Medalling with the Olympics

So, how are we all feeling about what I insist on calling (in homage to Siobhan Sharpe from the sublime Twenty Twelve), the Jubilympics? Since we unexpectedly won the bid seven years ago, I spent six years railing at the mad expense of it all, and furious that, if there is actually all this cash swilling around the country, it couldn’t be used to fix the whole of Britain (and then buy some Greek islands, so we could all go on a free holiday). Instead of hosting a really glorified sports day, which apparently only eighteen people and William and Kate are permitted to attend.

Then, during the last year, I resigned myself to the pointless expense, the terrible mascots, the awful font they’ve used for everything, the garish colours and the inevitable disappointment when we don’t win all the things we’ve been assured we’re dead good at, and thought, ‘OK, fine; I shall tolerate this sports day, and just moan a lot about how difficult it is to get around London’. Then, of course, faced with a year-long barrage of articles about sports people, who are, let’s face it, in general tremendously easy on the eye, my Wall of Sporting Disinterest was dismantled, brick by brick.

And then it happened: the broom came to sweep away any lasting cynicism. The opening ceremony. ‘What will it be like?’ we all wondered, impressed by everyone’s adherence to ‘save the surprise’ and not instantly take to Twitter the minute the dress rehearsal had finished. We’d been told there’d be a load of farm animals, and some stuff about the Industrial Revolution. It sounded… weird. Weren’t people supposed to dance about and wave some flags in formation, or something? And then just blow all the remaining cash on fireworks?

Instead, what we got was a global advert for British eccentricity. A show that started off in Hobbiton, then morphed into an industrialized SF epic creating The Rings, followed up with hallucinogenic dancing nurses, the whole of Top of the Pops from 1965-1999, mashed up with an episode of Hollyoaks, culminating in The Hunger Games. I totally expected all the Young Torch Bearers at the end to come on in chariots, with flaming capes, then try to kill each other. Or kill Seb Coe for the world’s dullest speech. You’ve had SEVEN YEARS to write a speech! Danny Boyle’s just thrown in bits of Kes, winged cyclists, a giant baby and the Arctic Monkeys! Come up with something more entertaining! They should’ve got Boris to do it. And it’s not often I think that. People around the world who’ve never been to Britain must think we’re all certifiable. But what bonkers fun. And credit to everyone involved for just going along with it – not least the Queen, who finally proved once and for all that she’s got a brilliant sense of humour.

I watched it at my friend Claire’s, who’d done us a British menu of shepherd’s pie, jelly and ice-cream and patriotic red, white and blue M&Ms. I was totally sold on the Glorified Sports Day from that moment on.

I’ve always been a huge fan of acquiring random snippets of knowledge about sport, and the Jubilympics is absolutely ideal for this. No idea who anyone in swimming is, other than Michael Phelps and Rebecca Adlington? Spend an hour glued to Mark Foster and Clare Balding on the Beeb, and you’ll find yourself name-dropping all of the British men’s team and their World Record-beating efforts; debating whether or not a fifteen year old Chinese girl can swim 50 metres faster than an American man under her own steam and cheering on one of our chaps (Liam Tancock) for studying ballet in order to improve his backstroke.

And of course, following on from the Tour de France, which I chose an auspicious year to take an interest in, I now know at least five cyclists, when previously I only knew Chris Hoy and Mark Cavendish (the latter of whom I have actually met, when he came in for a book pitch meeting. Very nice chap, as I recall, albeit a bit bemused by the idea of doing a book, I think). But now, there is swishy-haired, intriguingly neurotic Victoria Pendleton. There is Chris Froome. And of course there is the all-round cycling colossus that is BRADLEY WIGGINS. He is a ginger twig. He has amazing sideburns. He is hilarious. (Standing in front of a wildly cheering crowd, having made history by winning the Tour de France, he blithely announced, ‘Right, now we’re going to draw the raffle’). Best of all, he seems bemused by a nation’s sudden adoration and our desire to give him a knighthood. And probably a gold bicycle, and an array of unlikely advertising deals and a spread in OK! And a massive hug. And loads of pies (if ever there were a man who looked as if he needed feeding up, it’s Bradley Wiggins). Gold pies! Yes.

I can only imagine how excited I’m going to get when there’s a bit of athletics action and I can suddenly know about discus throwers and pole vaulters. Do we have any good javelin throwers nowadays? Why was it that we used to be really good at the javelin? Perplexing.

The only downer is that, as many people have pointed out, despite the fact that we've paid for it all with our tax dollars, none of this is ours. I’ve referred to it as the Jubilympics not merely because I like it as a word, but also because LOCOG get in a massive huff if you use the word ‘Olympics’, and team it with, well, nearly anything that could be vaguely sporty, or medally, or summery, or even 2012-y (apparently Twenty Twelve the TV series had to be called that because LOCOG wouldn’t allow them to call it ‘2012’), if you’re not an official sponsor.

A few weeks ago, I was doing copy for a book with a Jubilympic theme. This is, honest to God, the email that I got telling me what I could and couldn’t put on my ad:

The Olympics are coming around fast and LOCOG are monitoring all advertising and digital comms to see if anyone is using any of the following combination of words.

Not at all

Olympics
Paralympics

Category 1

Games
2012
Twenty twelve
Two Thousand and Twelve

Category 2

gold
silver
bronze
London
Medals
Sponsor
Summer

If the unauthorised party has (a) used two words from category 1 (e.g. ‘Games 2012’) or (b) used one word from category 1 and category 2, a Court is likely to find it has infringed LOCOG’s rights. This means that some surprising combinations are banned – e.g. ‘Summer 2012’. It has not been tested but you may be in trouble if you imply any association with the Olympics to promote your service/product eg. ‘David hopes to run in 2012’.

The same rules apply to any business which is not an official sponsor of the Olympics or have not already sought permission from LOCOG to use such terms.

Apparently, LOCOG own ACTUAL SUMMER. So if I announce any sporting intentions in a public place for the next few weeks, I shall be restricted to non-Olympic endeavours only, such as darts. Or croquet.

It’s no wonder our medals tally isn’t what it should be and apparently we're the least active nation in Europe when it's this hard to even talk about sport.

Right! Time for some judo. Apparently Gemma Gibbons has won a semi-final with a 'golden score'. No, me neither.