London 2012 ended with
the closing ceremony of the Paralympic Games Sunday as we said
goodbye finally to a fantastic summer of sport. The Games, these
games, were always going to be a little bit special, for me anyway,
than other games just for my ability be part of the Games, in so
many ways.
I knew it would be that
way from the day London won the final shortlisted contest to hold the
games, against Paris, beating the chic French capital which had a
sensible and sustainable plan for using existing world class sporting
facilities and exploiting its experience of holding world class
sporting events. London's bolder plans, would involve reviving a
dilapidated part of East London, but not before first tearing it
down. That part of the East London district of Stratford was my home.
That put me right in the middle. But at first, what I was in the
middle of was a real mess!
Even as my own neighbourhood was spared the demolition ball, my relationship with the
Olympic park that was being constructed nearly across the street from
my home started badly. Initially the view of the Park was of nothing
more than a barren expanse of rubble and mud. Oh, and don't mention
the noise, the roaring and rumbling of construction vehicles in and
out of the gateway and down our street.
But you take the good
with the bad. In time the views of this rising phoenix improved, and
you couldn't forget that the site was providing employment and
economic activity at a time when words like the housing bubble and
credit crunch entered our vocabulary. But the likely prospect of
gentrification rared its head, lovely new condos started going up
just down the road from public housing estates. Housing not aimed at
East London's well established working class. Landlords bought up
existing housing with dreams of making an Olympic sized killing.
As he economy tanked,
the media turned its attention to the the (inevitable) cost over-runs
and the general extravagance of holding the Games in such bad times.
As the Olympics approached issues like the failure of the outsourced
security firm to provide enough security guards for the Olympics focussed the media hype-machine on London's likely inability to
organise the Games. Anyone who wasn't then obsessed with the
possibility for terrorist attacks and general Armageddon had to worry
about the simple things in London life that are about to be a
little more difficult during the games. Even Transport for London,
the people who run the trains were telling us it might be better if
we could sometimes walk.
Then something special
happened. The big clock at Stratford Station counting down the years,
months and the hours to these games counted down to zero. Somebody
said 'Let the games begin!'. I think it was the Queen, in fact fresh
from jumping out of James Bond's helicopter. I was really her, I'm
sure. Anyway, the best thing to actually happened to these games is
that finally they were actually taking place.
16 wonderful Olympics
days followed by 11 days of Paralympic Games, after a short break.
Unprecedented television coverage for both sets of games including
the ability to choose to watch just about any sport going on at any
time. That's paradise for those obsessed with Takwando, Wheelchair
basketball, or who could forget the beach volleyball. So, which team
won again?
Helping Britain to fall
in love with their Games was the fact that British athletes did so
well, finishing third in both the Olympic and Paralympic medal
tables. Oh, and when I say Britain, I refer to a country that I
wasn't really sure existed until now. Of course we know Britain as a
island household where a dysfunctional family of English, Scottish
and Welsh nationalities reside, but given common Scottish disdain for
anything English and English disregard for the rest of Britain I was
amazed at the unifying ability of these Games. That was no more
clearly evidenced by the newest fashion statement, the Union Jack now
proudly placed anywhere where it could be seen, such as on a t-shirt on
the top selling official Team GB gear. The Games brought the
Union Jack out of the closet, and showed a country newly pleased with
itself clearly not still embarrassed by that 300 year colonial empire
thing.
Consider also that the
three most popular sports in this nation of nations normally are, in
the following order: football, football, and football. Other than the
hype over David Beckham's NOT being selected to Team GB we were all
amazed when the country's nation's obsession turned to sports like
sailing where Britain were winning medals instead of losing on
penalty shootouts.
As for the Games
naysayers, well if they persisted they must have either had not
much to say, or no one was listening. If pessimism was really the
national trait of the British it was hard to see it now. Even the
early summer soggy weather let up. The Games were great, well
organised, and bearable even for Londoners who just wanted to get on
with daily life, save a few minor inconveniences. That was the minor
price to play in return for the festival atmosphere that descended
upon London the last half of the summer, with thousands of
flag-waving visitors from all corners of the world. I have yet to
meet an Olympic or Paralympic Games hooligan.
There were those
outstanding Gamesmakers, a gimmcky name, I thought at first, for
the 70,000 volunteers who really do make the games happen and they
made these Games what they were by directing people, high-fiving
people and just making us remember, for a few weeks anyway, that although we're
Londoners, we could try to speak to each other and
maybe even to say something nice. Anyone who thinks they know should
have seen us during the Games. You would hardly recognise the
place. The good cheer among citizens was like nothing I had seen
since the 2007 London Underground bombings. The theory then, was that
it takes a disaster to bring out the best in Londoners. The 2012
Games, much to many people's surprise, was something well short of a
disaster and the effect that it had on the city, nothing short of a
miracle.
My one regret is that I
had to leave my Stratford home, priced out of the area by a greedy
landlord who will one day rot in hell. But I made it back there,
anyway. Not as a local resident anymore, nor as a challenger to Usain
Bolt's 100 metre record in the main stadium but as a journalist and a
volunteer where several athletic performances lived up to the billing
of 'inspiring a generation'.
But like all good
things London 2012 has come to a end, leading people to turn their
attention to 'legacy'. Stratford is now a bizarre social mis-match
of gentrified areas located next to slums. But both rich and the
poor are left with amazing transport links and some of the best
sports facilities in the world. Some of the venues will remain open
as training venues for elite athletes, future stars and ordinary
guys like me just fighting to stay in shape.
The Games will return,
first the winter games to Sochi in 2014, then the next summer games
in Rio two years after. Then to other places where they will surely
touch the lives of others the way like they have touched me in London
my home for many years. You see, whenever the Olympics arrives
practically in your own backyard, and you see the way that it changes
the collective mood of a moody nation at a difficult time in its
history, you understand then that you have just experienced a once in
a lifetime event. And then you can only wait for the next one.
