Drawing the Obvious Parallel

So… here we are again – another opening ceremony and another self-inflicted obligation to write about it. Only it’s gone 1 am at time of writing, so I intend to keep this brief.

The Paralympic (which, apparently, is not in the spell-check for some reason – even though “Olympic” is… sort it out) Games represents a reprieve for those of us who were sad to see the 2012 Olympiad pass into memory. It is, however, not entirely fair to treat the Paralympics as just a post script for the games proper – so I’ll try not to compare it too closely to that other opening ceremony.

Science and Shakespeare

So we open with Steven Hawking, a treat for all us in the we-love-science fan club, quoting from A Brief History of Time. An inspired choice since he ticks off two major boxes straight off the bat. A) he is a great British icon and B) he is possibly the most recognisable disabled person on the planet (and also because it is not his disability but what he can do that people are interested in). This kicked off a ‘big bang’ which is always a good way of starting things off.

This led into the main narrative – which featured Sir Ian McKellen guiding our protagonist Miranda through the subsequent show. I’m am reliably informed that this is influenced by The Tempest (what, again?) – but since I fall into that strange part of the Venn diagram which loves literature but not Shakespeare, I can’t really help you in terms of in which way it was influenced or by how much.

History and Tradition.

The narrative paused at this point to make way for the parade of nations – which overran quite heavily and knocked the air out of proceedings somewhat. This was followed (eventually) by speeches from the now familiar Sebastian Coe – buoyed by fresh confidence after the success of  a couple weeks ago – and president of the International Paralympic Committee Sir Philip Craven – who I was surprised to learn is a fellow countryman (from Bolton to be specific). He gave a brief history of the Paralympic [not ‘Paralytic’ – stupid spell-check] movement including a name-check for Ludwig Guttmann (forefather of the Paralympics) and his Stoke Mandeville event of 1948 (which gives it’s name to one of the mascots)

Then the Paralympic flag (pictured above) entered the stadium to the sounds of Thaxted from Jupiter, which is in turn from The Planets by Gustav Holst [why is classical music so bloody complicated?] – a tune that I know better as The World in Union (the theme of the rugby union world cup – and a tune that I love and will shamelessly throw a link at given half an opportunity). After its raising – the oaths were recited which, according to the commentators, was the first time this has happened. This struck me as odd since the oaths are a significant part of the Olympics and hopefully this generates a new tradition for the future.

Gravity Defied and Defined.

Okay, back to the narrative. McKellen continues to guide our girl Miranda through the spectacle of human endeavour – this time pointing out the miracles of literature.  This was represented by a flock of flying books and an upturned umbrella/sailing ship (there was a lot of umbrellas throughout – I hope that doesn’t turn out to be prophetic [for international readers, this time of year is usually dogged by soggy weather but don’t worry it only lasts until about May]). This culminated in a half-dozen athletes running, swimming and wheeling their way into the centre of the stadium – only suspended on wires above the stadium.

Then came another celebration of science – in particular Isaac Newton who invented gravity (oh, that’s just annoyed the we-love-science fan club – stop trying to put your boot through your monitor, you can’t afford to buy a new one.) No, Isaac Newton discovered and codified the laws of gravity from which modern physics is built. Apparently, each person in the stadium had been given an apple which, on a given cue, they all took a bite out of resulting in a ‘crunch heard around the world.’ (which reminded me of that one Bill Bailey sketch from Part Troll)

This whole thing gave me pause to wonder – what is it about this rainy little island that seems to bring out the scientist in us? Aside from Hawking and Newton we have produced more than our fair share of them over the years.  To name a few: Charles Darwin (who you can find on the back of the £10 note – which will surprise [and possibly shock] 40% of Americans), there is Michael Faraday, James Watt (pictured on the £50 note with Matthew Boulton), William Thomson, Alan Turing, Richard Dawkins and Patrick Moore [and a surprising number of them are Scottish]. I’m not saying that we have cornered the market or anything – but it’s still dam impressive.

Reclamation and Reinstatement.

Then came a musical segment (there was music scattered throughout but I can’t remember what all of it was) and a rendition of Spasticus Autisticus (originally by Ian Dury). I was surprised as hell that this song was included. For as long as I can remember the words ‘spastic’ and ‘spaz’ have been used as a term of abuse – with most people preferring not to use it due to those implications (in fact even the charity formally known as The Spastic Society changed its name to Scope in order to escape the titters of immature persons using it) The closest parallel I can think of is the word ‘fag’ in that, generally it is offensive but those who fall under its definition are ‘allowed’ to use it (but most don’t). On the other hand, I’m all for the reclamation of words and, having read a little about the songs history [click the link], I can see why it was chosen.

At some point during this song a massive statue of Alison Lapper, one of Britain’s most iconic disabled people, appeared on stage. It was a replica of the innovatively titled Alison Lapper Pregnant by Marc Quinn which depicts artist Alison Lapper while she was pregnant (great sculpture Mr Quinn – but you couldn’t think of a better name for it?). Let’s start the campaign here and now – Let’s put it back on the forth plinth (in Trafalgar Square) – it’s empty anyways and I kinda like it.

Light That Bad Boy Up (Again).

I’m sure there is something missing… what is it? Oh yeah – the torch. It fell to former Marine Joe Townsend to bring it into the stadium. Unfortunately, no one told him he could use the front door so he took a zip line from the Orbit Tower (that red twisted thing outside the Olympic Stadium). The tower stands at a hight of approximately ridiculously high (about the same hight as the statue of liberty apparently) and there is no way you would EVER get me up there. What exactly are Royal Marines made of anyhow?

Ultimately, the honour of lighting the cauldron went to Margaret Maughan, Paralympic veteran and winner of Team GB’s very first gold medal in 1960. Then the now familiar cauldron roared to life once again – drawing together once more. A warming sight for all of us who felt a little down-hearted after seeing it extinguished at the close of those other games. It’s back to burn again – for the next eleven days at least – and I can’t express how happy I am about that. It truly is the best Olympic/Paralympic cauldron I have ever seen – I know I’m biased but screw it – it’s a thing of beauty.

Impressions and Expectations.

And finally, to cap things off, we had a performance from Beverly Knight singing “I Am What I Am”. Lets call a spade a spade (and yes Mr. Wilde – I’m not above using one) this was cheesy and performed in that Whitney Huston-esque style which I can’t stand – but you got to finish things off with something.

So what was my overall impression? Well, it got a little strange in the middle there and the overly long procession of nations really drained the life out of things but no one embarrassed themselves so I guess we can call it a success. There was one glaring omission in my eyes – and that is the issue of humour which highlighted both the opening and closing ceremonies of those other games. I have yet to meet a disabled person who lacked a sense of humour and I think some good-natured comedy would have been more than appropriate. A minor quibble perhaps but one I feel worth pointing out.

That aside, as I have said elsewhere before, the ceremonies are, in the end, just window dressing. What we came to see, and what I am looking forward to, is the sport which starts in earnest.

If we get half as many moments as last time around we are looking at an unforgettable week an’ a bit of action. Expect to see triumph over adversity. Expect to see determination and sportsmanship. Expect tears of joy and heartbreak. Expect to see London meet the world once more and for the world to meet London in a new light.

The Paralympics – it’s like the regular Olympics but we upped the ante.

[Once again, I failed to keep this brief]

London Bids Farewell to the 30th Olympiad.

So, last time I tried to talk about the Olympics, I got bogged down with all the patriotism and celebration which succeeded the event. This time around, I don’t want to do that. So here is my humble take on the Olympic closing ceremony (held on 12/08/12).

Back To Work.

As with the opening ceremony, the closing seemed to be split into sections – all-be-it with a slightly different overall tone. If the Open was an introduction to British culture with the intention to “do it right” then the closing was a celebration of it in the spirit of “the job is done – Let’s have fun.”

The first identifiable section was loosely framed around the working day London with the stadium dressed as a miniature (but massive) skyline of the city – more-or-less the complete antithesis of the ‘green and pleasant land’ presented before. No bizarre, chaotic transformation this time around though, just a strange cameo from Churchill expounding lines from The Tempest from the dome of St. Paul’s. Actually, that is quite bizarre. Winston was played by Timothy Spall, a very credible and entertaining actor, but – had he not been dressed as Churchill – I would have struggled to recognise it by the voice alone.

Then came the first batch of musical performers – headed up by Madness. Now, perhaps I’m a bit jaded because, after you have seen “Our House” performed on top of Buckingham Palace while rear projections of terraced houses transform the Queen’s house into a typical street, as per The Diamond Jubilee Concert a couple of months ago – it is very hard to top that. Still, it is a fan favourite and always welcome to these ears.

Then I looked away for a second to put the kettle on then, when I returned with my beverage, the screen was filled with pointy-hatted lunatics on bicycles that made me wonder if PG Tips had slipped something into my teabag. It was the Pet Shop Boys (/men/quite middle-aged men now) of course! doing “West End Girls” (keeping the ever tenuous connection to the London theme). They were followed by One Direction in a celebration of cheesy peppy bullshit that made me wish that PG Tips had started doing a new line in ‘special green teas’.

The whole thing was tied together with old bits of string – otherwise known as Stomp – which actually worked pretty well as the ‘city’ went about it’s business. This led into a performance of The Beatles song “A Day in the Life” which depicted people waking up, getting out of bed, combing their hair, having a cup of tea, looking at the clock… well you get the idea, it’s all a little on the nose don’t you think? I did, so I found my way upstairs and had a smoke… errr… I mean… had another cup of PG Tips.

