Sunday, August 5, 2012
Jessica Ennis Split My Difference
It’s hard not to be swept away by Olympic fever at the moment.
Everywhere I go, people are grinning like lovestruck idiots as they hail another rowing success or sighting of Sir Paul McCartney in the stadium crowd.
On the social media hotspots, the quasi-orgasmic glee has reached fever pitch and I wouldn’t be surprised if most of the gazilliotrilliomilliobytes of information stored on the planet’s servers and data bunkers are variations on the theme of #olympics.
Rippling aquatic heroes aside, my favourite moment came last night. I’m no great sports buff, and up until Friday morning I’d never heard of Jessica Ennis. If you’d mentioned her name at the start of the week, I’d have taken a pop at her being a member of N-Dubz or a multi-millionaire bra magnate tipped to replace Duncan Bannatyne on Dragons’ Den.
When she burst from the blocks for the final 800m event, all she needed to do to win gold was to finish the race. With sixteen seconds of slack to spare she could have posed for photos along the way, stroked dogs and disabled Chelsea pensioners, possibly even had her nails done.
But she didn’t.
The last time I ripped my trousers leaping from my seat watching a major sporting event was when Teddy Sheringham scored the winner for Manchester United in the 1999 Champions League final.
Call me momentarily spectacularly patriotic, but I’m proud to have trashed another pair of underpants watching one of Britain’s sporting greats.