend themselves to the casual viewer, become essential viewing once there’s a bit of home interest.

With my appetite truly whetted, the second Tuesday saw me up bright and early for the trip into London. Sharing a tube train with one of the much-celebrated Gamesmakers, there was the unusual sight of people conversing happily with complete strangers. This particular lady, it emerged, was doing seventeen-hour days every day looking after the entire Bahamas team (“lovely people”) and having the absolute time of her life. Meeting up with Mark at St Pancras, a short trip on the Javelin train and a brief stop at Westfield preceded arrival at the Park itself. Given the pre-Games G4S debacle, I must confess to a little unease about the security arrangements, but the army boys were a welcoming and very reassuring presence on the gate. With plenty of time before the start of the athletics, we took the opportunity to have a good wander round and get plenty of photos of the different venues, some now gone for good. As many people commented at the time, it was like being at a giant sports theme park, so many different sports and people of all nationalities in such a well-designed and beautiful setting.

Taking up our seats in the stadium, we found ourselves towards the back of the lower tier, in front of the 200 m start. Just as well, since the highlight of the session was the appearance of Usain Bolt for the heats. He made it look ridiculously easy, gliding through the first half before practically walking through the second. The stadium was, of course, full to the rafters, with a resulting wave of sound rolling around as the longer-distance races took place. We couldn’t even be disheartened by a rare blip for the home team, British fortunes not going terribly well as it turned out: Philips Idowu and Goldie Sayers, both clearly injured, failed to qualify for their triple jump and javelin finals. Never mind: news came through that the Brownlee brothers had taken gold and bronze in the triathlon.

The Lightning Bolt. Blink and you’ll miss him…

With Mark heading for home after lunch (this was his second visit out of three to the Park), I decided to make the most of my one day by staying to soak up as much of the atmosphere as possible. After another wander round and the purchase of a Team GB t-shirt, I headed to the big screen to watch some more action. Eventually taking a seat in the packed arena, the crowd celebrated gold in the team dressage before a thrilling session in the velodrome. Laura Trott, one of the stars of the games for me, took gold in the omnium while Victoria Pendleton went into retirement with a silver. Last and very definitely not least, Sir Chris Hoy took his final bow in the keirin. It looked as if he might go the same way as Pendleton, but a massive effort on the final bend saw the Scottish titan to a deserved final gold and send us all into raptures. With that, it was time to go, and I headed off out of the Park towards West Ham. Rather going against the grain, a Gamesmaker directing the human traffic from a high-chair used his megaphone to proclaim “I’m supposed to pretend that I like you, but I don’t really”. It must have been a long day. I must admit to huge admiration for the volunteers and their efforts, most of whom were presumably sports fans themselves. Signing up with no knowledge of where they’d be posted or what they’d be asked to do, how much of the sport did they actually get to watch? Imagine being posted to Heathrow airport or having to drive people around London all day.

Sir Chris gets ready for his final race…

One year on, there’s much talk of “legacy” and whether the Games really did “inspire a generation”. It will be many years before we can really know the answer to that question, but I’ll always remember August 7^th 2012 as one of the best days of my life. Seeing Mo Farah and Usain Bolt win again on the same track brings home what a special time it was for our country. That I’ll probably never see another home games in my lifetime is not a cause for sadness: in this digital age, all it takes is a few clicks of a mouse or remote control to relive it all over again. It was ours, it was fantastic and the flame still burns.

Make Hay While The Sun Shines

Coming towards the end of day two of the Second Test, I was starting to worry about how much cricket I was actually going to see on the Sunday. With twenty-three wickets falling on the first two days, another couple of batting collapses could have meant my first experience of a Lord’s Ashes test would have to wait for at least two more years. Fortunately for me, an assured batting performance from England on Saturday set things up very nicely for day four.

Bumping into friend and cricket team-mate Rob on the way into London, we had plenty of time to discuss the chances of seeing an England win on the day. Arriving at the ground just before ten, it already felt very different to my earlier visit in May, much busier and with a larger contingent of away fans. A brief visit to the Nursery Ground sadly found the big screen out of order, when it should obviously have been showing some of our recent Ashes highlights to rub it in just a bit more. After (sadly) dodging the very attractive sales girls (presumably I didn’t look rich enough), Rob headed off to bake in the Compton Upper, while I found a massive scrum under the media centre as the players headed in and out for nets. Deciding that I was never going to get through, I took the long way round to the Compton Lower, finding myself with a great view in the second row at third man/wide long-on.

Without looking at the scoreboard, Michael Clarke’s decision not to put in a slip to the first ball of the morning said everything about the state of the game. Hoping to see a brief thrash and Joe Root get a double-ton, it wasn’t to be, but Alistair Cook’s decision not to declare earlier was absolutely correct in my opinion. With bags of time, the weather set fair and a fragile Australian batting line-up, giving the young Yorkie a chance to emulate the great Wally Hammond was a luxury England could more than afford. Besides, there was something very satisfying about setting the visitors a ridiculous 583 to win.

