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© The Financial Times Ltd 2012 FT and 'Financial Times' are trademarks of The Financial Times Ltd.
In the final of the men’s pursuit cycling team event on Monday, the four British riders bore down on their quarry with an overwhelming superiority that seemed more appropriate for the first round than the final.
They looked, in their aerodynamic helmets, like a posse of vengeful spirits from the netherworld. But their victims in this case were merely Denmark, who had given no offence. Britain’s real vengeance in these Olympics is directed at their eternal sporting enemy. But this time Australia failed to reach the final, and even got run out of the bronze medal by New Zealand.
The British are happy – bordering on the delirious – to be lying third in the medals table, a position they last attained the year the Titanic sank. What makes them really ecstatic is that they are ahead of the Aussies. Strangely, though, this might be good news for Australia. And bad for Britain.
This is sport’s eternal private war, conducted by two nations separated by the diameter of the planet. It is backed by ties of history and kinship, and conducted with mutual affection and humour – but also residual historic bitterness (on the Australian side) and some contempt. All this finds its purest expression on the cricket field, but the Olympics have suddenly become a hotly contested battleground.
Australia actually fought back on Monday by winning three golds (two in sailing, one in triathlon) to Britain’s one. Score: Britain 12, Australia 11. But the British have power to add again today. On the one hand, Australian officials are alarmed at the likelihood of finishing with fewer golds than Britain for the first time since 1988. On the quiet, they are also rather pleased.
The Aussies are suffering a hangover from the spending binge on sport that preceded the Sydney Olympics in 2000. Since then, funding has slipped back, and dozens of their best coaches have found jobs overseas, not least in Britain.
Meanwhile, with London hosting the next games in 2012, Britain is now pumping money into elite sport. And the medals table has provided just the evidence Australian sports officials wanted to support their own case for more cash. “We have made our government well aware of how much money British athletes are getting from their government,” said Mike Tancred, the Australian team’s media director.
After Britain won its first swimming medals last week, John Coates, the president of the Australian Olympic Committee, incensed the British press by remarking: “Not bad for a country that has no swimming pools and very little soap.” The soap bit is a revival of an ancient jibe that Pommie immigrants to Australia were dirty; the swimming pool bit is essentially true. Sydney is said to have seven Olympic-sized pools; London currently has none.
For in the sporting war, Australia has usually had the advantage thanks to its traditions, its climate, its competitive intensity and its superior facilities. And Coates’ British counterpart, Lord Moynihan, admits that Australia provided the template for his team’s success.
However, he insisted: “Funding provides only the platform.” Athletics has had the largest slice of the money, with little to show for it yet. And there is still no sign of Britain putting money into recreational sport. Moynihan hopes 2012 will make that happen: “We’re never going to have a better shot at this.”
And herein lies the danger for Britain. Its success in Beijing may be premature, fuelling expectations of greater triumphs on home ground that simply cannot be fulfilled, especially if other countries (like, say, Australia) copy the techniques of Britain’s cyclists, who have led the gold rush here. Any drop in 2012 might create its own backlash.
“The London Olympics won’t be judged by whether the Tube runs on time or whether the beers are cold,” said Tancred. “It’ll be judged on how many medals Britain wins.”
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