My London 2012 Olympic diary: Day 5

Day 5: Commonwealth game and a visit to the Old Traff

Tuesday the 7^th of August 2012 will be remembered as a very long day. I started it before the clock could ring 7am. Despite this early wake up call, we knew we would not arrive on time for the beginning of our morning session. On the agenda was the discovery of something new.

If Olympics mainly exist to gather the best of the best athletes in the world, I believe this event is also here to promote sportsmen less used to the spotlights despite sometimes being several times world champions. These fully amateur people usually work five days a week and on top of having a normal life, they train day in day out in order to shine at the only competition where they can actually be seen by anybody. And this chance happens only once every four years. Four years of amazingly hard work for a few seconds under the lights. These people deserve credit and definitely have all my attention.

Today, we are heading to the Olympic park to watch a bunch of these people. Field hockey is on the menu. We travelled through London in a mixed crowd of sport fans and City workers until the later ones got off a few stations before Stratford. The Riverbank arena hosting the Hockey event was at the deep end of the Park, delaying our arrival by a further twenty minutes, but allowing us to have a quick look at the main all the venues especially built for the Olympics. First we walked past the water polo arena, then the swimming arena, the Olympic stadium, the basketball arena, the cycling track and finally our stop. This venue was a hundred per cent temporary, build for the occasion and brought down as soon as the Paralympics Games will be over (the 7-a-side blind football will also take place here).

We were almost an hour late in our session, meaning we only arrived for the final whistle of the first encounter scheduled. The wave of orange clothes heading to the food and drink shops could not let any doubt: the Netherlands team were in action. Actually I learnt on that occasion that the Oranje were one of the best team in the world. They just won their game against South Korea, to the fans delight. We were now in the empty stands, staring at the blue grass with no clue about who’s going to come on the pitch. People coming back from their mid-morning breakfast gave us clues about the next protagonists. To our left, flip-flops, sunglasses and beer, Australia was in the place. To our right, green outfits, green and white flags combined with Indian tans, no doubt, Pakistan would be the contender.

To me it seemed like a top level game, knowing that Field Hockey is a British invention of the nineteenth century (one more) which did not spread as well around the world as football. Basically it is now seriously played only by the former British colonies plus a few more isolated countries making the count for any world tournament. Australia and Pakistan being two of the biggest countries in this list, I believed this was going to be an epic encounter between potential gold medallists. Well I was wrong for one of them. Pakistan used to be a dominant force in the 70’s and 80’s told me my neighbour. And then synthetic grass appeared to replace the natural one. The rather poor Pakistani population was still training on bumpy pitches while the rest of the world moved on to a smooth fast surface. Therefore Pakistan progressively moved down the world rankings.

This was dully confirmed on the blue turf. Despite all my neighbours shouting, Pakistan was trashed seven goals to nil. They will finish 7^th out of ten participating teams while Australia will grab a bronze medal ahead of sporting rivals Great Britain. My conclusion of this hockey session is that this sport must be painful. First for the back as the sticks seem to be a bit too short, forcing every player to spend all his time leaned forward to control the ball. Then for the rest of the body as the ball is very hard (it used to be plain hard wood) and can be propelled towards any body part at violent speed.

Exiting the Park, we jumped into the javelin train brilliantly linking Stratford to King’s cross in just 8 minutes. I then went left when Alexia and Andrew were going right. I was leaving them to travel up north for a mouth watering trip to Old Trafford. I saw in the Olympic football tournament a rare and easy chance to pay a visit to the biggest club stadium on the island.

The plan was ready for a while. A catching up trip with a former colleague but also a good friend, seeing us leaving London early in the afternoon by train, allowing time for some drinks in town before heading to the stadium, enjoying a Great-Britain versus Brazil semi-final, having a few more drinks and go back to London in an overnight bus. That was the plan. What actually happened is that I have been let down twice. First by the team GB who failed to get past South Korea in the previous round, meaning I will probably never be blessed to witness Ryan Giggs playing in his garden. Second by my mate who told me a week ahead of the event that he would not be able to make it. His replacement was a random football fan from the French London community. He was a good companion even if as a Muslim he was not allowed to drink or even eat during daytime prevented us from any pub stop.

We were very early at the stadium, earlier than I have ever been to a stadium. Actually, there were less than a hundred people inside the stadium when I entered, most of them being stewards. I took advantage of this position to complete my stadium pictures collection with a few stunning shots. Then other people started to get in. Many locals who expected like me to see the team GB in action, quite a lot of Brazilians too (always there for football, whatever it is), and a few patches of South Korean citizens.

The atmosphere was nice, very Brazilian with the constant sound of their drums accompanying their players. The final score line (3-0) was very flattering for the South American, as the Koreans actually deserved as much as them to go through. No time to be sad as these too will meet again on the final podium, with Mexico on the top step. More than two hours after the final whistle, we finally made it back to the city centre and a fat greasy burger later I could conclude my fifth Olympic day while stepping in the night bus.