I’m not generally one for predictions, but thought I was on pretty safe ground in expecting some early aggression from Shane Watson, to be quickly followed by him being trapped plumb in front and then the obligatory unsuccessful DRS appeal. The first two came to pass, but despite the crowd baying for Watson to try it on with the TV umpire again, he sheepishly walked off this time. Spoilsport. With two more wickets going down before lunch, a teatime finish didn’t look out of the question, but the afternoon’s play was rather uneventful until part-time spinner Root came on for a twirl. I’d barely uttered the words “I don’t think Clarke’s going to lose much sleep over Root,” to my regular Lord’s wingman Mark when the Aussie skipper obligingly nicked one to leg slip. A career in punditry obviously beckons. Despite some more self-inflicted DRS pain, the Aussie lower order again showed rather more application than those at the top, and with England putting down a couple of chances, the massive anti-climax of a fifth day beckoned. With his usual sense of occasion, Swanny put paid to that with just four balls left to send us home happy. Losing by 347 runs is a doing in anybody’s language.

Just to prove I stayed right to the end…

After the unbearable tension of Trent Bridge and another first innings-wobble at Lord’s, Friday’s play appears to have sucked all the tension out of the series. Following Nottingham, there were two schools of thought: either Australia would be heartened by the way they competed and would go on to make a real fight of it, or England had had their customary poor start to a series and this was as close as they’d get to defeat. It looks like the latter is true now: although England’s batting remains flaky and much indebted to Ian Bell for his two rescue acts, Australia’s is all over the place and can’t live with the England bowlers. A 5-0 whitewash is now very much on the cards, and having been part of the 5-0 defeat in 2006/7, you can bet that Cook will ensure his team don’t take their foot off the pedal. With Britain enjoying its first proper summer for seven years and more dry pitches on the cards, I certainly wouldn’t be betting against it. Having suffered so long and so badly at the hands of the great Australian teams of recent times, it makes a pleasant change to see how things have turned around. In sport, as in life, you have to make the most of the good times: these things go in cycles and life will bite you on the bum again at some point, so enjoy it while it lasts.

Someone enjoying life at the moment is Chris Froome. In very British fashion, you wait over a hundred years for a Tour de France winner and then two come along in the space of twelve months. After riding shotgun for Sir Bradley Wiggins last year, Froome got his reward for a dominant performance on the Tour’s hundredth edition. Other than the Olympics, I’ve never watched much cycling, but have dipped into the Tour this year. Unlike cricket, it’s not something I can watch for hours on end, but have managed to appreciate that there’s far much more to it than initially meets the eye: team strategy, the sprint finishes, the reeling in of breaks by the peloton and the utter lunacy of some of the fans, parking cars and caravans on the edge of sheer mountain drops. Given his roots outside the UK and the charisma of the man he’s succeeded, I suspect Froome won’t quite capture the imagination of the British public in general, but his achievement is no less remarkable, especially when riding without his team for virtually an entire stage and successfully defending one break after another. I think I can also guarantee that he won’t turn up to this year’s Sports Personality of the Year in a blue velvet suit.

The enormous length of the Tour and the amount of coverage devoted to it on ITV4 highlights a dilemma for the sports fan in selecting what to watch and when. There’s simply too much going and you do have to pick and choose. Take this weekend for example, when we also had the Open golf championship. Traditionally taking place on a weekend when there’s no cricket test, this year saw a clash, blamed by the ECB on fixture congestion. As well as disappointing sports fans such as myself, the R&A were none too pleased, and I ended up watching hardly any of it. At Lord’s on the final day, I completely missed the 66 which Phil Mickelson described as the round of his life. Despite being a popular and worthy winner, he helped to deprive Lee Westwood of his first major, just going to show that even in the midst of British sport’s golden twelve months, we can’t have it all our own way.

Controversy

(Photo credit: Wikipedia)

The subject of questionable officiating was one I touched on recently during the Lions series. It’s something that’s inescapable in most sports, simply because human beings are involved and therefore mistakes are inevitably going to occur at some point. A dodgy decision can affect the entire course of a sporting encounter and become fodder for endless pub debates, tabloid headlines and radio phone-ins. Having trained professionals in charge undoubtedly leads to more correct decisions being made, but the use of technology has become increasingly prevalent in an attempt to get as close as possible to a 100 % success rate.

