Olympic Impressions from Schinias/Athens. Day 10 - Monday 23rd August 2004.
This is not intended to be commentary, as that is well covered via TV, radio, the FISA website and the newspapers. Plus it's difficult to get time amongst the other jobs. Here are odd bits and pieces those following the Games may find interesting.
I spend a very useful twenty minutes talking to my accreditation fairy godmother, an extremely capable Greek girl who actually understands the complex system they've put in place for 'sports specialists' like myself to get day passes to other venues. She sorts me out with today's three - athletics, velodrome and gym hall - but is busying about so fast dealing with my queries and a couple of others at the same time that I can't get a look at her name-tag to say thank you properly. Tomorrow I think I will take her my complimentary ouzo in return for her help - it's way too heavy to pack for the flight.
Time to get a bit of scribbling done. A lot of people are chilling out in the stadium, where if you position yourself right, there is either shade or sunbathing, and a calm atmosphere. The decathlon shot put has been delayed, which is good, so I'll get to see that as I'm finishing off various pieces. I'm a bit confused by the lack of a few things I think should be here - where's the long jump pit, and the 3000m steeplechase waterjump? Probably tucked under some clever cover, I expect. Oh yes, I've spotted the sand, at least. One pit on each side, for long jumps and triple jumps.
At half-past one, I'm sitting in the stadium media area, and glancing round, am certain it's Daley Thompson I see chatting to a woman journalist a few rows behind me. I think he's commentating, which would make sense since it's decathlon day, and will go out along that row, just to make sure. The dec shot put gets going, and is fun to watch. Most of the decathletes are very strong characters: you can see it in their reaction to their attempts, and their interaction with the crowds. They also look like completely natural athletes - their need to cross different sports makes them strong without being over-bulky, rangy without being rower-tall, and most of them move very gracefully, unlike the track runners, who tend to be a bit more angular in their movements. It's particularly fitting that they are decathling here this year, and whoever wins will no doubt look every bit the Athenian champion, when he gets his laurel wreath on his head.
As I go out yup, it's Daley, being a pundit on Indian TV. A few tiers up, Sue Barker and the BBC mob have cornered the best position (they do at every venue - I wonder what they have to pay for it?) and are chatting in their putative lunch-break. I later hear Steve Cram did a very careful interview with a shattered Paula Radcliffe, who wanted to explain her exhaustion, and the entire tv team have been at the stadium from 8am to midnight to fit everything in.
Round to the MPC to check a few things, look at the Monday Telegraph, and log on. Martin (features editor) has a photocopy of our sports section, and we chew the fat a bit. I'm pretty pleased - it makes a good layout, an entire rowing page, with some very honest stuff from Crackers at the top, Sue Mott's excellent piece on the four centre page, and my wind-up closing it off. We're narked about the silly picture captions (or lack of) but it mostly works. I'm looking forward to seeing the full colour version when I get back. Slightly spoiled by reading Robert Philp's bit about weeping with the four when he saw them on telly, because he has an absolutely dreadful typo/mistake at the end which ruins it, but never mind.
On to the wellodrome, and slightly less luck for Britain here - the team lose the gold medal pursuit to Australia, who are a very class act. Laurel wreaths are still causing medallists problems, as they don't exactly suit all head shapes. Dan Topolski and I amuse ourselves by trying to work out whether you'd want to be in front or behind when doing a head-to-head sprint race: like noughts and crosses, there are different winning strategies, but not many of them. On the way out, we meet Brit-rower quartet English, Casey, Laverick and Hodge, who have managed to get in - this year, annoyingly, they are being ridiculous and not letting the athletes into venues automatically. Elise tried waving her bronze medal at the officious ones, but it didn't do her any good: shame, that used to be a passport to anywhere, according to the older press Olympians.
Then a bit more athletics, with the BBC rowing commentary posse. We're binocularing around the stadium - spot Seb Coe up in the VIP bit, gladhanding and plugging London 2012 no doubt. I continue on my campaign of trying to steal Garry's crisps, to save him from getting fat (I'm so unselfish, me), and hear the BBC gossip (much bragging about how late they all got to bed last night). There's some major Greek yelling whenever their athletes are in action (several times since there's the men's 400m hurdles, the women's triple jump and the decathlon high jump all going on, plus medal ceremonies including the women's 20km walk, which a Greek girl won). A charmingly enthusiastic section the opposite end from the Olympic flame know all the words to the Greek national anthem, and sing it very tunefully: they're probably a Welsh choir in disguise...
I go early, partly because any time I've watched Kelly Holmes in action, she's had a problem of some kind, so I don't want to jinx her. Anyway, I have tickets to the gymnastics. I know it isn't sport really, and there has been some atrocious judging so far, with much crowd booing, but the flexibility and athleticism is great to watch, and makes a change from "faster, higher, stronger" all the time. The girl gymnasts are no Nadia Comenec's, that's for sure. On the beam, it looks as if all of them have the shakes, several fall off, and they pause constantly to rebalance themselves, while the elfin tweenagers of twenty years ago just threw themselves around as if they were immortal. What a difference a democratic system and a extra few years per competitor makes.
Tonight, for the individual events, they are all glitzed up in their favourite kit, not national colours. Romania's Catalina Ponor steals the show by actually looking confident, as well as throwing in triple the number of clever stunts and flips compared with anyone else. As she's being kissed and filmed leaving the arena, two inexplicable short bits of bog roll (aka toilet paper) float down, apparently from the roof, probably aimed at her American competition to dry the inevitable second-place tears. Very bizarre - it can't have been from the audience up on the top tier as they are too far back to reach the centre-floor. Anyway, it's the guys who have the style nowadays, much more confident and fluid, especially on the bars. Less make-up too, thank god.
Tomorrow one more day watching people win medals, before trying to fit the products of two weeks blagging, results-collecting and freebies into my suitcase. It's a hard life.
Rachel Quarrell at the 2004 Olympics.