Then came Ray Davies of The Kinks doing his love song to London “Waterloo Sunset” – y’know, that song your mum likes. No, I kid, there’s nothing wrong with a bit of The Kinks. What was less agreeable was Davies’ habit of telling the crowd when to do the “sh-la-la’s” which just put me in mind of the Old Jewish Man from The Simpsons. The section was capped of by a rendition of “Read All About It” performed by Emeli Sande.

More Power To Your Elbow.

Next, it was time to invite the Olympians to the party. And who better to do that than Elbow (who were also responsible for this). First came the 204 flags of the competing nations, each one carried by a national hero – with Ben Ainslie bringing up the rear flying the flag for Great Britain. Next came other assorted medallists, entering straight through the crowds. And finally, the waves upon waves of other competitors – winners, losers and runners-up alike.

All of this playing out to the sounds of “Open Arms”– a song that never fails at the best of times but, on this occasion, represents the most acutely chosen song of the whole ceremony. Watching the athletes wash-in in casual and festive mood – I found myself thinking, not of the heroes of golden glory, but of those amongst them who did not achieve their dreams – particularly when the song reached the refrain: “We got open arms for broken hearts” – it just seemed to re-enforce the notion that everyone was welcome. The song also contains another moment where Guy Garvey repeats the phrase “Everyone’s here” – neatly reflecting the theme from the Opening Ceremony – “This is for everyone.”

This was followed  by the songs spiritual predecessor – “On A Day Like This”  – which is one of those tunes that always makes me think of Glastonbury. I make a date to watch the BBC’s coverage of the Glastonbury Festival every year – it’s one of my favourite parts of the summer. Its a nice way to hear some new and interesting music but, what we are really waiting for, are those Glastonbury Moments – were the band is firing on all cylinders, the audience is alive with electricity, even the light is just right and the sound just moves you. Unfortunately, there was no festival this year – well the calender was a little full – but, thanks to Elbow, we did get a Glastonbury moment.

This section over-ran a little bit – I guess the athletes were having too much fun whilst coming into the stadium. But who cares, it was their party really – we were merely spectators. Besides, it was good to see Olympians at play – waving flags, dancing, displaying their medals, doing back-flips and the like. Also, as the previous batch of songs replayed to fill the gap, we were provided with an appearance from The Genius Camera Man aka Perv Cam (depending on your point of view)

Genius Camera Man refers to the habit of broadcasters at spectated events, particularly sporting events, to scan the crowds in order to pick out the prettiest fans to be put on the big screens. His ironic appearance came as the One Direction song “What Makes You Beautiful” replayed and Perv Cam cut to the Swedish women’s team celebrating. Genius!

More Tea Anyone?

The next bit was more than a little weird. In a tribute to Minecraft (or possibly Tetris), a multitude of luminous blocks were carried into the stadium by, what I can only describe as, zombie-mummy-robots. This all happened while a trippy remix/cover of Kate Bush’s (popularised by Placebo) “Running Up That Hill” played. The blocks were placed and arranged, first in a pyramid (probably just to make the conspiracy nuts wet their pants) and then a large, white monolith (which will come into play later).

Standing on Ceremony.

Next, we pause a moment to observe some of the more traditional elements. Chief amongst these being the presentation of the medals for the men’s marathon event. I’d like to contemplate that for a moment. Imagine being awarded your medal (well, imagine winning a medal in the first place.) on the centre stage, not only in front of all those people, not only in front of all your peers, but in front of the entire world. If Superman was ever to be awarded a gold medal – this would be the occasion to do it. So by that specious logic, Stephen Kiprotich of Uganda is Superman! (And then, of course, it’s your anthem that gets played)

Then a bit of business involving the Athletics Commission and a thank you to the volunteers – or “games-makers” as we were instructed to call them. I never liked that word – “games-makers” – it just sounds too much like a title conjured by committee. What’s wrong with the word volunteers? It tells you everything you need to know – these people gave their time, of their own accord, in order to help out. That’s a volunteer. Anyway, they got a quick tannoy of thanks and some flowers (Hardly the rapturous praise much of the general public would liked to have given them).

 The Show Must Go On.

And so it did, with a choral rendition of “Imagine”. But then, projected on the big screen (that constructed monolith), the man himself – as though live! Forgive me for being excited by that, but I come from a generation that has only known covers of that song (some good, some not so good – but always included in any celebration of British culture). A particularly apt choice, especially with the lines about “a brotherhood of man” which syncs nicely with the Olympic spirit of friendship.

I wish I could be as glowing with the next, flesh and blood, performer – George Michael. First he performed “Freedom” – a song that is completely empty aside from that one word. Then came one of those crappy techno ones that he periodically tries to shit down our throats. “I’m Alive” as far as I could gather but I fail to see why. The funniest part for me was watching the choir desperately trying to emote the repetitive refrain and believe it while their souls gradually leaked out of their pores. I mean seriously, is anyone proud of George Michael? Maybe you like his music, perhaps his antics amuse you – but proud? For me, watching this prancing Bono-wannabe proclaim “you are the centre of the universe” didn’t exactly fill me with pride.

This was capped of by a rendition of “Pinball Wizard” originally by The Who – accompanied by a flock of mod’s on motorbikes.

Dedicated Follower of Fashion.

Next came a David Bowie crash-mash of all his hits finally settling on “Fashion”. So came the next segment, a celebration of British fashion. Massive black and white billboards wheeled into the stadium depicting style icons. Then some models showed up and I got bored.

Viene tormenta!

After that it all got a bit dark and stormy. A huge longship-type-thing heralded the coming of The Dark One: Annie Lennox. She stood, Titanic-style, at the helm of this pirate-ship – steered by a crew of vampire-pirates (Who would win between a hoard of zombie-mummy-robots and a mob of vampire-pirates??) while she sang “Little Bird” from Bram Stoker’s Dracula. Yeah, that was odd.

Next was another cover, this time Ed Sheeran doing Pink Floyd’s “Wish You Were Here”. It’s hard to go wrong with this song – especially when you have a veritable dream-team of classic rock musicians backing you up – but what I really liked was it was a straight cover and he didn’t feel the need to “make it his own” or “bring it up to date”. Sometimes, a classic is a classic and should remain unmolested.

For this one step forward, we took two large ones back. Enter that Essex-born pillock Russell Brand claiming, first to be Willy Wonka, and then to being The Walrus. NO, YOU ARE NOT! Now get down off that bus and put the megaphone down before you embarrass someone.

Pops, Bangs and Screeches.

Inevitably, we had an appearance from Fat Boy Slim (well, the top of his middle-aged head anyhow). He played… well, y’know, the same few tunes he’s been playing since the 90’s.

Then came Jessie J, looking awkward in a headline grabbing “see-through” catsuit, which might have been titillating had it not been so transparent. Even-so, perv cam’s head exploded along with the trousers of his loyal band of teenage boys. Jessie is an odd one, she certainly has the talent to be taken seriously but, pulling stunts like this, is not going to make that happen. Lady GaGa she is not – nor should she try to be. [I’ll say it now, Jessie J has the potential to go on long after we have all gotten bored of GaGa’s shenanigans – she just needs to pick a camp.]

Jessie was joined on stage by a procession of interchangeable pop ‘stars’ – the kind who like to tell their audience where they are every five seconds. [“London 20 12” apparently – apart from that one time when Jessie nearly shouted “Glastonbury” and probably hoped no-one noticed. Sorry, someone did.]

Then the “much anticipated” appearance of the Spice Girls happened. Their inclusion at the event had been leaked a few days prior and was one of the only things I knew about before hand. Seriously, who still cares?? Did anyone really jump up and down when they found out the Spice Girls were reforming again? If so, who? The fans from the first time time around? Surly they have long-since realised that their catalogue of songs is nothing but shameless self-promotion proclaiming nothing deeper than “we are the Spice Girls” and the hollow “movement” called “girl power” was about as important to women’s liberation as the right to wear false nails in the workplace. Or maybe, the second generation of fans from one of their multiple reunions – constantly disappointed by a lack of new material and cancelled tour dates? As for the performance itself – OH GOD – MY EARS, I THINK THEY ARE BLEEDING! Seriously girls, for the sake of music, break up again – please.

But the raping and rewriting of adolescent memories didn’t stop there – oh no. Here comes Beady Eye. Who? Beady Eye, y’know, Liam Gallager’s new band formed from the remnants of Oasis (minus the talented one). They performed “Wonderwall” a song which Noel performs better and that Liam has performed better i.e. not like someone who needs their adenoids taken out with a rusty coat-hanger. I guess nostalgia will only forgive so much.

The Five Ring Circus.

To lift our spirits, we had a snatch of ELO’s  “Mr. Blue Sky” – which everyone likes and is particularly amusing when played at night. As this played, a huge human cannon was wheeled into view and a fire-suited, crash-helmeted human cannonball made his entrance with a heroes handshake for everyone he met. Then it all went horribly wrong! The cannon tilted and the ball tumbled ineffectually into the floor.

So who was this would-be daredevil heartthrob? None other than Eric Idle – giving Rowan Atkinson and Daniel Craig a run for their money in the comedy stakes. He gave us a very welcome rendition of the song from Monty Python’s Life of Brian “Always Look on the Bright Side of Life.” Who could fail to smile at that?

Musings and Monarchs.

Then, finally, Muse took to the stage to perform “Survival” – a song criminally underused in coverage of The Games. I have been waiting to hear some of their new stuff for a while, particularly live (various teasers only serving to whet my appetite further). I was not disappointed but, this performance seemed to be plonked in the middle with no particular dressing as though as a last minute insertion.