In cricket, the use of the Decision Review System has mostly succeeded in removing the so-called “shocker” from the game. Significant recent examples could be found in England’s recent test match against New Zealand in Auckland, where in England’s desperate fourth innings rearguard, both Matt Prior and Stuart Broad were given out leg before. Able to refer the decisions immediately, it became obvious that both had actually hit the ball, allowing them to go on and save both game and series. However, the system remains only as good as those operating it, as demonstrated in the ongoing first Ashes test. TV umpire Marais Erasmus’ decisions to first give Australian debutant Ashton Agar not out when clearly stumped, then to send Jonathan Trott packing on incomplete evidence caused fury in the England camp and may yet have a big say in the outcome of the match. I don’t agree for a moment that bad decisions even themselves out over time, but Aleem Dar’s refusal to give Stuart Broad out when blatantly caught at slip this evening left the Aussies equally incensed. The Pakistani has been one of the best umpires in the world for many years, making his mistake even more inexplicable, but suggestions that Broad should have walked are wide of the mark. With the exception of Adam Gilchrist, an Australian only walks when he runs out of petrol, and if Michael Clarke hadn’t unwisely burned his two reviews then Broad would have been despatched. Indeed, at the close, Sky were quick to show Clarke’s similar refusal to walk against England at Adelaide. The difference on that occasion was that Andrew Strauss was able to refer, helping England on their way to victory.

DRS has introduced an interesting extra element of strategy for captains: to review or not to review? The system was designed to eliminate obviously wrong decisions, but is often used tactically. For example, if your best batsman is given out, is it worth using up a review on the off-chance that he might be given a reprieve? If you’re Kevin Pietersen, then the answer is usually yes. Restricting captains to two unsuccessful reviews stops them challenging endlessly and bringing the game to a halt, but in my opinion, the whole thing should be taken out of the hands of the players.

The now-infamous Stanford Twenty20 series did not cover the game of cricket in glory, but one aspect of the rules that did make sense to me was that the TV umpire was responsible for correcting bad calls on the field, alerting the on-field umpires to mistakes and leaving the players to get on with the game itself. Of course, you’re still relying on the TV umpire to do his job properly (take note, Mr Erasmus), but I’m convinced that more correct decisions would be made, which ultimately is what everyone wants. Arguments that on-field umpires will be reduced to bean counters and that we’ll be left with nothing to discuss after the game won’t get any sympathy from me.

As I write, England are 261 ahead with four wickets left after three days of gripping cricket. Booking the last couple of days off work to watch it has proved a pretty good decision: one-hour highlights just can’t convey the tension and intensity of the play. As it stands, it’s hard to say whether England have enough runs already, or are nowhere near, but watching it has been an emotional rollercoaster: from Jimmy Anderson running through the Australians to Ashton Agar’s astonishing debut innings to England’s attempts to build a match-winning lead, it’s hard to predict what’s going to happen next. However, if England’s under-par first innings and a couple of questionable umpiring decisions do lead to defeat, I’m still very confident that the team can overcome their usual slow start to record another series win. Nevertheless, the sponsorship of the TV blimp by Specsavers is looking more than a little ironic.

One sport where the use of technology has been massively successful is tennis, and I couldn’t let this week’s post pass without a mention of Andy Murray’s Wimbledon win last Sunday. Thirty-six years after Virginia Wade and seventy-seven since Fred Perry, Britain finally has a singles winner at its big tennis showpiece. Given the wait, it must rank as one of the greatest British sporting achievements and the timing seems appropriate given our country’s huge record of sporting success over the last year. The feat was all the greater considering who was on the other side of the net, but Novak Djokovic’s semi-final seemed to take more out of him than I’d expected, with far more unforced errors than normal and an unusual tendency to try and shorten the points when he’d normally prefer to trade from the back of the court. Murray was the better player by a distance, but the agonising final game was torture to watch. The Scot has come a long way from the gangly youth who repeatedly cramped up on court, but the punishing physical regime he puts himself through in Miami every winter has certainly reaped its rewards. If he never wins another tennis match he’ll still be made for life, and thanks to Hawkeye, there wasn’t a whiff of controversy. Just as it should be.

Triumph And Disaster

(Photo credit: Wikipedia)

What is it that sets apart professional sportsmen and women from us enthusiastic amateurs? Talent, obviously, but that’s not always enough. The ability to keep thoughts and emotions in check at the crucial moment is essential, and if that deserts you, no amount of talent can carry you through. I can’t possibly imagine what it must be like to do my job in the full gaze of tens of thousands of people, with millions more watching at home, but it’s a fact of life at the highest level of professional sport. The distance between first and second is often decided by the distance between the ears, and when the pressure gets too much, the results can be excruciating. One of the cruellest examples of this could be witnessed today on Centre Court in the Wimbledon Ladies Singles Final.

