This article first appeared on
www.horseandhound.co.uk on 30 July.
Readers will be
relieved to know I’ve taken a few deep breathes and downed a cup of herbal tea
to still my beating heart to the point I’m less likely to use any expletives
here. But boy, that was jolly exciting, that cross-country at Greenwich there,
wasn’t it.
First up, getting there. I vote we have the
Olympics here more often, because never has the M25 Kent stretch been so quiet
at 7am, never has my partner got a seat on the 8:30 into London Bridge, and I
took a bus to and from something bigger than a football match in just 30min.
Result. If you were one queuing for the tube at half seven tonight, I’ll give
myself a slap on your behalf. But I’d still argue it takes longer to get into
Badminton…
We were through security in a jiffy, too, and
walking past the Maritime museum to reach the arena you get that, ‘yes,
tourists, this is my hometown, damn I’m proud of it’, feeling.
If lack of queues and the initial view weren’t
enough to convince you it was definitely the right decision to hold the
equestrian events in London, trotting up the hill to the observatory and
watching a horse jump over the moon into the city skyline would have broken
you. That’s special.
The course was beautiful and apt, from the
squirrels perched on chestnut logs to the luscious hanging baskets in the Rose
Garden. The grass was like something out of Disneyland — unfeasibly green and
soft and springy.
It turns out it was also sticky and slippery
in places, with some horses losing shoes and others slipping to the point of
elimination. Although perhaps they’d lost shoes already? I struggle to see how
a studded horse would have slipped when so many before him hadn’t. I saw Miners
Frolic slide, but then he was going at a lick round a corner with adverse
camber… that’s physics. It was galling for Sam Griffiths to fall on the flat
this way though.
Talking of Disneyland, they’ll be looking to
recruit the Greenwich volunteers. Never have I met a friendlier and less
officious group of officials. And not since my last visit to the States have I
been told at such regular intervals to have a good/nice day.
This may seem irrelevant, but combined with
the enthusiasm of the crowd, whether they were knowledgeable or not, it made
Greenwich a truly happy place to be this afternoon. Yesterday I blogged in
despair that an opportunity had been missed to enlighten and garner support
from non-horsey ticket holders. Today, I take it back. Commentator John Kyle
did an incredible job of both, calling for fans to raise the roof/sky, and they
did. To the point I couldn’t hear him any more, but knew Zara or William were
coming from the Mexican soundwave of delirium heading straight for me.
Among the joy, there was sadness. Yoshi’s fall
from overnight leader to elimination, the Australians’ demise, pocket rocket
Gin N Juice appearing at the crescent moon without his rider, and Camilla
Speirs’ brave, diminutive Just A Jiff falling.
My heart went out to The Netherlands’ third
and last rider, too, who was popped out the saddle at the water, putting
herself and her team out of contention. She clung on like a limpet, way past
the point gravity had beaten her, until relenting, she slid down into the lake,
and rather than beating the ground in understandable frustration, went and
patted her horse. It’s these Olympic heartbreaks that make the successes more
poignant — there but for the grace of fortune go any of them.
It was a day I’ll never forget — Britain,
forging silver, in my hometown. Thank you, Greenwich. Thank you very, very
much.
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