Now, there is an inherent problem with this track in that The Olympics has an ideology rooted in the spirit of ‘friendship’ and Matt Bellamy decided to compose a track evoking the spirit of competition. There is a contrast in this- one could be said to be expounding the virtues of civilisation (The Olympic Spirit) and the other could be said to be examining mankind’s compulsion towards more animistic tendencies (The Spirit of Competition) – which could be difficult to harmonise. This could be why Muse were included, but not necessarily celebrated (which is a shame).

Next, the big building block screen came back into play – once again resurrecting a lost idol – this time proving (if proof were needed) that Freddie’s classic warm-up routine has lost none of its charm and will always ride again.

Enter Brian May, featuring hair that increasingly resembles Doc Brown’s after the bolt hit him, with a live solo which, as only the best guitarists can do, was completely unaccompanied yet somehow sounded multi-layered.

Soon after Roger Taylor joined with the “Rock You Thump”. How pleased must he have been when he came up with that cheeky little refrain? Y’know, when society finally falls and our ancestors revert back to the status of mud-flinging cavemen – one of them will pick out the fractured femur of his vanquished rival and beat the “Rock You Thump” into his skull.

Then Jessie J returned to fill in the vocals but they left far too much echo on her voice.

Hand It Over, Boris.

Then we came to the winding down portion of the evening, heralded by the traditional playing of the Greek national anthem. Then a humours example of translation dissonance.

As you may or not know, the three languages spoken at The Olympics are French (for some reason), English (because lots of people speak it) and the language of the host nation (in this case English again so they only used the first two) [Its a bit like how in the chambers of the United Nations they only speak in about half a dozen languages on the understanding that most people can speak (or learn) at least one of them]. Well there was a habit by the French translator (a common one I suspect) for saying any name in the same tone and intonation of the language it comes from. In this case, he was talking in French then would suddenly switch to an English accent and back again – making it appear as though their was no French word for “London Male Voice Choir” (or for “Boris Johnson” for that matter) when they were introduced to sing The Olympic Anthem.

Then, Boris flies the flag again – and once again we feared he’d drop it and once again we sighed when he didn’t. It was his role to hand the flag over to Rio, the host of the next games, a ceremony he himself took part in four years previous, only this time he was the incumbent not the recipient.

You could see he was a little reluctant to give it up – and I can’t blame him. No one wanted this golden festival of sport to end – No one wanted to see this once in a lifetime moment finally pass into history and memory. But that is, ultimately, the true spirit of the games – succession. As Beijing gave to us, we must give to Rio and they must give to the next, so that the promise can be kept and the games can be contested once again.

A Taste of Rio.

Next came another traditional bit, a show within a show, giving the next host nation the chance to show us all what they have in store. And so, the Brazilians representing Rio de Janeiro. Was you expecting a carnival? Well good, because that’s what we got – complete with flashing neon versions of those peacock tail dresses they wear.

This part, although brief, actually had a much stronger and more easily identifiable narrative than the broader ceremony that surrounded it. The story, such as it was, involved a little road-sweeper fella introducing another man in a suit to the sights and sounds of Rio. So after the obligatory carnival, there was some odd stuff involving fluorescent green hats (that particular shade of green that always puts me in mind of the pharmacy scene from Natural Born Killers – not that that has anything to do with this) and then a celebration of samba, which to my uncultured ears sounds a lot like a Latino version of those soul singers from the seventies. Then the party was capped off with the entrance of one of Brazil’s greatest sporting legends – Pele. In the international game of Top Trumps, were we would most likely put up David Beckham, I have to say: fair play, you win.

In all seriousness, based on this display, I’m quite looking forward to the next games – I can’t wait to see which flavours the South Americans bring to the mix and, if I start saving now, I might even try to book a flight myself to join the carnival.

The Power of Speech.

As the games continued to wind down, it was time to hear once more from Sebastian Coe and Jacques Rogge. A massive cheer echoed around the stadium as Seb Coe stepped up to speak and then he proceeded to thank everyone as though he had just been handed an Oscar – at one point I was waiting for that music to fade up to rush him off the stage. Then he thanked the volunteers (for I will never call them Games-Makers) and received an even bigger cheer – the British public providing a much more apt tribute in that one sound than anyone else could. I would like to echo what Coe said – Thanks for keeping everyone safe and making sure everything went without a hitch so we could all focus on the sport – or as Rogge put it – they were the “heroes of these games”.

Seb went on to talk about the overall aim of these games – the capacity and desire to inspire a generation (and we all appreciate that this coming generation is in dire need of something inspirational.) and the concept of ‘legacy’ (which I’m sure will soon start to irritate). He rounded off his speech reflecting on his previous statement that London 2012 should be “a games for everyone”  adding that we had produced “a games by everyone” and that “we did it right.” And, yes, in my humble opinion, we did – in the face of everything that a skeptical British public could throw at it – we delivered.

In Rogge’s speech he commented on the enthusiasm of the cheering fans throughout the games. This amuses me. We are very well aware of our reputation internationally (as Brits – and in particular as The English) for being reserved, repressed or even up-tight. While individually you could probably build quite a good picture of this stereotype; when you put us together in a group or crowd – something different happens. If you have ever witnessed Brits abroad you can attest to this – ‘reserved’ is not the word I would use and it is not their upper-lips that remain stiff over the weekend.

He closed his portion by calling the event a “happy and glorious games” which was a nice and faintly touching nod to our culture (with Team GB taking care of “send[ing] us victorious”) and the traditional “call to the youth of the world” to meet in four years to contest the games again – even more potent thanks to all that talk of legacy previously.

Tears for a Dying Flame.

If you didn’t like the part where Boris handed over the flag, you really aren’t going to like this next bit. The time had come to extinguish the flame and  put the final full stop on the 30th Olympiad.

Having drawn together in the opening ceremony – each arm representing a different nation – it was time for the cauldron to separate again, dispersing the countries back to their rightful places on the planet. The structure, a true testament to British engineering, fanned out into a dome-shape from which a Phoenix rose. [pictured above]

This was followed by a performance from Take That who sang “Rule the World”. I wonder whether this song might get lost in translation – whether what is essentially an over-powered love song might worry foreign listeners into thinking we were reasserting our claim for world dominance. Nah, probably not.

Next came the obligatory fireworks display that seems to follow the band like a particularly fanatical pyromaniac. From the smoke another Phoenix swept down onto the stage. It was, in fact, Darcey Bussell – prima ballerina – who led what I can only describe as a techno-ballet. The sort of thing that fans of The Fifth Element’s take on “Lucia Di Lammermoor” would be excited by and leaves us uncultured-types mystified (but in a good way though).

After this performance, the dome finally lowered into its original ring position and the flame gradually died. That was a sad moment when it had finally gone. We had seen that flame travel the length and breadth of our country – carried by celebrities, legends, heroes and common-folk alike – touching everyone it met. One tiny, symbolic flame had somehow reignited the latent fires stoking this country – had brought unexpected hope to the ever increasing cold and darkness of a nation under crisis. We had watched it burn brightly, illuminating such dreams and heartaches that we shall never see again – always standing guard over the games and ensuring The Olympic Spirit was upheld.

Then it faded away to darkness, as it must, leaving only ashes and memory. It was over. The flame was gone. Its for us now to relight it once again, on our own. Its for us to remember that flame, those two glorious weeks when we was its keeper – when we showed to ourselves and everyone that: We can do this. Its not impossible. Its for us to remember that flame, make it blaze again and to teach our next generation how to carry it.

By way of a swansong, we were treated to a medley performed by The Who comprised of “Baba O’Riley”, “See Me, Feel Me” and of course culminating with  “My Generation” – a song comfortably re-appropriated by each succeeding generation – belonging, really, to none of them. That’s how it should be, and long may it continue, and perfect way of rounding out the party. I no longer view “My Generation” as a Who song – it’s ours now – and this is when they gave it to us.

In Closing.

After all’s said and done, what did I think of the closing ceremony? Well, compared to the seminal spectacle of the opening ceremony, it was certainly a less coherent affair – sometimes having the feel of a pop concert desperately trying not to be a pop concert.

I also had a slight issue about who it was aimed at. If the open was “For Everyone” designed with an eye toward what the rest of the world would make of it – the closing seemed to be “For Us” with an eye toward what the British public would enjoy. Now, there is no real problem in doing this but, if I didn’t speak English and was unfamiliar with western popular music, I would have found the whole thing mind-numbingly boring. Sorry, but its true.

But perhaps the reason I didn’t enjoy it as much as I could have is for the same reason that you can’t enjoy that one last Sunday of the summer holidays – that part of your brain that likes to tell you “its back to work on Monday” keeping you from fully enjoying that last party.

Maybe that’s it. I don’t want to wait another four years to do it all over again.

Thankfully, we got the Paralympics to celebrate before we say goodbye for good.

———

Note to self: Next time I write something this long I’m gunna do it in parts or something because it takes a lot of patience to sit here and read this entire thing in one go.

Post-Olympic Optimism.

It is my intent to do a review (of sorts) of the London 2012 closing ceremony but, just as before, there is a little bit of business to address beforehand.

Now, I’m not one to gloat in I-told-you-so’s but… I told you so! Admit it, even the most skeptical and grumpiest of my countrymen (even the northerners – and especially the Yorkshire-men) found the Olympic spirit irresistible. We all got swept up in it – young, old – sports fanatics and casual fans – doubters and dreamers.

We all came together to cheer on our favourites, to celebrate achievement and share heart-break. Shouts were loosed and breath was held. Laughs were had and tears spilled. New heroes took to the world stage and veteran legends took their final bow. Memories forged for a lifetime.

