“We saw the Pretend Emperor Xi welcoming the KGB thug Putin, while the London clown, the Australian fibber and tottering Joe had publicly boycotted the entire operation. Not a lot of peace and respect on show there,” writes ROBERT MACKLIN.

I’M one of those for whom too much sport is never enough. But I’m sorry to say, the Winter Olympics leave me cold. 

There’s a certain oxymoron at the heart of it – and it was articulated neatly by the president of the IOC, Thomas Bach, at the flashy opening ceremony. Their mission, he said, was to show the world that “fierce rivals” can live “peacefully and respectfully together”. 

Now, Mr Bach is a German lawyer and while his name might suggest a love of orchestral harmony, and his profession a preference for civil over armed combat, he had no sooner exited the stage than we saw the pretend Emperor Xi welcoming the KGB thug Putin, while the London clown, the Australian fibber and tottering Joe had publicly boycotted the entire operation.

Not a lot of peace and respect on show there.

The television commentators made light of it. But from the opening bell their entire focus was on Australian competitors whose task was to beat the pants off every other nation’s representative.

And here’s the thing – just who actually represents the various countries is a kind of catch as catch can. Some had been born in certain African countries, for example, but had lived virtually all their lives in places much closer to a ski field. Come time, and they just phoned their birthplace and whacko: “Thanks Dad, I’m an Olympian”.

Others had been born and raised in cold climates; but noticing the paucity of participants in hotter places in the Southern Hemisphere (not unlike Australia) had relocated in time to take citizenship and “voila!”, another chance for the country to “medal” or “podium”.

Watching the national parade and listening to the commentary, it almost seemed as though most of the competitors spent their entire lives going from ski slopes in Switzerland to ice rinks in America and seeing how many bones they could break or ACLs they might rupture and still turn up to Beijing to be feted as heroes.

There were, of course, lots of exceptions. In one heart-warming story, an Aussie kid from the boondocks became inspired at 15 to take up the luge. That’s when you lie face up on a little sled and slide downhill with your tender parts protected only by your feet. This kid built his own and zoomed down a bitumen road while his mum stopped the traffic. And then – magically, it seemed – here he was, on his third Olympics preparing to risk his tender parts at 150km/h. I couldn’t help but think: “Is he nuts!?”

What price “podiuming”?

Everyone loves the speed skating since the really good sport, Steven Bradbury, entered the Australian language when all about him fell over and he “gold medalled” and we all got a great laugh. I love the way he’s handled it and would happily buy him a beer any day.

I’m sure lots of people love figure skating, especially the pairs when the bloke tosses his partner metres away and she smiles triumphantly when she hits the ice and they end in passionate embrace. Trouble is, they’ve done the same routine hundreds of times so you can’t help thinking all that emotion is less about their undying love for each other as relief that they didn’t muck it up. 

These days it seems a bit old-fashioned, as does the ice dancing made famous by Torvill and Dean doing “Bolero” all those years ago. I can’t help wondering when same-sex couples will make an appearance… not under Pretend Emperor Xi, I suspect. But it would at least cause us sporting freaks to sit up and take notice. And it would certainly warm a few cold hearts.

www.robertmacklin.com