CCCXLV - The XXX Olympiad

This will be a progressive poem,
with verses added to as the games progress.

The Games of the Thirtieth Olympiad.

Prologue

We’re just two days out from the start
Of the thirtieth Olympic campaign;
And Londoner’s, if they are smart,
Have rented their homes and gone to Spain.

The media pack are an enormous throng
But, bored with waiting for things to begin
Speculate on what things may go wrong
Or how many gold ‘their’ team will win.

The facilities, they wail, are incomplete,
The athletes are packing ‘too much belly’,
The taps are dripping, the food too sweet,
Quick!  Rush the scoop onto the telly!

One day to go, the suspense is growing,
Boris offers to sacrifice a worm, to stop the rain,
The torch goes to Buck House for a showing,
Strikes are on. And off.  And maybe on again.

A minor diplomatic brouhaha ensued
When North Korea was wrongly flagged,
But when they played, two goals accrued,
(It seems the defence zigged instead of zagged.)

The Opening Ceremony

The opening ceremony was full of glitz,
A theatre we’ve come to expect;
Woven together from historical bits,
Clichéd, but done to good effect.

Lizzie was there, with Mr Bond,
Dropped from above the din;
The entry of the teams dragged on and on,
I wish they too could be parachuted in.

The Games

Day One and the media still attacks
Swimmers and the body shape they’re gaining
But, perversely, then goes on to use Big Macs
As a measure of energy used in training.

Was Page 1 used for the opening of the Games?
For the kick-off of this festival of sports?
No, the lead was a swimmer, who strongly proclaims
“I’m not remotely interested in you ‘fat’ reports.”

A Letter to the Editor, boldly put and insisting
That the games stop wars, with sports replacing gun:
Looking at the recent casualty listings
The replacement is not a very effective one.

The Daily Refrain

The sports proper are underway at last
Favourites slump: outsiders grab the prize;
This is not how the script was cast
The media lament the nation’s demise.

Told to worship the new “heroes” of our tribe
(Though “idols” would be a better rendition)
The media produces reams of diatribe
And editorials demanding Royal Commissions.

Meanwhile, the competitors on the field
Struggle gamely towards a personal best.
A few will cheat and try to chemically yield
Results that can sneak past the doping test.

Sponsors are lurking in the wings,
To stand in the limelight of the winners,
Paying them to endorse all sorts of things
From electric socks to frozen TV dinners.

Repeat 17 times.

Halfway Update

Halfway through the wretched folderol
And my predictions are coming true;
The media is demanding heads to roll
Because we keep coming in at only two.

Seven billion people on this planet
And a silver for second is not enough;
The media weep, forgetting that they began it.
My unsympathetic response is ‘tough!”.

The Finish Line Approaches.

Thankfully we enter the last weekend,
A marketing marathon where everything sells.
The media now laments the money we spend
To "buy" each of our precious metals.

Prior, they had listed the 'guaranteed' gold,
But "we" Australians have managed but a fraction.
But win or lose, the athletes put me to shame,
As I slept through most of the action.

"We are only tenth, someone must be sacked"
Cry the headlines from the tabloid sleaze,
But they find some warm solace in the fact
That we did a little better than the Kiwis.

The Closing Ceremony

It was a giant ad for the UK brand
While endorsement deals were pocketed;
A fuzzy feeling spread across the land
And fireworks usage skyrocketed.

The media pack followed the ‘golden’ few,
With a brief and fawning largesse;
Ignoring those who were equally due:
But only had silver or less.

Epilogue

The stands are empty, the pack moved on,
The murmurs that Rio will fail have begun;
The stories of ‘Olympic heroics’ have gone
And the football returned to page one.

..

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© 2012   J Cosmo Newbery

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