And that, my friends, is The Olympic Games – one of mankind’s greatest endeavours.

Here in Britain, we had much to celebrate – as athletes from around the nation declared a new age of British sport and returned with an impressive haul of sixty-five medals (twenty-nine gold, seventeen silver and nineteen bronze).

Also, living in our unique multi-cultural environment (and I meant to bring this up before) the parties were not restricted to just the domestic nation. My heritage is strictly tied to Great Britain (it seems my ancestors rarely stepped off this sceptred isle) so I was firmly behind Team GB, but my neighbour (for example) migrated to this country and was able to root for both Team GB (as his home nation) and his country of origin. This meant that the streets of London was washed in colour on a nightly bases – best shown by the Jamaican street parties that erupted after their successes on the athletics track.  Also, I always keep half an eye on our neighbours to the west Ireland who picked up five medals (one gold, one silver and three bronze) [which has stopped Andy Parsons from doing that joke].

So what were my particular highlights? Well you have to give a nod to our continued success at the velodrome, in particular the parting performances of Chris Hoy and Victoria Pendleton, and also on the water in the rowing and sailing (but not swimming).

But these examples of continued success (though impressive) are not what caught my imagination. I found myself captivated by the athletics (screw you Greg Proops), the boxing (including the first ever women’s events) and what has been dubbed “Super Saturday”.

Special mentions to the Brownlee brothers (always nice to see a bit of friendly sibling rivalry), Mo Farah for taking gold in both the Men’s 5000m and Men’s 10,000m and Tom Daily  who won his first medal – bronze, but it may as-well have been gold for the relief and elation we all felt.

But for me, the big moment was when Jessica Ennis won gold in the women’s heptathlon. If you read my previous post, where I talked about how the multiple-disipline events (decathlon, heptathlon, pentathlon, triathlon) are the best all-round athletes at the games: well,  Jessica is the personification of this. Going into the final contest of the event (the 800m) she already had the lead and was practically guaranteed gold. It’s plainly not for her to rest on her laurels however, as she dug down deep for her home crowd and went on to win the final race. That is what makes a champion – and that is why she is my national hero.

Outside of Team GB, the Olympic superstar was – once again – Usain Bolt. His countryman Yohan Blake however, was hot on his heels the entire way and a new great sporting rivalry feels imminent. We also waved goodbye to the most decorated Olympian of all time as Michel Phelps announced his retirement.

In the larger picture, the USA and China renewed their rivalry once more for dominance at the top of the table. The US won out in the end, thanks largely to their success in the pool. But my heart goes to Cyprus, Guatemala and Grenada – who each got to bring a medal back home for the first time ever.

So, in the end, it was the Olympic Games we all hoped for, not without controversy, but disaster-free. A theatre that promised the greatest show on earth, and the athletes who provided it. Even the organisers and administrators didn’t let us down but the highest praise has to go to the thousands of volunteers who made it possible.

Britain welcomed the world and the world didn’t disappoint.

The world came to London and (I’d like to think) left with the spirit of friendship.

And, y’know what, Team GB took on the pressures of performing in-front of  their home crowd and was rewarded with our adulation – smashing our expectations to pieces.

It’s just a shame it’s all over – well at least for another four years – where the party moves to Rio de Janeiro and our first ever South American Olympics. And I wish them all the best!

(As for the Thank you’s – I’ll leave that to the Mayor: Boris Johnson)

[Again, I did intend on talking about the actual closing ceremony itself – but it seems I filled this post up with positivity. So next time [sometime during the week] I expect I should probably go over that because I feel that I should cap this thing off properly.]

London Welcomes the 30th Olympiad.

So, last time I tried to talk about the Olympics, I got got bogged down with all the pessimism and negativity which proceeded the event. This time around, I don’t want to do that. So here is my humble take on the Olympic opening ceremony (held on 27/07/12).

Our Green & Pleasant Land.

I have to admit, when I saw our first view of the Olympic stadium, dressed up like a quaint English village, my heart sank a little. This was one of the few details that we knew about beforehand (I guess trying to hide the construction of a massive chunk of countryside in the middle of the capital would have been a pointless endeavour). Instantly I thought “Oh no.”

You see, for me, the image of a quaint little England – complete with cricketers playing on the lawn and morris men dancing around the may-pole – is so old fashioned as to boarder on offensive. This lazy and tired stereotype of Britain has little to nothing to do with what it is to be a modern Brit and less still with what it is to be a Londoner in 2012.

For me, its just as mawkish and narrow sighted as pointing to a picture of Cletus “the slack-jawed yokel” Spuckler and saying “that’s what all Americans are like” – not what you’d expect from the director of Trainspotting and 28 Days Later! To my relief, the show moved on and the whole thing transformed.

Industrialisation.

Enter the engineers, represented by Isambard Kingdom Brunel – one of our greatest Britons –  to conduct the transformation of the vista from the peaceful rural landscape into a bustling heart of industry – taking on a potted history of how the British evolved through the 20th century.

Now, I have some issues with ‘celebrating’ this episode of history (which I won’t go into details with here) which mainly stem from the successors of the industrial revolution – the age of commercialism and consumerism (both pseudonyms for exploitation in my book) and the observations of Dickens and Marx. But that’s all beside the point.

Back to the show: I didn’t like this section, but not because of the reservations and biases raised above, but for different (somewhat shallower) reasons. I understand this section was entitled something like Pandemonium and that’s exactly what it looked like. [Now, I feel I should give Danny Boyle credit for doing exactly what it says on the tin but…]

There was simply too much going at once. Smokestacks rose from the ground, the grass was rolled back to reveal a lattice of steel and concrete, Suffragettes marched and war soldiers mourned, The Chelsea Pensioners and the Sgt. Peppers circled as the people toiled. It was less a progression and more a hodgepodge dumped in the spectator’s lap.  Now, I have a relatively good grasp of the history of Britain through the 20th century (only, don’t test me on it) but I struggled to keep up – so, I imagine, onlookers from overseas would find the whole thing a confusing, possibly alienating, open to the whole thing.

This section did, however, culminate in one of my favourite moments of the whole ceremony – the introduction of the Olympic rings (pictured above). The steelworkers at the heart of this hive of activity enacted the construction of a giant ring which, upon completion, rose into the air and was joined by the other four from the corners of the stadium to form a free-floating Olympic logo.

Its the symbolism inherent in this that really spoke to me. The notion that, as each person worked diligently on there small part of it, the parts would eventually combine to create, in essence, an Olympic games founded on hard work. To me, it was a nice salute to all of the organisers, large and small, who worked on putting the games together.

A Celebration of British Culture.

Next came what I’ve been calling ‘the fun bit’ – starting with the introduction of The Queen to the stadium – escorted by James Bond no less. A surreal meeting of world-renowned British icons (one real, one fictional) that couldn’t fail to resonate the funny-bone.

I’ve resisted the temptation of mentioning the Beijing games up to this point – ignoring the prevailing question “How will London top the Chinese opening ceremony?”  From day one, we all knew that trying to outmatch the scale and spectacle of what they managed in 2008 would be foolish – so the only avenue left to us was to “make it our own.”

The inclusion of humour is one of the best ways of doing this – proud as we are of our nation’s wealth of comic talent and the general outlook of our people. This stands as a distinct contrast to Beijing which, by comparison, seemed to be a very serious affair.

My only gripe was that I would have liked to have seen some of the other Bond’s feature in some capacity (rather than just the current incarnation – Daniel Craig). Imagine our sovereign being escorted, Reservoir Dogs – style  (which we are allowed to rip-off since that sequence itself is largely a rip-off of A Clockwork Orange)  by not one, but six 007’s.

In fact, this puts me in mind of another icon of British fiction, easily a match for Bond in the international recognition stakes,  who was strangely absent (see what I did there). Save for one brief sound clip of the TARDIS engine, there was no appearance from the good Doctor. If I was in charge (and thankfully, I’m not) I would have had the Bond’s and the surviving Who’s meet for the first time ever. That would’ve been epic!

But, enough of what didn’t happen, let’s get back to what did. The other highlight from this section was a sketch performed by Rowan Atkinson, reprising his role as Mr Bean. His inclusion was nothing short of a stroke of genius.

Mr Bean – being a silent act – is know around the world (like the stars of the silent age of cinema before him such as Charlie Chaplin’s Little Tramp character) since there is no language barrier to overcome. The inclusion of comedy, once again, marking us out from the rest of the world and emphasizing the importance of fun amongst the serious business of the games.

The final part of this section celebrated another aspect of British culture which we are massively proud of :- music. As the codifiers of rock ‘n’ roll (The Beatles, The Rolling Stones, The Who, Pink Floyd, Led Zeppelin – to name just a few) we have always had a love affair with creating and sharing good music.

This was depicted by one massive game of ‘name that tune’ which, hopefully, had many international viewers saying “I didn’t know that band/that song was British!” (but, in all likelihood, had just as many people saying “I’ve never heard of any of them”) The TV clips that accompanied this musical montage were pretty obscure so, if you are reading this outside of the UK and you recognised any of them – give yourself a pat on the back.

Enter the Olympians.

Everything up until this point has been window-dressing – entertaining and well executed window-dressing, but window-dressing none the less. The real reason we have gathered here is to find out which of the planet’s greatest athletes will claim the ultimate accolade and become an Olympic champion. And for that we need to introduce the athletes.

