Team Gubb.
This post is a little late, but it has taken a bit of archive dredging to find the stunning image of me in Barcelona. Yes, that is me, and yes I do have spaniel ears. You may also observe that pulling silly poses in front of landmark buildings is something I have been doing for years. I do not apologise for this.
The journey to the Olympics for my sister and I started about 7 years ago, way back in 2005. We were on holiday in Barcelona and London had just won the 2012 games (we flew home on the day of the 7/7 bombings, which was terrifying). While in Barcelona we visited the Olympic Park, beautifully manicured ghost town, clearly designed to be very busy, and now conspicuously quite the opposite. We agreed there and then to get to the London Olympics, neither of us cared particularly about sport or athletics, but we felt it was important to go, if only to say that we were there.
2008 rolled around and I watched the Beijing Olympic Opening Ceremony nervously, pint in hand. Sure, you have an almost totalitarian state with a huge budget, an army or workers and a point to make, but one would struggle to say that the games were anything other than pretty spectacular. How could London follow that?
Over the next 4 years a lot happened. The venue designs were published in the architectural press and everyone got excited about Nord’s black brick substation, the economy collapsed, two weird looking mascots beamed down from the planet Zog and the domestic press did it’s level best to convince the populace that the games were going to be an expensive, humiliating disaster.
When tickets finally went on sale there was a mad scramble and a lot of hand wringing over what to go for, what if we got none? What if we got loads? Why is this so expensive? Why is this system so weird? I forget quite how the decisions were made, but getting into the actual Olympic Park was a key driver. We ended up with the bronze medal play-off for handball, a game neither of us had heard of or knew the rules to. Not to worry, we had tickets and we were in.
Then it all went a bit quiet until the torch relay started, but we began to get excited as it made it’s way around the country and even passed right outside my front door.
As with Beijing, I found myself watching the opening ceremony with a pint in my hand, this time in an overpriced hotel bar in Inverness. The moment of truth had arrived, triumphant spectacle or embarrassing mess? Well, bit of both really, not embarrassing, certainly spectacular, but also bloody weird in places. I found Thomas Heatherwick’s cauldron to be very elegant and poetic, the graceful movement of the individual arms was just amazing to watch.
Our day at the Olympics came around and we were expecting transport chaos that simply wasn’t there to be found. Everything ran smoothly and quickly, a military operation without a queue in sight.
Once inside, the park was an amazing thing to experience. The venues were huge, but seated very nicely in a fantastic landscape of water, wetlands and wildflower meadows. I knew all to well that it was coiffed and brand new, but it felt established, as though it had been there for years. A very well considered environment that had a real festival feeling to it, if a very controlled measured one, no crazy naked people here. Many people were concerned about the level of corporate sponsorship, openly worrying about the level of branding that would be stuck all over everything. They needn’t have. Yes, there was branding and a number of corporate pavilions, but nothing intrusive or too shouty.
We had a good walk around, exploring all the hidden corners of the site, scoping out the best places to sit and get essentials like beer and nibbles, then we camped out on the grass to watch the big screen, less subtly sponsored by British Airways. The only thing screening at the time was freestyle wrestling, and despite watching over an hour of it I still have no conception of how the seemingly arbitrary rules work or how the hell the competitors become mobile mounds of muscle with crudely drawn faces on one side.
Eventually our event came around and we all filed into the big boxy… tent… thing. Once again, this was a smooth military operation. My sister and I had only a vague idea of the relevant rules to the game, although ‘use hands, get ball in net’ was all we really needed. I have to say, as someone who doesn’t really follow sport, its a very exciting game! Fast, lively and with 60 goals in 80 minutes, there’s never a dull moment. I wish it were more popular in the UK, as I think it’s a game I’d actually want to play.
After handball, we headed back to the lawns to watch the big screen for a while until it was time to catch a train home, and we were fortunate enough to see Mo Farah winning the 5000m gold medal, which caused the entire park to explode into cheering and applause, quite remarkable. Interestingly, there was a very slight delay between the screen and reality, so we heard the roar from the main stadium about a second before we knew why!
