Ever since I
was a wee zygote, I have had zero interest in sport. Soccer? Swimming?
Table-tennis? Nah. It’s only during
the Olympics, when the coverage is so overwhelming that I become aware of
what’s going on in the world of running and jumping. And indeed, when I look
back, I see that in spite of my indifference I actually have numerous memories
of Games past.
Take the
Moscow Olympics of 1980 for instance. I was five years old and a girl from my small
Scottish town was doing something over there. Our teachers told us all about it.
Anyway, she didn’t win a medal, but they did name a street in a rubbish suburb in
her honor fifteen years later, so her glory is undiminished, although I can’t
actually remember her name.