In past games, I have messed up the timing and tuned in late – missing ‘the fun bit’ and switching on just as the announcer says “We welcome Greece into the stadium” (Traditionally, the Greeks lead the procession into the stadium – being the spiritual inventors of the Olympics).  This time around I had no such problem since 9pm actually meant 9pm. [Beijing being eight hours ahead, Athens just two ahead but Sydney being ten ahead and Atlanta being five behind. (I’m not even sure I’ve got that right – that’s how much international time-zones trip me up)]

This is an important part of the ceremony, commencing the ‘official’ part of the event which includes the oaths (which are very important) and the official opening of the games by the country’s premier (in this case our dear ol’ Queen)

Since this is largely the same from Olympiad to Olympiad, I’m struggling to find something new to say about ‘our take’ on this section. The only thing worth noting is the curious appearance of a collection of copper ‘petals’ which accompanied each nation’s flag as they entered the stadium (more on those later).

Light that bad boy up!

So after a brief interlude which included a performance from The Artic Monkeys  (so there you go northerners – you were included) and the aforementioned oaths and speeches. We come to what for many is the crowning moment of any Olympic ceremony – the arrival of the torch.

Having travelled all the way from Athens, all the way around the nation and even making a cameo appearance on Eastenders –  the Olympic flame finally arrived in the stadium via speed boat ‘piloted’ by David Beckham, up the Thames and into the hands of Sir Steven Redgrave.

As with previous games, speculation had been rife as to who would be the one to light the cauldron and start the games (even though The Queen had already officially done that by that point – but you know what I mean). As the winner of gold medals in five consecutive games and, legitimately, one of our greatest Olympians – Redgrave was many people’s pick for the honour of the task.

My pick? Daley Thompson. My reasoning being that, if the Olympics is the crown of all sporting achievement then the winner of the decathlon must be the jewel in the very centre because of having to master multiple disciplines. Alas, both me and the rest who placed their bets were delightfully wrong.

Instead of doing the traditional thing of giving the honour of taking the torch around the stadium to our best sporting legends and veterans – we decided to give that honour to a collection of up-and-coming future stars, nominated by our veterans (including Steve Redgrave, Daley Thompson and Dame Kelly Holmes – who was also highly tipped). Thus passing the torch in the most literal fashion possible.

So who of this group of youngsters would be the one to light the cauldron? Well, again against the odds, all of them! How? Well, thanks to the unique construction of the cauldron. Remember those ‘petals’? Well each of those were attached to the end of a long stem and then each of them were ignited by the torches into a vast ‘flower’ of fire. Then the stems drew together forming the cauldron.

IT. WAS. AMAZING!

By far, my favourite part of the whole thing and, once again, thanks largely to the symbolism of the thing. Just as the rings drew together from ‘the four corners’ – the cauldron was carried in, piece by piece, by each nation right under our noses – and we never even realised. As before, the message being that, it is only with the participation of everyone that the games are possible in the first place – echoing a common thread throughout : “This is for Everyone!”

After this, Sir Paul McCartney – our Macca – rounded things off with a rendition of his fan favourite “Hey Jude” (so there you go northerners – you were included). Despite the fact that I’m not a massive fan of this song (all those na-na-na’s start to grate after a while) this was the right choice to put the final full-stop on the event. Its inclusive and everyone (else) likes it.

It does raise one question for me: Where were Muse? This is not just a random preponderance – they did write the official theme for the games – “Survival.” As a band that is consistently voted as one of the best live bands of all time, you would have thought their inclusion would have been a no-brainer. [Perhaps they are saving them for the closing ceremony.]

Let the Games Begin!

Like I said before, the opening ceremony is really only window-dressing and is always much more important to the host nation than it is to the others watching around the world (who are only really waiting to see their team take their place in the procession)

Having said that, I would struggle to call our take on the opening ceremony anything other than a complete success. Uniquely British, yet internationally accessible. Traditional and spectacular, yet risk-taking and humorous.

Something to be proud of for sure and a good measuring stick for the planners of  the next one in Rio [three hours behind.]

Pre-Olympic Pessimism.

As a Brit, I feel it would be churlish of me not to address one of the biggest parties on the planet which, you may have noticed, has just kicked off in my back garden. But before I get to the spectacle that was the London 2012 opening ceremony, there is a little bit of business to get through first…

Since it was announced on the sixth of July 2005, some of my fellow countrymen have viewed the games as nothing but a pain in the tailpipe. [Some dickheads who thought it was a good idea to throw bombs around the capital the day after it was announced didn’t really help matters either.]

Now while I can sympathise that hearing about the games, more or less, non-stop for the past seven years did start to wear a little thin – particularly after Boris accepted the flag at Beijing’s 2008 closing ceremony [although we did get a few Boris-isms out of it, including the legendary whiff-whaff speech].

Yes, it did wear a bit thin hearing about it every five minutes (particularly for us in the south-east who are close enough for developments to feature in our local news – but not close enough for that news to affect us directly.) and anticipation for the games to start soon wore into frustration to get the preamble over with. To use a particularly English phrase – they over egged the pudding.

Another aspect that seemed to stick in peoples guts was the issue of the cost of the thing. Again, I can’t really provide a solid argument against that – Olympic games don’t come cheap. But the people who seemed the most irate over this topic seemed to believe the politicians when they said that hosting the games would generate a shit-tonne of revenue and dig us out of this current financial crisis. Well – they lied (or more charitably, they got it wrong). What self-respecting Brit believes anything that any politician has ever said ever? Growing up in this country, you soon learn that all politicians (regardless of party lines) promises Olympus and delivers Snowdon (no disrespect to the Welsh.)

Yet another thing that got people hot under the collar, was the cataloge of various administrative errors that popped up from time to time – primarily those surrounding ticket allocation. Its perfectly fine to be annoyed by that – it was pretty much a debacle. What’s less understandable are the people who were surprised by this. Again, I refer you to the paragraph above. Administrative cock-ups are what we do best. Nothing – from the trains to the banks to the taxation system – works how it is supposed to. Its all bodged together with gaffa tape and Tip-Ex,  held in place by frustrated watch-glances and red tape and prodded along by angry letters (and blog posts).

Again, growing up in this country, you learn to except, and even accommodate, these foul-ups and inefficiencies with the wry humour that we are known for across the world stage (and that I, for one, am especially proud of). Of course things went wrong – it was even the basis for BBC comedy Twenty-Twelve [and even Al Murray was saying “it’s gunna be a bit shit” back in 2009.]

But there is one thing that we don’t make a mess of – and that is the big show on the grand stage. Whether it be mega-concerts such as Live Aid/Eight/Earth/Kettle/Fish and the yearly festivals like Glastonbury or the Edinburgh festival; or the pomp and ceremony that come with royal weddings or occasions like the Jubilee celebrations – we always deliver in our own (somewhat understated) way. Or even when it comes to sport – we have hosted Commonwealth games and world championships before and, practically every weekend, we manage multiple stadia worth of people with little to no trouble (at least in modern times). Its one of those things that, because it happens every week, we don’t really think about and we let our natural, inherent pessimism persuade us that its all going to be a disaster and its best to distance ourselves from the whole thing. I think this is one of the key things keeping people from embracing the games – they don’t want to look foolish and they do want to be able to say “I told you so.”

The final group of people who seem embittered over the games are the northerners who don’t feel included in the games. If they gave out medals for being caustic and stroppy then, not only would they win, but our friends in the north would probably be too indignant to show up to collect it. If only we had some kind of torch relay or something that went the length and breadth of the country so they could feel included? [Also, you can’t be arsed to drive down the M1 but you’ll all pile onto a plane to Magaluf for two weeks no problem]

Some Londoners were also annoyed – but then Londoners are always annoyed at something (and I come from a family of ’em so I’m allowed to say that.)

The point is that, for all of the above reasons and more, people have had a downer on the games and I think that’s a shame. The fact is, I’ll be long in my box before The Olympics come to my home nation again (not least to a city with which I have strong familiar ties) or, at the very least, on my rocker detailing with rose-tinted accuracy just how marvellous the tele-commnication age was and why Twitter should never have gone out of fashion. The term “once in a lifetime” is chucked about a lot these days – we’re about two short steps away from the ad men using it on us to sell chocolate bars – but The Olympics is one of those rare occasions when it is true.

So now that the countdown is over, its been paid for (or at least, the money has been spent – in either case, we’re not getting it back) and we have somehow negotiated the logistical minefield of organising the thing – the only thing left to do is enjoy it! And if you can’t get into the spirit of things and enjoy it – even from the comfort of your own living room – then you really should spend the next couple of weeks trying to crack inter-stellar space travel because this race is not for you.

[I did intend on talking about the actual opening ceremony itself – which I just watched – but it seems I filled this post up with negativity. So next time [sometime over the weekend] I expect I should probably go over that because I feel that it would have done a lot to dispel much of the apathetic feeling outlined above.]

The Final Piece (Delayed)

Reasons and Excuses.

Okay, so the final happened a week ago – its old news by now right? Well yes, but I had absolutely no chance to write-up the result last week – and for good reason. That thing I have been mentioning over the past few weeks – that curious sign off I’ve been using at the end of my last few posts, warning of a breakdown in punctuality – well that thing happened. Namely, I moved house! Which ment, coincidently, that I watched the Bronze Final in my old [much shitter] house and the final in my new one [on a TV with crappy reception].

So, why am I bothering with this post over a week late – when anyone who would care to read it has already gotten over the excitement of the world cup? Well that is simple – firstly I couldn’t bear the thought of leaving it unfinished [there has been far too much of that on this blog already] and secondly, when I come to read these posts back in four months time, It’ll really bug me if it doesn’t have a final part.

