The Olympic legacy is like my sister’s friend Luke.
Rachel (my sister) was organising a night of music for charity and at my brother’s birthday dinner she kept talking about Luke and his amazing guitar skills. Her boyfriend, who also plays the guitar and who was sat next to her at the time, wasn’t best pleased.
Over the dinner we joked about how Luke was clearly the most amazing man in the universe. He balances, he weaves, he dodges, he frolics, and his bills are all paid on time. He manages time efficiently. Using only a hoe and a large glass of water, he once single-handedly defended a small village in the Amazon Basin from a horde of ferocious army ants. He doesn’t sweat, and young children trust him. He can cook meals using nothing but a pack of flour and half a tin of anchovies that make gourmet chefs cry and promise to be better people. He once played Ronnie O’Sullivan at snooker, Ronnie only potted two balls. And one of them was the white.
Except he’s not. He’s fat and clumsy looking.
When I met him I was hugely disappointed.
You’re going to feel this way in in September 2012 once the Olympics are done. When it turns out that the legacy was a lie. And I want you to be prepared.
When the Olympics come chubby children will not leap into action and become athletic overnight. Overweight pensioners will not become filled with a new vitality and lose half their body weight. Sports clubs will not become filled with hundreds of excited, motivated members. There will not be a legacy.
Try not to be disappointed.
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