Last updated 16:03, Wednesday, 27 August 2008

I AM surprised at some of the more cynical commentaries on Team GB’s magnificent achievement at the Beijing Olympics.

Dismissing, with more than a tad of smugness, the bitter remarks of the Australians who are reeling at the fact that us Brits have out-performed them at the games, it is difficult to understand why anyone here could be so indifferent.

The next person I hear belly-aching about how much of “our’’ money is being used to prop up the members of GB Team, I will pin them down with a javelin.

Considering the amount of money this country has wasted in taxes and lottery money over the years, surely the chance to show our sporting achievements to the rest of the world is possibly priceless.

When our economy is going to hell in a handcart, it is surely worth a fiver of anyone’s money to stick two-fingers up to those who have previously gloated over our failure.

One of my sons is sports-mad and has spent the past two weeks watching everything from gymnastics to sailing, boxing to dressage.

Unlike football on the TV, where I grit my teeth and try to contain my boredom when he tunes in, it has been a pleasure to sit with him relishing the achievements of the Olympic medallists.

As in life, I have explained to him, being successful involves determination, commitment, a lack of pity and the ability to bounce back just when you thought it was all over.

“It is also possible to be a big winner and be genuinely liked by people,’’ I said. “Look at that nice Chris Hoy.’’

I have found it easier to give this lecture when I am not faced with pampered footballers tripping over thin air or shouting abuse at a referee.

The attraction of the Olympics is strangely not the sports. I would previously rather poke my eye with a rusty pole than watch indoor cycling or kayak competitions. And yet there I find myself actually giving a damn about someone riding around in circles or insanely swimming for 10km in open seas.

It has been difficult not to be carried away by the sheer joy of those competitors whose 5am starts in the middle of winter, injury heartaches and previous sporting nightmares are wiped away as they stand on the podium trying to remember the words to God Save the Queen.

For those of you who still remain unmoved by the sight of our medallists trying to hold back their tears or the faces of their fit-to-burst parents, I suggest you check your chest – you may not have a heart.