So, for no one elses’ satisfaction but my own – here is a very brief outline of what happened…

The Bronze Final – Wales vs Australia.

Like I said, this game happened the day before I moved and so I was slightly distracted while watching it. Shame really because I have been lending my support to our Welsh friends from the start and I would dearly have liked to give their final game a full and proper write-up. Unfortunately, all I remember is Australia showing up with something to prove and taking the game in hand for 80 minutes.

I do, however, remember the last few minutes of the game – which provided the perfect example of why Wales are one of my favorite teams. Let me paint the picture – the game is all but over, the clock has turned red and the next time the ball goes dead or is put out of play the whistle will blow for full-time – the score board reads 11 to Australia’s 21. There is nothing the Welsh can do to win the game – so what do they do?… Well, dig down deep and score one of the hardest earned tries of the tournament, that’s what. And that is why Wales are one of the best teams ion the world and, after their performance throughout the cup, will surly now be counted as such.

Well done Wales – See you in February at Twickenham!

Final Result: Wales 18 – Australia 21

The Final – France vs New Zealand.

And so it came to pass that North took on South as France attempted to avenge their 37-17 defeat from all the way back in the pool stages while the hosts silently dreamed of a grand slam finish. It also came to pass that I watched the match through a snowstorm having not unpacked a good enough ariel for my TV. I actually missed most of the first half trying to get a reception that didn’t make it look like there were sixty men on the field.

Anyway, as for the match itself. I quite enjoyed France fronting up to the Haka. I’ve always wondered what you are supposed to do when you are opposite the New Zealand squad when they are engaged in their ceremonial opening to the game. Essentially – as is my understanding – the Haka is a way of laying down the gauntlet, an effort to intimidate your opponents while unifying your own team [and, clearly, it works]. France answered this challenge, admittedly in a less theatrical manner, by linking arms and slowly advancing to the halfway line. They didn’t interfere with the New Zealand tradition [after all, they did want to be able to leave the stadium in one piece] but at the same time they showed that they were not going to be intimidated by it either. An impressive display.

Unfortunately, that was about it for impressive displays, as the game turned out to be quite scrappy and surprisingly low scoring [just 15 points in total.] Given what was at stake it is understandable that the game turned into a turf war – and I don’t want to give the impression that it was not an enjoyable game – it’s only that, if you are looking for a clinic in how to play good, professional rugby, then the final is not the place to find it.

And so, to the score… I have been quite mean to France over the course of these posts – and it is still my opinion that there were more ‘worthy’ teams who could have taken their spot in the final [but then again those teams didn’t win their games and so didn’t get there] However, to lose out on the trophy for the sake of one point – I wouldn’t wish that heartache on anyone [although that is exactly what they did to Wales in order to make the final, but still].

As for New Zealand, well they have proved themselves more than worthy to hold the mantle of champion and I think that it would be very difficult to argue otherwise. Taking the grand slam and, in most cases, winning their games comfortably with clear daylight shinning between the scoreboards – The All Blacks just took an attitude that seemed to say that defeat was impossible. You have to respect that and my congratulations go out to all those who now have a shiny gold medal in their trophy case and also to their fans and countrymen who kept the train moving – you guys throw a hell of a world cup!

Final Result: France 7 – New Zealand 8
And that’s about it so…

Just for Fun – Let’s see how the 20 Nations Stack Up had the pool stage scoring system been applied to the knockouts.

Place (Previous Place) – Team (Pool) – Points (Finished) – (Win-Draw-Lost) – [For/Against] – Difference

1st (1st) New Zealand (A) 32pts (Champions) – (7/0/0) – [301/72] +229

2nd (6th) Australia (C) 23pts (Bronze) – (5/0/2) – [211/95] +116

3rd (5th) Wales (D) 21pts (Forth Place) – (4/0/3) – [228/74] +154

4th (8th) France (A) 20pts (Silver) – (4/0/3) – [159/124] +35

5th (2nd) South Africa (D) 19pts (Quarter) – (4/0/1) – [175/35] +140

6th (3rd) England (B) 19pts (Quarter) – (4/0/1) – [149/53] +96

7th (4th) Ireland (C) 17pts (Quarter) – (4/0/1) – [145/56] +89

8th (7th) Argentina (B) 14pts (Quarter) – (3/0/2) – [100/73] +27

9th (9th) Scotland (B) 11pts – (2/0/2) – [73/59] +14

10th (10th) Samoa (D) 10pts – (2/0/2) – [91/49] +42

11th (11th) Italy (C) 10pts – (2/0/2) – [91/95] -3

12th (12th) Tonga (A) 9pts – (2/0/2) – [80/98] -18

13th (13th) Canada (A) 6pts – (1/1/3) – [82/168] -86

14th (14th) Fiji (D) 5pts – (1/0/3) – [59/167] -108

15th (15th) Georgia (B) 4pts – (1/0/3) – [48/90] -42

16th (16th) USA (C) 4pts – (1/0/3) – [38/122] -84

17th (17th) Japan (A) 2pts – (0/1/3) – [69/184] -115

18th (18th) Russia (C) 1pt – (0/0/4) – [57/196] -139

19th (19th) Romania (B) 0pts – (0/0/4) – [44/169] -125

20th (20th) Namibia (D) 0pts – (0/0/4) – [44/266] -222

And so… what have we learned?

Well, I have learned that WordPress people are not in the slightest bit interested in my opinions on the rugby world cup. That’s fine by me, like I have said before, I only use this blog to post up things that I am interested in so that I can find them later if I want to i.e. I now have the results to all the pertinent games in a nice convenient location. If other people find my ramblings interesting then great – if not [as in this case] then that’s fine by me too. But now I’m going to have to think of something else to write about…

And that’s about it.

For another four years anyway. The next World Cup will be held in 2015 and will be hosted by England and Wales. Will we be able to do what the All Blacks did and lift the title in front of a home crowd? There’s only one way to find out…

Let The Banter Conclude – It’s all over now 😦

Insert Joke About Having A Semi Here…

Setting The Table.

So by now we know what our final is going to be for the rugby world cup 2011, but just for fun – y’know, if you fancy it – lets have a little look at how we got there…

Wales vs France.

Having failed to satisfy their critics in the game prior [which I would rather not talk about], pundits were still making a massive deal over France’s shaky progression through the tournament. Wales on the other hand looked practically unstoppable.

As the opening minutes ticked by, this seemed a fair enough assessment as the Welsh dug down in to the match from the outset. Then Wales were to be dealt two stiff blows that would put them on their heals. The First came in the shape of Adam Jones having to leave the field early due to an injury. The second would be a refereeing decision that would be one of the most controversial moments of the championship.

It all came about when Welsh captain Sam Warburton made a tackle on Vincent Clerc which lifted him off the ground. Admittedly, to the letter of the law, this is a dangerous tackle and the responsibility is on the attacking player to return the man safely to the ground. This is a perfectly sensible law, designed to prevent injury – so it’s right that Warburton be penalised. When referee Alain Rolland reached into his pocket and pulled out a red, well, everyone was shocked. Red cards in rugby are relatively rare [only sixteen have been shown to date in world cup matches] – to the point that I was starting to believe that you had to walk over and punch someone in the face without provocation in order to get one [in fact, you quite often see little scuffles going on which hardly ever get penalised.] Regardless whether it was fair or not, it is left to the referees discretion as to whether or not Warburton returned Clerc to the ground safely or not, and he obviously felt it was dangerous enough to warrant a dismissal.

So, with an hour left to play, Wales had two of their key players on the bench and a man short to withstand the French attack. Then the scoreboard started to turn against them aswell despite valiant efforts to reassert their opening momentum. It is the scoreboard that counts however, and at halftime it told that Wales trailed by three points.

As the second half progressed, the territory battles continued, with Wales refusing to acknowledge that being a man down was some kind of disadvantage. I said at the outset of the tournament that Wales are one of my favorite teams to watch, and situations like this are the reason why – If England were in this position you would see their heads start to go down a bit and they would likely play the game on the back foot [if it happened to France, in their current form, they would be devastated and would probably fall apart] – Wales, by contrast, just dug in, stayed focused and tried to make plays that would put points on the board [as well as keeping a tight defence]. This patience and persistence eventually paid off as Mike Phillips broke through to take the only try of the game. The missed conversion left Wales still needing three points for the win – not an impossible challenge with a fair portion of the clock left.

Sadly, it was not to be, as Welsh attempts to kick their way into the final fell short – literally in the case of Leigh Halfpenny’s last-minute penalty from halfway line. The full-time whistle set in stone the heartbreaking truth that Wales were not going to the final, having lost by only one point.

You’ll notice that I haven’t mention France (the actual victors of the match) all that much in this note. Well there is a reason for that – there is not much to say. France had all the advantages in that match (a man up, an early – if not comfortable – lead) yet they only managed to win by a single point. A good portion of that result can be put down to Welsh valence but you cant help but think that a greater side (dare I say a side more worthy of their place in the final) would have punished them and put clear daylight between the scorelines. [At least Welsh fans only have to wait until the next Six Nations for their chance at vengeance – and France have a lot of grief coming their way.]

Final Result: Wales 8 – France 9

Australia vs New Zealand.

A perfectly credible final in its own right, the key words through out this match were intensity and pressure. The two players bearing the burden of this were New Zealand’s Piri Weepu [who had a hell of a week] and Australia’s (but New Zealand born) Quade Cooper [who was fast becoming dubbed ‘Public Enemy No. 1’] He whoever withstood these intense pressures would be the one to win the day.

