The art of making money

Last Friday in Paris I witnessed an interesting phenomenon. One person transformed an athletics meeting as no other could. With crowds at athletics events generally on the wane, particularly in apathetic countries such as France, in excess of 40,000 filled the bottom two layers of the impressive Stade de France for the Diamond League series. The one man was, of course, Usain Bolt. Because of his participation in an event that would last for less than 10 seconds, this large crowd sat through three hours of top class athletics just two weeks before the European Championships.
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If Bolt had not been competing I doubt whether 10,000 would have turned up. The whole meeting was set up around him, with a couple of side issues in his race. His first head to head in 2010 with his countryman and fastest in the world this year, Asafa Powell, was set up to be a 'monumental' clash according to Athletics Weekly. And standing between these two muscle bound Jamaican monsters on the start line was France's new pin-up, the diminutive Christof Lemaitre, who recently became the first white man to break 10 seconds. Of course the race was slightly anti-climactic with Bolt winning relatively comfortably in 9.84, (positively pedestrian !). But that wasn't the point. The showmanship and electricity produced by Bolt (slight pun there, sorry) in the last two years has created a new audience for the sport on the back of his incredible world records, particularly his unbelievable 9.58. Yes, some people question whether he is clean, particularly given the bad press the Jamaican team are currently getting, but this guy was something special as a 15 year old and has revolutionised sprinting in the way that Dick Fosbury and Bob Beamon did many moons ago.
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The whole of Paris was talking Bolt whilst I was there. All the billboards had his familiar signature lightning bolt pose; a special Jamaican festival was set up in front of the vast Hotel de Ville the night before the race (Usain was there of course), where rum was drunk, dancing was constant and visitors were able to race a machine that ran at Bolt's 9.58 pace; Bolt was on the front pages of the papers photographed at Paris' top night club where the likes of Rafa Nadal and Hollywood 'A' listers had been in recent weeks, and most importantly, people were talking athletics.

Many sportsmen are vastly overpaid but it is easy to see why Bolt gets the big bucks: the event promoters and tv companies love him. He is single handedly keeping the sport's head above water. Just seeing the masses percolating out of the metro station towards the stadium, like oil leaking in the Gulf of Mexico, made me realise we have to be thankful for the likes of Bolt. Whether he'll ever get back to world record form I have my doubts - he's lapping up the superstar lifestyle and may struggle to sustain his brilliance, there are already signs of the actual running becoming almost an irritant.
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Highlight of the meeting for me was the women's high jump where the cloned long-legged Russian blondes gradually crashed out, leaving a great head to head between the charismatic American Chaunte Howard-Lowe and the crowd manipulator Blanka Vlasic, who eventually prevailed with 2.02, having been behind at one stage. It was wonderful to be engrossed in the developing event without being whisked away for another banal Jonathan Edwards / Colin Jackson love-in. There was lots of other good stuff to fill the evening, and some bad - the Russian Alminova storming to victory in the women's 1500 (3.57) having just come off a drugs ban - but despite my ongoing health issues, I came away from the meet feeling pretty good for a change.

To be sure

Along with an array of elite athletes from around the world, I flew into Cork last weekend. They went north from the airport to take part in the Cork City Sports, where, despite a blustery wind, some fine times were achieved. In a metaphor for my running these days, I went south in my hire car and didn't run a step for the five days Claudie and I spent in the emerald isle. We had an idyllic short break staying at my sister's remote house, Tig Na Carrige (pictured) at Toormore, near Mizen Head, Ireland's equivalent of our own Land's End. Whilst at Mizen Head we were approached by two emaciated guys asking if we could give them a lift to the nearest main town, Schull. They'd just cycled from the north of the island and in their words never wanted to get on a f****** bike again.


Despite being in an area with a low population density, I was surprised at the number of people we saw out running. Not top athletes training hard but just locals or tourists, often overweight, doing their daily workout along the country lanes. It's great to see so many people putting on their trainers and not being villified as we used to be 30 years ago. This is mirrored at running clubs up and down the country nowadays: where there would have been a hardy dozen working out at a Tuesday or Wednesday club session in the past you now see 60 or 70, most of whom will rarely or never race other than perhaps for a charity 5k or maybe the London Marathon in the unlikely event of them being accepted under the ballot system. Running clubs have changed massively and the sport has become a leisure activity for middle aged people aware of health issues, rather than in such as football, cricket, rugby, cycling where one joins a club to be competitive. I don't have an issue with this, it is merely an observation.
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I'm currently enjoying the best sport on tv at the moment: the Tour de France is a fantastic event and the production of it on tv is superb. It's a real antidote to the banal World Cup where players feigned injury at the merest touch from an opponent. Most of the riders in France appear to have gauze over arms & legs where they've fallen at 60kph and just got back on their bikes. A phenomenal sport despite ongoing drugs issues which will probably never be fully resolved. Part of the allure of the great coverage over the years has been the double act commentary team of Phil Liggett and ex-pro Paul Sherwen. They have always got the balance right between explaining what's going on, taking in the beautiful surroundings, introducing some humour and avoiding any patronising rubbish that sometimes comes with watching events like the London Marathon. I don't know whether others agree, however, but I get the feeling that Liggett is now just a bit past his best and makes a lot of mistakes. The winner? I'd go for Contador to continue the Spanish domination of sport this year (and how about Sergio Garcia as an outsider at St Andrews?).
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Blogstar this week has to be Fred Robson. Fred, who turns 80 on 10.10.10 has been running marathons for 60 years and flew out to Finland last week to run in the Parvo Nurmi Marathon in Turku (he ran this race last year and finished despite temperatures in the mid 30ºCs). "There's some decent money on offer in the age groups, David" he told me with a scheming voice, "so I think it's a good one to do, especially if it's not too hot." Unfortunately his flight was delayed by many hours and he didn't reach his destination until 4am on the day of the race. He sensibly decided just to run in the accompanying 10k, once again in 33ºC temps and won his age group. I think his secret is Guinness as he always seems to have a glass of the dark stuff in his hand. Which brings me back to Ireland last weekend ... ah the Murphys was silky smooth.