Olympic Impressions from Schinias/Athens. Day 8 - Saturday 21st August 2004.
This is not intended to be commentary, as that is well covered via TV, radio, the FISA website and the newspapers. Plus it's difficult to get time amongst the other jobs. Here are odd bits and pieces those following the Games may find interesting.
I thought Friday was epic, but this beat the lot. It started quietly - an early rise thanks to my three alarm clocks, quick breakfast, and a trip to the course with Martin and Greeny from Five Live. Shuffle through security (the first time we'd had to wait for a queue all week), down to the lake, glowing in the dawn light, with eager photographers waiting on the bridge to catch the last strokes of paddling B-group finalists. Computer set up in the stand, quick round of the usual suspects to hear team news, and SSR's diary done. So far, so normal.
As racing began, there was an oddly controlled atmosphere. We found out later that the poor spectators had been let down by atrociously late buses, and held up another length by the inability of the security screens on the gate to cope with so many people arriving all at once. Welcome to a modern Olympics. I wanted to watch the first race, but had to go out to find the Telegraph bigwigs, who were all arriving in person.
Then, disaster. Walking back across the bridge beside lead writer Paul Hayward, my left hand, holding my phone ('cos no pockets today), knocked his. Out flew my mobile, slid along the wooden bridge, and plopped inexorably into the water just where the crews come through. Lucky Rutschow was still racing, eh? There wasn't a lot I could do, and still isn't. As we all stopped in shock, I realised there was no point trying to go after it (though it crossed my mind). Time to worry about other things.
In retrospect, it must have been a sacrifice to the Olympic gods. Because although it wasn't perfect, the results were just about the best we could have expected. Katherine and Cath in the women's pair would have had to find a miracle to get gold, the Romanians were looking so good, and nearly closed on them, but had just let the gap grow a shade too big, and finished with silver. Tommo was close to tears, he had been so sure they would win, but it was not to be. Slightly low on the raft, the girls cheered up a lot later, which is great. To be brutally honest, they hadn't performed quite like gold medallists earlier in the week, and dammit Olympic medals aren't something most people have, whatever the colour. And that's before mentioning that it was Britain's first ever Olympic sweep medal, for which they will go down in history.
Taking ages to scoot round, collect quotes and then scoot back to the stands, it was no surprise that I missed several massive races, in between doorstepping our medallists. Completely their fault, of course. Next to blame were Elise Laverick and Sarah Winckless, who sculled incredibly well to get a wonderful bronze. Germany and New Zealand have just a bit more strength, technique and experience, so third place was exceptional, particularly since it was done with their usual calm approach. By now the women were making Olympic medal-getting seem routine, and with thoughts of that fourth-place in Milan trying to intrude, we settled down for the coxless fours. With everyone around seeing this as the highlight, it was intensely nerve-wracking, but thrilling, too.
I nearly forgot to take rates on the first few strokes, I was so focused on crossing fingers and staring at the TV feed as if I could help them get off the start quicker. Then clicking into action, and doing explanations for the feature writers clustered around me as I scribbled notes. GB up, Canada up, then GB by a shade, looking out for signs of pushes, almost holding back from thinking about what each move meant to the possible outcome - like them, taking it a stroke at a time. It worries me more now, thinking about it, than it did at the time. Britain going into a lead as the sprint began. But the last few strokes, Canada coming roaring back, and as they slid over the line I glanced down to the TV. To several of us, it looked very clear straight away - gold to Britain. I'm punching the air - Yess!! - then immediately doubting as the parachutists ask me how I know. Some photos are shred-close: this wasn't too bad. All I can say is anyone who's watched a bit of rowing would have been sure, given the good quality picture I had. And then it was announced. Gold.
Then into the frenzy of hackery - trying to get to see the four, who are stopped further down the press queue and barely make it to us writers who follow them round to every regatta. A welter of tears - Cracknell at the BBC interview, then everyone at the BBC stand, including Redgrave, Pinsent practically nonstop, most visibly at the medal ceremony, wives and girlfriends all over the place. The national anthem goes by in a blur, Ed Coode singing it out strongly, Pinsent unable to speak for emotion. A press conference where we barely know what to ask, we just want to say "well done". Crackers goes off for his drugs test, Jurgen follows soon, because he's a bit of a side-show on this day - the rowers are the story. Tanner beaming all over his face, the 3-medal goal already achieved and with a crew still to race. The guys are amazing, incredibly generous with their time, and lauding Alex, stuck at home recovering, for keeping them inspired all week. Then they're hauled off to the International Broadcasting Centre beside the stadium, to talk more on national TV.
And we flop, exhausted by the adrenaline. The scribblers are written out - there's nothing left for the snappers to photograph. As the venue empties, the thought remains - we've got to go through all this again tomorrow.
Rachel Quarrell at the 2004 Olympics.