Well it wasnt Cooper, that’s for sure. Almost everything he touched he stumbled or fluffed – I take no pleasure in saying that, it’s just what I saw. Weepu, after a jittery start that saw him miss a couple of chances to kick some points, eventually settled in – along with the rest of his side. New Zealand’s hard work was paid off in the end in the shape of a try for Ma’a Nonu.

Elsewhere on the field, the game soon became one not for the squeamish. A physical game was always on the cards for this one (as is the case with most long-term rivalries) and it wasn’t long before the claret started flowing. Some would argue that this reveals an uglier side to the game and fords the line between physicality and violence. And, if it’s left unchecked, that is a perfectly valid argument. In this kind of game, in a rivalry such as this (and we [England] share a similar rivalry with the Scots) a certain level of physicality is to be expected. In fact, the rivalry almost justifies it as both teams silently agree that, because of the status of the match, you must push that little bit harder, tackle that little bit stronger, scrap the ball out that little bit more ferociously. With this unspoken mutual agreement in place (for now and ever more), along with the understanding that those things are to be confined to the eighty minutes play and left on the field at the conclusion, both teams are freed to attempt some more aggressive plays. That is why it was quite a rough game, but I saw no evidence of violence or that the sacred, unspoken oath had been broken.

In the end it was New Zealand who showed just that little bit more class and composure under pressure. The All Black attack that resulted in Aaron Cruden’s drop goal was a clinic in how to play the game. [A lesson made all the more painful by the fact that this was exactly the kind of move the Welsh needed to make in order to put themselves through]. A convincing and hard fought victory for the All Blacks which puts them to the final with seemingly unstoppable momentum. [At least Aussie fans only have to wait until the next Tri-Nations for their chance at vengeance – and that will be a game – well it’ll be much like this one only with its own surprises.]

Final Result: Australia 6 – New Zealand 20

And so… we know where it all leads…

Well, to the Grand Final of course… where we finally bridge the north/south divide. Also, it gives us the Bronze final to determine third place.

21st October – Bronze Final – Wales vs Australia – 08:30 BST

Ahh, the Bronze playoff – where crushing disappointment meets one gilded chance of redemption. It’s like getting a lollipop after having a physical – you feel a little better but you still ache like hell. This game, for me, as all about whether or not Wales has the stamina to prove themselves the new world force in rugby by defeating the battle tested and always dangerous Wallabies. Should be a good game – and it’ll be nice to see Wales play with a full team.

23rd October – THE Final – France vs New Zealand – 09:00 BST

It ends tonight! Well, this morning, but you know what I mean. Last week I posed the question:

So does that mean that a little humility actually drives a team to perform better, as though tasting defeat sours your appetite for it?

With this match, we find out. France, who are probably not the team you would have picked out of the qualifying eight having dropped two games, take on New Zealand who are on route for the grand slam. I know I said that I would begrudgingly support France as the Northern side but that was before they knocked us out and limped their way into the final – now I just can’t bring myself to. I would rather see New Zealand take the grand slam and become home town heroes than support the French. Plus also, I don’t think the French can do it. I just have this feeling that the All Blacks are going to steamroll their way to the top of the podium.

But, if this tournament has proven nothing else, it is that you can never say never.

And that’s about it.

That ties things up for this, my penultimate post on the rugby world cup (so I’m going to have to think of something else to talk about). This time next week I’ll be able to tell you how it turned out – Who won, who lost and most importantly who gets to call themselves World Champion for the next four years. See you then, and enjoy the final.

Let The Banter Conclude – It’s all about bragging rights now!

Second… It’s the New First.

The Point of No Return.

The knockout stages – no more extra lives, no more free chances – it’s a battle for survival, do or die. As it has always been, it comes down to one day, one game – and if you do not perform when the time comes then you and your teammates are on your way home. And that is exactly what happened to four of our eight remaining teams – so let’s see who is left…

England vs France.

Prior to the game, pundits had made a massive deal over France’s shaky progression into the quarter finals [indeed, of the eight qualifiers, France had the worst record with two wins and two losses] but there was little to no evidence of this come match time.

Within minutes of the opening whistle France were picking up points and their lead steadily increased over the first half, leaving a disorganised England to try to play catch up. This recovery never really occurred however as England returned to the dressing room at halftime yet to score.

One possible explanation for this (or at least the conclusion I have been drawn to) is that the England side seemed too unsettled, the team selection seeming to be too experimental with many players fielded out of their normal positions. The clearest example of this was the decision to start both Johnny Wilkinson and Toby Flood at the same time. Now I’m not about to jump on the “let’s blame Martian Johnson for everything” bandwagon, but clearly some questions should be asked.

Moving into the second half, which saw the French advance their lead further despite some poor kicking which prevented them from sealing the game totally. England eventually managed to get a score on the board, courtesy of a converted try, which allowed England fans to believe that, despite all evidence to the contrary, We could do it.

With Flood moved over to number 10 (along with a few other rearrangements and substitutions) England started to look more like their old self and play a little better – resulting in one of the oddest tries I have seen in a good long while from Mark Cueto [it went this way, it went that way and then it finally went down].

In the end it was all too little, too late; as France – who had been in the driver’s seat since the match started – took the victory. As an England fan, I am obviously disappointed that we are out of the tournament but it hard to be bitter about it. On balance, based on their performance on Saturday, and coupled with their wavering performance against Scotland the week previous, you have to say [painful though it may be] we deserved our ticket home. The other teams simply played better than us and we will have to wait another four years before we can prove otherwise. [At least English fans only have to wait until the next Six Nations for their chance at vengeance – and that is a game I will undoubtedly get the jitters over.]

Final Result: England 12 – France 19

In Other News.

I only managed to see highlights of the other quarter finals (y’know with the whole “six o’clock in the morning issue”) but I did manage to see enough to know that the remaining matches should prove to be absolute belters. Here is a quick round-up…

Ireland took on Wales in the opening quarter-final and my lingering impression was “damn, I watched the wrong match”. Compared to the stogey, error-laden performance described above, this game seemed to be a more back-and-forth, attack the gainline sort of match (then again, this was highlights, so they all kind of look like that) In the end, it was the Welsh who took the game, racking up a twelve point lead that Ireland just couldn’t level. [At least Irish fans only have to wait until the next Six Nations for their chance at vengeance – and that is a game I will probably watch.]

Final Result: Ireland 10 – Wales 22

Sunday saw the southern hemisphere teams take to the field, starting with South Africa vs Australia. First thoughts, and this applies to New Zealand and Argentina aswell, I’m almost glad that we got knocked out when we did because any one of these sides could have really embarrassed us (of course, I’m not glad that we got knocked out – that would be a stupid thing to say – I still would have preferred to have a crack at them). As for this game, it was a close run thing, with a very low scoreline (20 points in total) – but then it was always going to be that or an absolute torrent of tries. In the end it was Australia who edged it, sending the defending champions on their way.

Final Result: South Africa 9 – Australia 11

Lastly, it was the hosts New Zealand taking on Argentina. Once again, highlights preclude me from making any in-depth comment on the game, but one thing is of note: New Zealand ended up winning the match by quite a reasonable margin, however, that margin would have been significantly bigger had it not been for the Argentinians relentless work in defence. Even though we have to say farewell to them for this tournament, I feel that they might have just done enough to turn the longstanding rumour that they are to join Australia, New Zealand and South Africa to form the Four Nations (not to be confused with the Four Nations) into a fact.

Final Result: New Zealand 33 – Argentina 10

And so… where does it all lead?

Well, to the Semi Finals of course… where we still can’t bridge the north/south divide. Also, it puts us in the middle of a very strange quandary when you regard how we got here. Of the four teams left, only one [New Zealand] took the so-called “easy road” to the semi’s, the other three (Wales, France & Australia) all qualified second in their pool, picking up at least one loss along the way. So does that mean that a little humility actually drives a team to perform better, as though tasting defeat sours your appetite for it? Well, there is only one real way to find out:

15th October – Wales vs France – 09:00 BST

Had we managed to get the job done this weekend it would be us staring down the barrel of a determined Welsh side. As it happens however, it’s France. I have supported Wales as my second team (if you can allow such a thing) from the outset and now, with my beloved England in the knackers yard, I would dearly love to see the Welsh lift the trophy. Not only because they are playing France and they beat us (and they are one of our oldest rivals, and they are French), not only because they are the last British team left, not only because I would love to see a Northern Hemisphere side take the title (apart from us of course) but because I think they deserve it. What’s more – I think they can do it. So, even though we will never hear the end of it if they do win, I fully intend to support our neighbours to the west and hope they can get one step closer to their dream.

16th October – Australia vs New Zealand – 09:00 BST

# “That’s when good neighbours become… bitter rivals.#

One of the best known rivalries in Rugby – both are former champions and both have something to prove. New Zealand, aside from being the hosts and wanting to fulfill the dream of winning at home (the dream we shattered for Australia back in 2003 – but I digress to make myself feel better) The All Blacks are the only team left who are capable of performing a grand slam (winning all seven games). The Wallabies on the other hand have a different dream, one to become the first team to lift the trophy three times and enter the record books. Only one can do it, someone has to go home heartbroken. Thankfully, whoever that happens to be, won’t have far to go to get home will they.

And that’s about it.

Again, this is kind of two posts rolled into one, but – like I said that I said – there are things going on and I’m still not sure if I would have time before the weekend to do it. Hopefully, I will be able to post up the results without too much delay but in case I don’t – Enjoy the rugby, again!

Let The Banter Resume – Who cares, we’re out now anyway!

