Have you noticed that recently there's been a little show happening up the road from us in London, called 'The Olympics and Paralympics'?
Anywhere we go in the world, we'll be able to chat about what we saw at the Games and there are not many experiences that we have in common with the rest of the world's population. As one of the most-watched events in the world, the Games unite us in our humanity. They are, after all, the competition of mere humans, powered just by food and drink (shame on the drugs cheats - there should be lifetime bans for all of them), with the same amount of oxygen (barring the use of blood doping) to power their metabolism and muscles and with results dependent on genetics, talent, hard work, personality and good luck.
It's endlessly debatable which of those factors has the most effect, but it probably varies from sport to sport: the Caribbeans contesting the 100m final and the East Africans contesting the distance running events show that there must be some influence of genetics, but other sports are more 'open.' Having said that, whenever I have run in a race, I often think that the winner - all other things being equal - is the one who is able and willing to take the most pain. Don't believe me? Try running for yourself and you will soon change your mind.
As my brother pointed out to me, the competitors at the Olympics are unusual by definition. From the 7bn of us on the planet, only 10,000 managed to compete at the Games: that's 1 in 700,000. Whether it be an unusual anatomy (giant lungs, huge hands and feet, exceptional muscle types) or an abnormal psychology that allows the athlete to exclude all distractions or to tolerate more pain, these people are different from you and me. Could we become them? If you are reading this, then probably not: If you were destined to become an Olympian, you would probably be training hard now, rather than working in the gypsum or insulation industry. Sorry for this disappointing news (if you don't like it, you are welcome to try and prove me wrong!).
The Games gave the athletes a chance to show the essentials that make up our humanity: along with athletic prowess, all human emotions were there on show as well, magnified to incredible proportions. Pride, elation and the deepest sort of happiness (the kind that can make you cry) were shown by the victors, while disappointment, disbelief, anger and crushing exhaustion were in evidence among some of the other competitors. Relief, humility and a wide-eyed amazement at the whole spectacle of the thing seemed to be common to them all. Of course, the Paralympics show the very best of us all - people doing incredible things despite everything.
In the same way that the Games gave athletes a chance to show their humanity, the Games gave us all a chance to show a different side to the world as well. No matter where you come from in the world, you might have been shouting at Michael Phelps, Mo Farah, Ellie Simmonds or Oscar Pistorius to 'Come on, you can do it,' as they chased down their appointment with history. (I was).
You may also have noticed that there was warm support from the crowd: measured at up to 120 decibels in the velodrome and louder than a pneumatic drill in the Olympic stadium. In some ways that was odd, and in some ways it was fully expected. You see, the essential approach of the British population to something like this is a kind of bemused indifference - an incredulity that anyone should want to site the Games here - of all places. Very many 'Brits' have a default setting of mopey cynicism. For many Brits, if they're not moaning, they're not breathing. If it's not the cost, then it's the transport. If it's not the transport, then it will be the weather, the food, corporate sponsorship, how we're doing and the million other things that can possibly be complained about.
However, all this moaning is but a front. Deep down, the British are a very energetic and enthusiastic nation: we like to have a party and to let our hair down (or at least we do if we have any hair). What you may have seen at the Games venues was just the wildly enthusiastic (and partisan) home crowd throwing off years of their usual 'stiff upper lip' approach to life. After the Games, I expect that we will all go back to being stiff, remote and guarded once more. I do hope not - we all enjoy a party.
In a final note on the Olympic and Paralympic opening and closing ceremonies, which are more widely watched than any particular sporting event and which are used to give the Games a 'flavour,' we saw a lot of weird, idiosyncratic and particularly British things - stuff that we enjoyed and that we didn't expect anyone else to understand. The apparently-anarchic mix of content and music was a perfect illustration of life in Britain today and was notable for three things: 10,000 volunteer performers; a seamless and slick choreography; and an emphasis not on uniformity but on individualism and on humanity.
Rio, over to you!