Tears, finally. Almost

Today, I shouted at the TV during the Olympics for the first time. Well, I mean aside from all those times I’ve asked the commentators to just sh.., to just shh. Oh, and of course that other time I cried out: “What? We’re still only on ‘G’? Seriously?” during the flag walk in the opening ceremony. But everyone did that, surely.

I’ve noticed many, many people appearing to care a darn sight more about London 2012 than I do. I’ve been reading about their tears on Twitter, thinking, these people don’t half cry easy. And I’ve been wondering when the hell I was going to Feel something about these Games – other than joy unconfined at the very existence of Rowan Atkinson.

Anyway, today it happened – at the turn of our princess, Zara. I let out an entirely undignified: “Noooo! Zara. Gah. Miss. Argh!”  at the Horse-towers TV, accompanied by the sound of my palm slapping my sizeable forehead. She and the Amazing High Kingdom are perfectly capable of jumping an Amazing clear round, as they went on to prove a few hours later. It was Amazing, their second round – Sports Personality Of The Year defining stuff.

I tested my vocal chords further as the day went on – in euphoria at Mary and Tina’s team silver medal-securing rounds, and in woe as they slipped out of contention for individual honours. (Cue more forehead slapping).

But I still didn’t cry. Possibly because, as Zoe Williams points out in her utterly wonderful Guardian piece bit.ly/Okv8m7 , I’m British and I ride horses. But I did very nearly cry. Possibly – and again referring to that superlative Guardian piece – because, despite this Britishness and horseyness, I’m really not posh.

I digress – about the tears. The unfamiliar, light, burning sensation behind my eyes began not at the British individual misfortunes, but when Sweden’s Sara Algotsson Ostholt thought she’d won gold, only to glance back and see that evil rail on the last fence had fallen in cruel, painful slow motion.

I almost-cried because I love that horse – that she tries her wholesome grey heart out, that she’s a she, those wonderful big knees, the fact commentator Ian Stark said she’d never make the time cross-country and she proved them wrong, and the fact she’s home-bred and her dam was in the competition, too, ridden by Sara’s sister – I love everything about her.

And I almost-cried because Sara is also a she, and had that last, wretched pole not fallen down in cruel, painful slow motion, she’d have been the first woman to take the individual eventing Olympic gold medal.

And that would have rocked. Because you can throw a few “ism” complaints at equestrianism – it’s tough arguing it’s not elitist for a start – but you can never call it sexist, because it’s the only Olympic sport in which men and women compete against each other. And I’m really rather proud of that. As proud as I am that three British gals and their brave, adored horses earned us a team silver medal today – never mind that one of them is a princess.