To sum up: fantastic. All the whinging and bitching was worth it, and yes, I’m sure there are people out there who never gave a shit and still don’t, but screw them. I was there and it was great.
~T
The journey to the Olympics for my sister and I started about 7 years ago, way back in 2005. We were on holiday in Barcelona and London had just won the 2012 games (we flew home on the day of the 7/7 bombings, which was terrifying). While in Barcelona we visited the Olympic Park, beautifully manicured ghost town, clearly designed to be very busy, and now conspicuously quite the opposite. We agreed there and then to get to the London Olympics, neither of us cared particularly about sport or athletics, but we felt it was important to go, if only to say that we were there.
2008 rolled around and I watched the Beijing Olympic Opening Ceremony nervously, pint in hand. Sure, you have an almost totalitarian state with a huge budget, an army or workers and a point to make, but one would struggle to say that the games were anything other than pretty spectacular. How could London follow that?
Over the next 4 years a lot happened. The venue designs were published in the architectural press and everyone got excited about Nord’s black brick substation, the economy collapsed, two weird looking mascots beamed down from the planet Zog and the domestic press did it’s level best to convince the populace that the games were going to be an expensive, humiliating disaster.
When tickets finally went on sale there was a mad scramble and a lot of hand wringing over what to go for, what if we got none? What if we got loads? Why is this so expensive? Why is this system so weird? I forget quite how the decisions were made, but getting into the actual Olympic Park was a key driver. We ended up with the bronze medal play-off for handball, a game neither of us had heard of or knew the rules to. Not to worry, we had tickets and we were in.
Then it all went a bit quiet until the torch relay started, but we began to get excited as it made it’s way around the country and even passed right outside my front door.
As with Beijing, I found myself watching the opening ceremony with a pint in my hand, this time in an overpriced hotel bar in Inverness. The moment of truth had arrived, triumphant spectacle or embarrassing mess? Well, bit of both really, not embarrassing, certainly spectacular, but also bloody weird in places. I found Thomas Heatherwick’s cauldron to be very elegant and poetic, the graceful movement of the individual arms was just amazing to watch.
Our day at the Olympics came around and we were expecting transport chaos that simply wasn’t there to be found. Everything ran smoothly and quickly, a military operation without a queue in sight.
Once inside, the park was an amazing thing to experience. The venues were huge, but seated very nicely in a fantastic landscape of water, wetlands and wildflower meadows. I knew all to well that it was coiffed and brand new, but it felt established, as though it had been there for years. A very well considered environment that had a real festival feeling to it, if a very controlled measured one, no crazy naked people here. Many people were concerned about the level of corporate sponsorship, openly worrying about the level of branding that would be stuck all over everything. They needn’t have. Yes, there was branding and a number of corporate pavilions, but nothing intrusive or too shouty.
We had a good walk around, exploring all the hidden corners of the site, scoping out the best places to sit and get essentials like beer and nibbles, then we camped out on the grass to watch the big screen, less subtly sponsored by British Airways. The only thing screening at the time was freestyle wrestling, and despite watching over an hour of it I still have no conception of how the seemingly arbitrary rules work or how the hell the competitors become mobile mounds of muscle with crudely drawn faces on one side.
Eventually our event came around and we all filed into the big boxy… tent… thing. Once again, this was a smooth military operation. My sister and I had only a vague idea of the relevant rules to the game, although ‘use hands, get ball in net’ was all we really needed. I have to say, as someone who doesn’t really follow sport, its a very exciting game! Fast, lively and with 60 goals in 80 minutes, there’s never a dull moment. I wish it were more popular in the UK, as I think it’s a game I’d actually want to play.
After handball, we headed back to the lawns to watch the big screen for a while until it was time to catch a train home, and we were fortunate enough to see Mo Farah winning the 5000m gold medal, which caused the entire park to explode into cheering and applause, quite remarkable. Interestingly, there was a very slight delay between the screen and reality, so we heard the roar from the main stadium about a second before we knew why!
To sum up: fantastic. All the whinging and bitching was worth it, and yes, I’m sure there are people out there who never gave a shit and still don’t, but screw them. I was there and it was great.
~T