Without the hysteria-inducing presence of a World Cup, 2008 has been a year in which countless other major and minor sports have flourished. It has been a year of immense sporting achievement — thrills, excitements and real courage, with a series of ‘That Was the Best Ever…’ moments hurtling by, one after the other, like dominoes. I can’t think of a year like it. And the key to it all, the glory of great sport, is that you just didn’t have a clue what was going to happen from one minute to the next.
When Sean Connery was asked if anything made him cry, he replied ‘Athletics’. And you can understand why: the great man, like most of us, would have needed emergency supplies of the Extra-Strength this Olympic year. The weepiest moment for me came when the gigantic German weightlifter Matthias Steiner took gold in Beijing in the super-heavyweight class. As he stood on the podium, he clutched his gold medal in one hand, and a picture of his dead wife Susann in the other. She had been killed in a car crash the year before, and had been Steiner’s inspiration. Needless to say, he was weeping his heart out, as were all the audience, and everyone watching it at home.
And even with Hoy and Cooke and Romero, and the rowers, still the most sublimely thrilling sight of the Games, from an infinite number of memories, was the side camera’s tracking shot of Christine Ohuruogu ghosting up from fifth place to pass the American favourite and win the 400m. An inspirational girl, haunted by false claims she’s a drugs cheat, in person she’s delightful, funny and dedicated.
What a year. I thought nothing could beat the epic final of the US Open in Torrey Pines. Tiger Woods going head to head, stroke for stroke, with Rocco Mediate, a journeyman pro.
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