No Quarter Given

Rounding off the pool stages.

So that’s it! The results are in, the final whistles blown, spelling heartbreak for some and lending confidence to others. As eight nations march on into the quarter finals – twelve are left behind to take that lonly flight home. And here is how it happened…

The Main Event – England vs Scotland.

I highlighed eairlier the focus and pressures being thrown down on this match – and, at the openening whistle, not only had these been brought to the feild but also it seemed that they had brought the weather with them too. Under a stiff breeze and a chourus of singing from the respective armies of fanatics, it really could have been a showdown at Murrayfield or Twickenham.

As for the game itself, well… Early in the first half, Scotland put England on the back foot and we never really got a hold on it after. To thier credit, Scotland didn’t allow England to gather any momentum, bombarding us with quick paced and creative play which left us looking stodgy and reluctent to engadge the Scottish defence. With a few too many errors and a stern referee (English disapiline has been an issue for a number of years now) things were looking bleak unless we could find a way to get our shoulder behind the game.

Liturally minutes into the second half, and after an unimpressive first half, Johnny Wilkinson put one between the uprights to close the gap. Just as the “Wilko vs Flood” debate was about to rear its head again, Johnny proved his worth – but in terms of consistancy and accumalative performance, I beleive that particular debate has still got some legs and will likley crop up again before the championship is finished.

The game continued back and forth, with Scotland desperatly trying to break the crucial 8 point difference (which would earn them the bonus point they need to progress). They reained calm under mounting pressure and continued to search out gaps and gain territory but then… three minutes from fulltime, England enact (in my opinion) thier only good fluid play of the match – which resulted in the Ashton’s try that broke Scottish hearts.

I have to admit (as an unflinching England supporter) the Scottish defeat at Eden Park was undeserved, they did look to be the better side, but by the same token they couldn’t get the job done in terms of getting the ball over the line. I spoke previously about how much pride each nation brings to an encounter such as this, and it is my opinion that The Scots can leave the tornament with that pride intact (although that dosn’t lessen the sting of an early exit) England however, leave the feild once again with serious questions to answer. [At least Scottish fans only have to wait until the next Six Nations for thier chance at vengence – and that is a game I will look forward to seeing.]

Final Result: England 16 – Scotland 12

In Other News.

Both of the other “home nations” (and also France) progressed into the Quarters. I didn’t see either game but here are the results. Ireland topped thier pool after beating fellow Six Nation team Italy by 36 points to 6. With four wins from four – Ireland have proved themselves real contenders for the trophy. The Welsh managed to come through as runners up (loosing out on the top spot to South Africa – which is fair enough) after massacring Fiji 66 – 0. Wales are still one of my favorites, not necesserily to lift the title (though I wouldn’t rule it out) but just to watch and enjoy.

Just for Fun – Let’s see how the 20 Nations Stack Up after the Pools.

Place – Team (Pool) – Points (Qualified) – (Win-Draw-Lost) – [For/Against] – Difference

1st New Zealand (A) 20pts (Q) – (4/0/0) – [240/49] +191

2nd South Africa (D) 18pts (Q) – (4/0/0) – [166/24] +142

3rd England (B) 18pts (Q) – (4/0/0) – [137/34] +103

4th Ireland (C) 17pts (Q) – (4/0/0) – [135/34] +101

5th Wales (D) 15pts (Q) – (3/0/1) – [180/34] +146

6th Australia (C) 15pts (Q) – (3/0/1) – [173/48] +125

7th Argentina (B) 14pts (Q) – (3/0/1) – [90/40] +50

8th France (A) 11pts (Q) – (2/0/2) – [124/96] +28

9th Scotland (B) 11pts – (2/0/2) – [73/59] +14

10th Samoa (D) 10pts – (2/0/2) – [91/49] +42

11th Italy (C) 10pts – (2/0/2) – [91/95] -3

12th Tonga (A) 9pts – (2/0/2) – [80/98] -18

13th Canada (A) 6pts – (1/1/3) – [82/168] -86

14th Fiji (D) 5pts – (1/0/3) – [59/167] -108

15th Georgia (B) 4pts – (1/0/3) – [48/90] -42

16th USA (C) 4pts – (1/0/3) – [38/122] -84

17th Japan (A) 2pts – (0/1/3) – [69/184] -115

18th Russia (C) 1pt – (0/0/4) – [57/196] -139

19th Romania (B) 0pts – (0/0/4) – [44/169] -125

20th Namibia (D) 0pts – (0/0/4) – [44/266] -222

And so… where does it all lead?

Well, to the Quarter Finals of course… and I gotta say, a very interesting round of matches it will be. It will inevitably become dubbed the “Six Nations vs Tri Nations (plus Argentina)” but each match individualy taps into a deeper rivalry:

8th October – Ireland vs Wales – 06:00 BST

A clash of The Celts and a popular fixture on the Six Nations calender. But this is not the Six Nations – this is do-or-die, single elimination knockout – which means, no matter what happens, one of the teams I’ve been following will be coming home (but at least in means that one of “us” made the Semis)

8th October – England vs France – 08:30 BST

As if having to see off the Auld Enemy wasn’t bad enough, England will have to meet another of our strongest rivals in France. It’s as if the Auld Alliance has been resurected to threaten the  Entente Cordiale [these vaugly historical references doing anything for ya?] Anyway, niether side have progressed to this stage without controversy, so I feel both have something to prove on Saturday. (I always get jittery when we play France)

9th October – South Africa vs Australia – 6:00BST

Two union heavyweights face off in a match that is guaranteed to capture the attention of rugby fans across the globe. I’m sure the smart money will go on South Africa who had a slightly stronger showing in the pool stages but then again this is Australia and knockouts always change the complextion of the game. It is also worth pointing out that, of the six previous tornaments, Australia and South Africa are tied at two championships each [South Africa 2007 & 1995, Australia 1999 & 1991] This one is well worth getting up for.

9th October – New Zealand vs Argentina – 08:30 BST

Okay, so this one is less of a long standing rivalry, but thats exactly what makes it interesting. Argentina have been making steady improvement through the years, reaching the Semi-finals in the previous cup, and can be viewed as the “upstarts” of the tornament. New Zealand, on the other hand, are considered one of the longstanding cornerstones of the international game. So the question becomes, can the “underdog” Argentina pull off the upset and dump the hosts (and strong favorites) out at this comparativly early stage?

And that’s about it.

This is kind of two posts rolled into one, but – like I said – there are thing going on and I wasn’t sure if I would have time before the weekend to do it. Hopefully, I will be able to post up the results without too much delay but in case I don’t – Enjoy the rugby!

Let The Banter Conclude – This Just Got Serious.

The Rugby World Cup Rolls on into the Last Pool Matches.

…Paved with good intentions.

It was my intention to provide a brief yet comprehensive guide/report following the Rugby World Cup 2011 which plotted the campaigns of the “home” nations (England, Ireland, Scotland, Wales and possibly France if too many of the other got knocked out). My reason for this, as with most of the posts on this blog, was for my own amusement and reference. This, as a quick scroll through the past few posts will show, hasn’t happened. There are a couple of reasons for this:

i) The whole it being on the other side of the planet issue, which has resulted in most of the games being shown at breakfast time, has ment that I haven’t seen as much of the tournament as I would have liked. It was always going to be a challenge to keep track with the pool stages under these conditions – drinking tea and eating toast when I would prefer to watch my rugby with a pie and a pint. Even so, once we move into the quarter finals (which start next week) it should be a lot easier to follow.

ii) Real life started writing the plot. Basically, without going into boring and inane details, I’ve had some shit to deal with at home which has ment that blogging has slipped way down the list of priorities of things that need to be done. In short, sometimes real life has to take presidente over me being a dickhead on the internet. I like to keep this space as light-hearted as possible, an escape hatch of sorts, a haven from a heavy-handed reality, a portal leading on to each and any random corner of this our internet. If I feel that it is threatened by a tumultuous torrent of tiradeing tragedy and troublesome trivialities; then I would rather not write anything at all [which is why sometimes there are large gaps between posts – but sometimes it’s just laziness].

Despite these two reasons, I just could not let this pass unremarked….

The Big Match.

Saturday 1st October 2011 (tommorrow) – the day has finally arrived…

England vs Scotland – Eden Park, Auckland – 08:30 BST

This was my most antisipated match of the pool stages. You can keep your New Zealand vs France, South Africa vs Wales and even the USA vs Russia – this is the match I want. Scotland and England are both proud rivals with a rich history in Rugby Union as well as in many other areas of life living together on this isle.  All that aside however, this match really has come down to a crunch.

As it stands, we (England) are sitting on top of the group with 14pts. Argentina and Scotland are locked together at second and third both with 10 pts. Georgia cannot qualify with only 4pts (but a win over Argentina on Sunday could cause upset in the top two) and poor old Romania are on their way home having failed to raise a single point.

The closeness in scores means that it really will come down to the final two games of the pool. If we win then we will finish out the group on top with a minimum of 18 pts putting out of the reach of the others – Scottish fans however will be chewing their nails and hoping Georgia can overcome Argentina allowing them to pass through at second place. If however, Scotland hammer us and take the point bonus for scoring four or more tries, they will finish on 15pts and we would be either tied at the top or (if they really stuff us) stuck in second, biting our nails, cheering on Georgia.

So its all still to play for, both sides are well versed at dealing with this kind of pressure, both teams know the ploys and skills of their counterparts, both nations know the demands and expectations that hang on this fixture – the time has come to blow the whistle and decide it the way it should be: on the field.

Let the Banter continue!