Today was the BBC Sports Personality of The Year. The annual review of the sporting year then the British public are asked to spend £2 phoning up to vote for their favourite 'personality' who performed the best this year. It's a bit of a British institution.
It brought back all those memories of the Olympics. It seems ages ago now but watching all the clips reminded me how utterly awesome it was. So many highlights. So many spine tingling moments. It really was rather superb.
Mo Farah's double gold, the magic Saturday night when Farah, Ennis and Rutherford won gold in 45 magical minutes. Wiggins' time trial gold in front of 1 million people at Hampton Court of which I was one. The Veledrome, the rowers, the spirit, the buzz, the country coming together. It really was a magical 2 weeks.
Watching the clips again made you get that awe and inspiration. The athletes have dedicated their whole life to those special moments of success and when it's put on super slow motion to inspirational music it really hits your heart strings and makes you want to do something extra ordinary. That is until it finishes and then you forget about it and go back to the Quality Street.
The main thing that struck me about the evening was that whilst Athletes are in marvelous shape, spending their lives dedicated to diet and performance and look amazing in sports kit. They look weird in normal clothes and dressed up. Athletes don't do glamour. The women look like trannies in drag and the men look like kids from Grange Hill. Once they're out of the tracksuit they lose all sense of identity and confidence and end up looking like Lilly Savage. Then again I look like a 'F***g Mincer' so who am I to judge?
Bradley Wiggins quite rightly won it of course. A man who is the first Britain to win the Tour De France and then follows up with Gold medal at the Olympics 2 weeks later deserves the accolade. A remarkable achievement in a year packed with them. He was closely followed by Jess Ennis, who despite the whole pressure of the Nation won gold in the Heptathlon and then Andy Murray, who won gold in the tennis and finally overcame 4 losses in majors to notch the US Open crown.
Moh Farrah deserves special praise for some of the moments of the year when he won gold in both 5 and 10,000metres. An awe inspiring performance and of course 'The Mobot'.
But Wiggins was the man. Looking like a ginger Paul Weller in a velvet Mod suit, he made the transition from Athlete to cool dude easily and was down to earth humorous bloke personified on accepting the award. No airs or graces, no ego, no bullshit and even offered everyone round the back for a free bar. A true Brit with classic British humour. Allez Wiggo. A legendary sports performer.
I love sport. I really do. Sometimes it's almost embarrassing to be so into it. Like you're a one trick pony and slightly dull. Almost as if you should apologise for it. But this year more than any other has shown how important sport is to this country. It provides theatre, drama, national interest, unison, adrenaline and of course makes you well horny looking at all the fit women with hard bodies. (sorry)
People who are not into it were all talking about the Olympics. People who had no idea of the rules or history were indulging in conversation about whether or not the rowers had enough technique, if Wiggins would ride for Cavendish, If Mo could beat the Kenyans or if Ennis could get her Javelin up to speed. It was weird.
Of course the sporting year was not just about the Olympics, other sports were played and brilliant moments achieved. Ryder Cup, football, Euro Championships, Murray in tennis. But really it was all about the Olympics wasn't it? Two golden weeks when we forgot about the recession, our problems, the congestion charge, spree killings, austerity measures, Taxes, debts, unemployment, obesity, high blood pressure, addiction, divorce, loneliness and the fall of Woolworths.
Wall to wall sport. We fell in love with Clare Balding. We revelled in another medal one like an addiction. We got a buzz from all of it and we loved it. The opening ceremony rocked and made everyone proud. Britain for two whole weeks lost it's cynicism and gloom and became positive, optimistic and happy. It was an odd feeling.
Then it was over. The closing ceremony managed to lose all of that optimism the moment they brought One Direction on. The only direction it was going after that was down.
There was a post Olympic gloom. A vacuum in our lives. Did that really happen? How will we fill it? The inspiration from seeing all of that when people picked up their bike and cycled after 20 years of inactivity or went for a run round the park inspired by the Olympians.
The public were so hungry for that feeling of euphoria to continue it embraced the Paralympics like no other. Packed stadiums and a public eager to keep the feeling going. Like a drug addict chasing that feeling. Never wanting it to end. But it did end. The inspiration to run and cycle and play sport faded as the nights closed in. That feeling of Euphoria slowly diminished. Until last night when we got a peek of it for 2 hours. Inspiration was reignited in me. In us. Can we run a marathon? Can I train and do something special?
Yes 2012 was an incredible experience. It brought feelings and emotions on a mass scale this country hasn't seen probably since 1966 when it won the world cup. But this was special. Olympians are not grandiose or egotistical. They are humble normal people who happen to be amazingly good and committed to their sport. That touches you as you can identify with it instead of seeing a football player on £50k a week roll around 45 times like a queer trying to get another sent off, the Olympics represented something rather more pure and real.
It cuts through all the shit of PR and spin and image and provides a pure emotion or pride, honour, dignity, compassion and love. It is the world and people at their best and thinking back to it I was reminded how proud, pleased and lucky I was to be part of it and witness it. It was a special time.
Having said all that. It's over. It's cold and dark outside. I can't be arse to go for that run, sod the bike, I'm not that inspired any more. Where's that Quality Street? Fuck, only the sodding toffee ones left. Who ate all the good ones? Roll on Rio 2016.
End
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