Day 1: British
organization, British cluelessness and French madness
We landed,
we collected our luggage, we commuted to our West London house for the week, we
dropped our bags, we travelled to our first Olympic venue, we had lunch in the
tube, we are there, we are at the Olympics.
The London
Excel centre in the Docklands is normally a conference house. During the
Olympic fortnight, it turned into the second biggest sports place behind the
main Olympic park. Judo, taekwondo, table tennis, boxing, fencing,
weightlifting and wrestling were happening there.
Our first
date is with the heavyweight judokas, and their most famous face in the name of
Teddy Riner. The youngster, aged, is already a
5 times world champion and did not lose a single official fight since
the Beijing Games in 2008. He was a firm favorite for gold and French fans knew
it. Along the runaway leading to the sports halls, you could count as many
tricolore flags than the cumulated amount for all other nations.
Walking
along this path, one couldn’t miss the omnipresence of the Games staff.
Hundreds of smiling volunteers were ready to share your Olympic spirit. The
security checks were also of the highest standard, better than in any
international airport I traveled through. The fast lane dedicated to the
disabled and babies was a certain plus for us. A few smiles later from the
volunteers and we were inside the arena.
A fight
just started before we reached our seats. A first sudden crowd reaction made my
8 months old son instantly cry. He was then swiftly equipped with a noise
reduction site helmet that my caring wife asked me to buy before we left home.
Tears were easily wiped away from his face and quickly replaced by a delighted
smile at the sight of all these colors and people without the noisy part.
Seconds later he fell asleep and enjoyed a long nap.
Colorful it
was for sure as a major part of the attendance was painted in blue, white and
red mainly in order to cheer on the French fighter but also helped by some
curious GB fans.
Curious is
the most polite I could tell about them. I already knew that there is not a big
attraction between British citizens and martial arts (yeah, those sports were
not invented in the UK). So when in the second fight of the afternoon a team GB
woman tried to make her way towards a medal winning encounter, I was not so
surprised to hear the local people in the stands only react when the score was
adjusted on the screens.
They
clearly did not have a clue about what was happening on the tatami, unable to
understand the movements executed by the fighters or even the referee’s hand
gestures. The funniest part of it is that it could take up to ten seconds for
the score on the screens to be updated, making us feel like there was a long
delay between what we could see and hear.
Shortly
after that came the French giant for his semi-final fight. That was exactly
when I had my first tears of the Olympics. That was also the moment I realized
there was far more than 50% of French fans into the room!
The
atmosphere was unrealistic, way more enthusiastic than in any football stadium
I ever visited. I guess the fact that the venue was relatively small and closed
amplified the noisy feeling.
The
Frenchman made it comfortably to his first Olympic final, extending a little
bit the cheering time.
Following a
break, came the bronze medal encounters and with one of them came (again) water
to my eyes. Together with the non French part of the attendance, I got
emotional for a rare judo medal obtained by a British athlete. She had very
messy hair but fought hard and deserved her giant bronze coin.
While I was
still carrying my sleeping baby, I had just enough time to dry up my eyeballs
before they got flooded for the third time in the dying seconds of the men’s
final. Only after the final buzz did the giant collapsed. Following his
surprising exit in the previous Olympics, Riner set himself a 4 years deal:
training over and over again until he could bite this gold medal. Biting he did
a few minutes later, congratulated by French IOC and judo federation members
(who both bet on a French win to be appointed here).
I could
then enjoy my first ever Olympic “Marseillaise”. Despite being my national
anthem, I must say I hate its lyrics, but couldn’t avoid singing along this
time round with my wife and my son (who just woke up smiling by the way).
A few
minutes later, the cheering and applause were interrupted by the venue voice
telling us we could all get out of here now.
We needed
some time to get the overexcitement down and take care of our baby before we made
our way towards the long travel back home.
At the end
of my first Olympic day, I was mentally exhausted with the surprising rushes of
emotions hitting me harder than expected. I finally fell asleep wondering how
many times would I cry before the end of the Games…