This year’s Wimbledon has been one of the more memorable in recent times thanks to the plethora of upsets and withdrawals in both the men’s and women’s draws. None of these was more surprising than the exit of the seemingly-invincible Serena Williams by the unheralded German, Sabine Lisicki. With a smile to melt the hardest heart and a refusal to give in when seemingly heading for defeat, it was no surprise that the crowd got behind Lisicki – us Brits love nothing more than a plucky underdog. She duly completed a shock comeback and followed it up with two more wins to reach the final in thrilling style. Up against veteran French player and former finalist Marion Bartoli, who’d been struggling all year, Lisicki should have been reasonably confident of landing a maiden Grand Slam. However, her dream day turned into a nightmare as the pressure of the occasion gripped her to such an extent that she could barely toss the ball properly. In tears during the second set, I wanted to give the poor girl a big hug. You could feel the crowd’s sympathy as they witnessed a horribly public self-destruction. To her credit, a late rally allowed her a degree of respectability, greatly magnified by her gracious words at the end of the match. Bartoli echoed everyone’s thoughts when wishing her opponent another shot in the future, something she got today after her own final disappointment in 2007.

Sports psychology is a key element these days, and you don’t often see people crumble in the way Lisicki did today. Watching the match, it reminded me of Greg Norman’s collapse at the US Masters golf in 1996. Six strokes clear of the field going into the final round, the Australian began to wobble, and the last thing any golfer wanted back then in that situation was the hot breath of Nick Faldo on the back of his neck. While Norman experienced what his compatriot Steve Waugh would describe as “mental disintegration”, the famously ice-cool Faldo concentrated on his own game, hit a brilliant 67 and won by five shots.

I was intending to save this post until after the men’s final tomorrow, but given all the great sporting action that’s been going on today, there’s already plenty to write about. The deciding rugby test between Australia and the Lions was fantastic viewing. After two unbearably tense games that went down to the wire, another close one seemed likely. The build-up had concentrated on Warren Gatland’s shock decision to exclude Brian O’Driscoll from the squad, something that had fans and pundits alike angry and mystified. However, with the Lions racing into a 19-3 lead and their beefed-up pack decimating the Australian scrum, no-one in red was complaining. A dodgy period around half-time allowed the Wallabies to close the gap to a worryingly-small three points, but with forward dominance eventually re-established, the Lions finally unleashed their backs, allowing me and countless thousands to enjoy the last fifteen minutes stress-free.

Following the tennis, I switched over to see what had been happening in the Tour de France. Chris Froome was being interviewed while wearing the yellow jersey to complete a great day for British sport. Whether it becomes a great weekend will be decided at Wimbledon tomorrow when Andy Murray takes on Novak Djokovic in the men’s final. Both have certainly shown mental toughness already at this year’s tournament, Murray in coming from two sets down against Fernando Verdasco, and Djokovic in his marathon semi-final with Juan Martin Del Potro.

Growing up watching the most famous tennis tournament in the world, the prospect of a male British winner was the merest fantasy. Getting someone through to round three was about the best that could be hoped for, until Tim Henman came along. My only visit to SW19 was during the Henman era in 2002, on the second Monday. Rising ridiculously early to join the queue, ground pass tickets for the outer courts were the best that could be hoped for, and we watched the then largely unknown David Nalbandian beat Wayne Arthurs, never suspecting that he’d go on to reach the final. After the obligatory rain delay, an enjoyable day ended up on the Hill watching Henman win in five sets, en route to the semi-finals. A top ten player and six-time Grand Slam semi-finalist, Henman was by far the best British male for many years, but he always ended up coming up against someone just that bit better, be it Sampras, Hewitt or Federer. His best chance of a Wimbledon final appearance was washed away by the rain when Goran Ivanisevic was there for the taking. Fortunately for British fans, someone was waiting in the wings who’d turn out to be even better. A US Open finalist at the age of twenty-one, Andy Murray looked like the man to finally achieve the holy grail of British tennis, but reached the 2012 final having never won a set in three previous Grand Slam finals. That hoodoo was quickly put to bed, but with the roof rolling over Centre Court and Roger Federer resurgent, the big prize remained out of reach for at least another year. Murray’s post-match tears helped to humanise him and fans to see through the dour image, and his dismantling of the Swiss legend weeks later in the Olympic final was deservedly greeted with wild celebration. Rafael Nadal has handed out some beatings to Federer on clay before, but I can’t remember Federer ever being swept aside like that on what’s effectively been his back garden for the last decade.

With a gold medal in his pocket, Murray finally claimed the Grand Slam he craved in New York, and the man he beat will be on the other side of the net tomorrow. However, with the possible exception of Nadal on clay, there’s no tougher test than Novak Djokovic at the moment. I don’t expect his apparently superhuman level of fitness to be troubled by five hours on court against Del Potro, so Murray’s task is immense. Victory will mean a place in British sporting legend forevermore, but it’s going to need plenty of Lions-style physical and mental toughness. Come on, Andy!