The BBC’s coverage of the Olympics is absolutely brilliant. Without doubt ‘the best in the world’. Because there’s no adverts. So even if the presentation was shit, which it isn’t, even if the production was poor, which it isn’t, the mere fact that you don’t get the 200 metres final interrupted to tell us about a new haemorrhoid medication, or the show-jumping cutting to an ad for tampons, the new Diet Coke, KFC’s latest ‘dead-bird-special’ or any other such annoyance, makes it totally unique. And every evening they have a ‘catch up’ on the day’s events. Of which there are always loads and loads and always across a fabulously diverse range of sports. So I call out to Mel “the Olympics is on, bring the tissues”.

And as the first woman crosses the finish line, or the first man jumps the highest, shoots the target, punches his opponent (or, topically, perhaps punches ‘her’ opponent), or rides round the velodrome, I start crying.

Its just fucking weird. I am unquestionably the most manly of testosterone-fuelled, macho, super-tough, heroic, ‘you wan’-some?? come on den!’, Nietzsche-esque ‘Superman’ geezer. And I barely cried at the end of ET. Hardly a sniffle when Bambi’s mum got shot, yet anyone on the Olympic podium reduces me to blubbering wreck. When they win the event it starts. In the interview afterwards it worsens.

Its not sadness. When Simone Biles fell off the beam I was dry-eyed. Mainly with shock because in her entire career she’s never once put one foot wrong. But I didn’t cry. But when Keely Hodgkinson won the 800 I was distraught. Mel was on the phone to my counsellor immediately but then they spoke to Keely in all her post-match emotion and adrenaline high and my sobbing reached a pitch whereby the counsellor couldn’t hear what Mel was saying.

And I know ‘the story’. Its always the same. “I’ve been working for this since I was 7. Possibly 9. Maybe 11. I’ve grown a lot as a person in the last year. I was mentally prepared. Its the most brilliant thing since the 1981 FA Cup Final.” Always the same, regardless of the sport.

Then they get on the podium and as soon as the National Anthem starts, I’m off again. It could be the result of 65 years a Spurs fan, so when anyone wins anything its upsetting. Or it could be just the sheer emotion which the Olympics generates. And it all seems to land on me. I have no idea why really. Nor do I care. Its an outpouring of… something?

Teary Tuesday

A xxxx