Olympic athletes and spectators arriving in London last week
might have felt a tad underwhelmed by the attitude of the locals
towards the world’s greatest sporting spectacle. But they needn’t
have taken it personally. The British respond in the same sequence
to all major events, and the Olympics are no exception:
indifference mixed with cynicism, then hostility, followed by
resignation, and finally, in the nick of time, huge excitement.
The first phase was reached around Easter, with people declaring
their intention to “escape the Olympics,” like it was a noxious
gas. Such folk saw themselves as smart and discerning by booking
vacations to coincide with the Games, as far away from Britain as
possible. They did the same during the Royal Wedding last year, and
then felt crestfallen on their return when conversations about
Kate’s dress and Pippa’s bottom left them none the wiser.
The second phase, hostility, kicked in this month, at the news
that a company called G4S, contracted to supply security staff to
various Olympic venues, had badly screwed up. It turns out that G4S
won’t now be able to provide many security people at all, which has
forced the government to draft in thousands of army personnel to
fill the void. If anything, this should be relief. Most people
would rather be protected from terrorists by soldiers trained to
fight the Taliban than a bunch of hastily recruited novices. But
not some of the British, who took the opportunity to write off the
Olympics as a colossal, imminent, rain-soaked disaster.
Hostility muscles were also flexed after the Olympic Route
Network took effect. This is the perfectly sensible scheme that
reserves certain road lanes throughout London’s main routes so that
athletes, dignitaries and officials get to their events on time.
The alternative would have been Usain Bolt fighting his way through
London’s overcrowded underground system to get to the 100m final,
and visiting heads of state jostling for road space with the number
37 bus. But that’s not how the British see it. “Traffic gridlock,”
screamed London’s Evening Standard on Monday. “Drivers
face games lanes woe,” mewed the Sun.
And now we see phase three, resignation. This is characterized
by utterances such as: “I suppose I’ll watch a bit of it
on TV,” and “we won’t win any gold medals, you know.” Cheerful
things like that.
Lord Coe, chairman of the London Organising Committee, is trying
his best to make Londoners get into the party spirit before the
Games begin. But the guy tends to overplay his hand, describing
every minor event in the Olympic build-up as “remarkable” and
“extraordinary” — including the rather pedestrian arrival of the
Olympic flame at the Tower of London last Friday. People just tune
him out.
London’s Mayor, Boris Johnson, has been more effective,
imploring the nation to snap out of its “Olympo-funk” and revel in
“the greatest show on earth in the greatest city on earth.”
(Incidentally, Londoners themselves don’t talk about their city in
such grandiose terms, but clearly they like to elect people who
do.)
The fact that Boris has resorted to this panicky exhortation
shows that the British people are comfortably winning what amounts
to a childish game of “chicken” with their own leaders. It’s a
national pastime.
Actually, Boris shouldn’t worry — everything will be alright
once the show starts. Even the weather. It’s been a miserable
summer, but last weekend the country awoke to blue skies and
temperatures approaching balmy. With a bit of luck, it’ll be a
sunny Olympics. Many of London’s attractions have been given a
sparkling makeover. Even Covent Garden, resembling a building site
two months ago, is now spick-and-span and teeming with
international flavors and accents. And as for the sports, the
plucky British squad might also be reaching a timely peak, with
Bradley Wiggins winning the Tour de France cycle race by a handsome
margin on Sunday.
It’s all cause for national good cheer, and the mood is set to
rise with the mercury. Given a classy opening ceremony, the country
might sprint through resignation towards glorious excitement.
Americans who travel to Britain regularly will know that its
people’s reputation for being understated can be well deserved. So
it is perhaps appropriate that the stiff Brits should again be
hosting the Austerity Olympics, just as they did in 1948. Economic
realities mean that London’s Games are unlikely to go down in
Olympic history as the best ever, with little chance of rivaling
L.A.’s swagger, Sydney’s cool, or Beijing’s opulence. Half-way down
the medals table is more Britain’s style.
But the country is capable of putting on a show if it really
tries. And it seems, at last, to be readying itself to make a grand
late entrance to its own Olympic party. The British are coming.
