Chariots of Fire

There is a miserable, non-entity of a Conservative MP called Aidan Burley who infamously tweeted that the gloriously eccentric and anarchic Olympic opening ceremony was "leftie multicultural crap". We should not, perhaps, be surprised by this as the last time this chap bothered the news was when he attended a stag do with his very funny mates dressed as Nazis. Burley whimpered that his tweet had been "misunderstood" which merely proved that he had no idea what his own witless fingers were writing. It would have been interesting, therefore, to be a fly on the wall in Burley's household when black Muslim immigrant Mo Farah romped home in the 10,000 metres last night and then draped himself in the Union flag; perhaps he shared a consolatory beer with Nick Griffin and John Terry.

The magnificent, soul-swelling, heart-bursting victories of Farah and Jessica Ennis - glowing with vitality; exuding radiant grace and elegance; smiling pure sunshine - represent the life-affirming victory of a Britain that Burley and his egregious ilk will never understand and will never accept: a Britain that is open, inclusive, warm, and welcoming; a Britain that joyfully welcomes the fact that, no matter your colour, your creed, your background, you are British and can represent Britain with as much pride and distinction as anybody. That was the truly memorable message of yesterday's events. I mean, even a pale, ginger (GINGER!) bloke won the long jump and there is no minority more traduced than us gingers! The only sour note of the whole day occurred in the velodrome when Sir Paul Macca's querulous yowling caused deep distress and offence to many spectators.

When these athletes, including the rowers and cyclists, give their post-race interviews they are characterised by good humour, self-deprecation, and generosity to everyone who has helped them. With the rowers, in particular, this is all the more remarkable as they clearly go through intense physical, mental and emotional pain to achieve victory; some almost physically disintegrate with weariness at the finishing line. Many are clearly grateful for the massive avuncular frame of Sir Steve Redgrave to collapse onto once they reach terra firma; sometimes, his brawny arm will appear from off camera and give them an additional celebratory/consolatory pinch that would make a polar bear yelp. Compare this to the whingeing, whining, inarticulate, self-exculpatory and self-aggrandising interviews given by many footballers (and their managers) after their latest tedious failure. As the banking scandals have proved, paying people vastly more money than they deserve does not mean they will perform any better. For no amount of money can ever match the commitment, passion and determination shown by Farah, Ennis, Pendleton, Sir Hoy, et al.