Good stories aren't always about winning; and midway medals
We gather last night at the end of a very busy day and we’re talking about the story of the day.
You’ve got the trampoline gold, the swim silver, the cycling bronze and, you know what?
The very best story was Paula Findlay, last in the triathlon.
It pretty much summed up what we are, and what these Games are and what it all truly means.
We love medals, we celebrate them, they’re fun and they make us feel good.
But we admire, truly admire, athletes who compete through tough times, who stick it out because finishing is what matters, it’s important and getting the job done and seeing how it all works out says far more about an athlete than where they finish, I think.
I don’t know Paula Findlay, not sure I’ve ever even been in a scrum when she’s spoken, but I have so much admiration for her it’s not even funny.
And you should, too.
Here’s a woman who could have packed it in and no one would have been all that troubled by it. She was hurt, it was a tough slog and at some point if she’d stopped and explained it all we would have said, ‘ah, tough luck, too bad.’
But she didn’t.
She got through it because it mattered to her and she knew it mattered to the people who support her and care about her. She did it because that’s what elite athletes do, they fight through.
Last in the triathlon is not good, no one’s suggesting that it is.
But I honestly think that willingness to finish says more about her than any podium finish would, it tells you she knows what matters and who it matters to.
I saw the quote where she apologized and that’s just wrong.
She did it. She got through it when it would have been easy not to.
Yes, Rosie MacLennan was great and Ryan Cochrane was great and the cycling team was great.
The story of the day was Paula Findlay.
The woman are at Old Trafford and, I swear, you cannot have enough Ricky Hatton in a sports blog, can you?
An Olympic moment.
As I’m watching the trampoline and, as you can imagine, I have no real idea what I’m seeing.
Bosses ask for a play-by-play of Rosie MacLennan’s final routine, I get a’scared about writing it because, well, because I have no clue what they do in the air but the coach, Dave Ross, comes through in a pinch and it’s like I know what I’m talking about.
I (heart) the Games.
Words I uttered I never thought I would:
“Was that a triple somersault or a double?”
So we’re halfway through this marathon (at least the competitive portion of it, I think I’ve been here long enough to be able to vote) so …
The Ship Tavern
Great place, fine suds, a piece of Haddock about a foot long, tiny snugs, it’s down an alley, a five-minute walk from the hotel, a comely young lass drawing the pints.
If they put one in Hazeiville, I’d never leave.
(Haven’t wandered down to Cheshire Cheese yet; that’ll be second half gold)
Archery at Lord’s, beach volleyball at Horse Guard’s Parade, the Olympic Park is functional without being ostentatious and everything seems to work.
Yes, it has a bar that’s OATH (Open All The Hours) and it’s fine but it’s also just a hotel; I’d much prefer a village where the world’s press all lives ‘cause it’s far easier to meet new people that way. I’d trade a wee bit of comfort for being able to arrive home every night and join some table of some people from some country and decompress.
It was 33 C the first few day and unbearable. It was 16 C one night at I was the beach and cool. One day it poured for about 15 minutes, got clear, poured again, got clear. It’s teeming rain right now as I look out the window here to my left; I glance to my right and see clear blue skies in the distance. Weird.
I got none.
Through this first week I haven’t even seen a hiccup let alone experience one.
It’s, of course, the jinx we all know well but these things have run swimmingly so far.
Hey, it’s Simcoe Day weekend, right?
What are you all doing?
Funny how it’s not a long weekend here.
Well, it’s a long weekend but not that kind of long weekend.
Gotta run a bit early and a bit today, am helping run Team Star over here today (think herding cats only with very nice people in the role of cats) and there’s much to do before I head to see the women play basketball.
And after a day where I wrote about a double-amputee 400-metre runner and trampoline, kind of like the thought of getting back into my comfort zone.