Over-tired and underwhelmed

So, now that it’s all over, I feel safe going out into the streets without hearing all about the bloody Olympics. For just two weeks every four years, people who don’t care about sports suddenly seem to turn on each other. Americans and Britons, who were best of friends one day, are instantly at each others’ throat, quarrelling about which country is best, while antagonising maths bods decide to whittle up “medals by population” graphs to incense these arguments further. Meanwhile, all the decent television (little as there is nowadays) is being shunned to one side so we can flick between different events on different channels. Never before has it been so easy to cycle between such thrilling competitions as ‘The Men’s Underwear-Only Pogo-Stick 100m Hurdles’ and ‘Bizarrely-Named Deviation of, what is essentially still, Rowing’.

All the while, I’m sat in the middle of these debates, pacing the room waiting for these events to be over so I can watch ‘Mock The Week’, wondering who in the world cares about who’s best at jumping over a horizontal stick using a bendy one? Who would find a country impressive if they said “We’re the best at spinning around and throwing things”? Surely whatever country it was said to would reply “So what? We have a rapidly expanding economy, spurred on by our increased trading activity, meaning we have a lot more money to spend on reforming critical areas such as healthcare and education. But good job on being able to throw stuff, that’s, er… really important in… erm...”

The only highlight of the Olympics was the closing ceremony, and I don’t mean that ironically; seeing Boris Johnson look more uncomfortable than I have ever seen any person before was a treat, and I was overjoyed when Jimmy Page came out and, using the power of music, shouted to Leona Lewis, “STFU bitch, guitar solo!” Of course, it was nice to see Britain’s contribution to the hand-over celebrations. For those of you who didn’t see it, here’s a brief summary -

Shit dancers with umbrellas cavorting around a bus.
Bus turns into a hedge (seriously) shaped like London.
Leona Lewis comes out wearing, what looks like, a giant green windsock.
Jimmy Page appears, bearing a striking resemblence to Father Jack Hackett.
Page and Lewis play a (rather disappointing) version of ‘Whole Lotta Love’.
David Beckham lives up to his title of ‘Most Pointless Man in the World’ by appearing from the bus, picking up a football and kicking it into the crowd, hitting a Chinese flag-bearer in the face.
End of ceremony.

I actually quite enjoyed our country making a right tit of itself. It conveyed a simple message to the whole world, comforting them and raising their morale, because the message was clear - we’re all idiots now, there’s no chance of re-building the empire, you’re safe! The only bit that ticked me off was Beckham’s needless appearance. I wonder exactly how many millions of pounds he was paid to appear in the ceremony for, realistically, around 17 seconds. Makes you proud, doesn’t it?

Until next time, my bronze medals… adios!