I’ve got a confession to make; I’ve never been a fan of the Paralympics or disability sport in general.
Last night, George Galloway gave me, as a disabled woman, yet another unpleasant surprise.
I’m a sports nut. Whatever the sport, I can pretty much learn to get it, and fast.
The Olympics opened with the idea that, in Great Britain, it’s ordinary people who change society. From the moment that Danny Boyle’s opening ceremony filled the stadium with over 7,500 amateur actors, it was obvious that this was a very different Olympics.
As the Olympic flame fades, and the thrill of a new football season begins to engross us, the concern is that we may slip once more into an acceptance that footballers can do pretty much as they wish.
In my opinion, the last gold medal goes to Auntie Beeb for 16 days of faultless Olympic games coverage that sees the BBC reaching the very pinnacle of media broadcasting quality, while effortlessly handling record viewing figures.
Since the dawn of the millennium, we’ve seen reality television spread like wildfire. Fortunately, these last two weeks have seen a different kind of role model come to the forefront of national media. That of Olympic athletes.
To Neymar, Thiago Silva, and the rest of Brazil`s crestfallen Olympians, the silver medals doled out after defeat by an admirable Mexico must have felt more like pewter. However, those decrying the state of the footballing nation, and baying for the head of coach Mano Menezes, might be jumping the gun.
Over-priced hats, fascistic exhortations to smile, an unpleasant incident involving a Mexican Wave and his son’s head, and a brief encounter with Sir Steve Redgrave – Mark Piggott wishes he’d stayed home
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