Despite our rather incongruous run of unprecedented success it wouldn’t be a British Olympics without some glorious failure and the ever dependable Paula Radcliffe not only delivered on Saturday night, but delivered in spades.
Nothing against ‘plucky’ Paula herself who was clearly struggling to put on her race face after a horrific injury and a vastly reduced training programme, but there was still enough in the performance which made you proud to be British.
Not Paula herself, despite the impressive Union Jack running shoes, but rather the fact that our assembled crew of Olympic watchers were willing to stay up until half three in the morning to watch her trail in a distant 22nd,
Sustained only by shots of ice cold vodka and hits on an apple tobacco bong (a vast lungful accompanied by cry of “Free Tibet!”), there were tears of course, (some of them even on screen), cries of ‘c’mon Paula and it was a true marathon in every sense.
Never mind the athletes, that’s true dedication for you.
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