Can't believe it's been a whole week since OH and I boarded the morning train to London to go to the Paralympics. During a 3am session, I'd managed to secure 2 Olympic Day Passes for Saturday 1 September, which would hopefully gain us admission to Wheelchair Basketball, Wheelchair Tennis, 5-a-side football and something called Goalball.
Getting there was very smooth: we used the new Javelin service for the first time, all spanking new and airconned train interiors, which took us from St Pancras to Stratford International in about 6 minutes. To our amazement, the whole park was crammed full of visitors (and volunteers, it has to be said -- so many purple shirts standing around, it was unreal). There were Zulu-like tribal noises coming from the Olympic Stadium so I said to OH, sod Goalball for now, let's see if we can get into an Athletics event with this Pass. But no go. We could see it on the telly later -- it was absolutely packed to the rafters. They had giant towers with electronic message ribbons going round all day, telling you whether the permitted Day Pass events had any seats available. When there was, there would usually be stampede in that direction, past daisy chains of volunteers directing spectators into long, snake-like treks around the food stalls. My first choice had been the basketball -- the UK were playing, we'd read, but there was absolutely no getting into the Basketball Arena (which looked like a freshly whipped meringue) on our Day Pass.
"Is it just me, or is the Paralympics more popular than the Olympics?" I asked OH. I couldn't remember the able-bodied volleyball or basketball prelims ever being this full.
"It's a UK team playing," he said, "That's what it'll be."
So for our first Paralympic event, we ignored the electronic ribbons and rocked up at the Copperbox, the Goalball venue where the Swedish women were set to play Canada. The game is for vision-impaired sportspeople and involves three blind-folded players defending goals along the shorter side of the rectangular playing field, and a tingly heavy ball that is bowled across. The entire game has to be played to absolute silence from the audience because the only way the players have to communicate with each other is by making little noises, a kind of audio GPS, and the only way you can deny a goal is by listening out for the tingly ball.
We got in easily and took our seats next to families with lots of young children. The Copperbox was about 80% full, several thousand people at least, watching a sport probably no-one had ever heard of up to that point. The Turkish ref blew the whistle. The first blindfolded player bowled the ball across. The opposing team heard it approach and denied it skilfully, like any goalie worth their salt. And back it rolled. And across again.
This went on for some time, occasionally punctuated by one of the players taking a little twirl with the ball to confuse their opponents' hearing. The kids in the sports hall were amazing -- not a peep.
"This is very meditative," I whispered to OH, "do they get 0:0 scores a lot?"
But before we knew it, Sweden scored a goal! And then another one! Uproar in the arena. Sweden eventually won 2:0 and the double goal scorer could not contain her delight. Massive applause and cheers. The blue and yellow block across from us waved their flags. Canada looked crestfallen.
We wandered outside and back up to the Basketball Arena. The UK game had ended and the next one, the men's Germany vs Japan had already begun. No problem getting into that. We got seats up somewhere in the Gods (not good as neither of us are good with heights) but the view was fab, and there must have been at least 10,000 spectators in the arena. I've watched countless basketball games live but have never been to a wheelchair basketball game before. Interestingly, after a brief period of adjustment, you completely forget about the wheelchairs and concentrate on the sport itself, shouting "Rebound!" or "Watch the block!" (a wheelchair block sneaking up on a defending player is a sight to behold -- a successful able-bodied block is a titanic crash, but a wheelchair defender slamming into the block is just brilliant). Put my patriotic hat on of course and cheered on the Germans, who went on to win against Japan. As it were, Germany made it into the playoffs and are facing Spain today -- Go Deutschland!
After such an exciting afternoon, OH and I had some lunch in the sun outside and then, having taken one long look at the queues for the blind-folded football, decided to see what would be on at the wheelchair tennis at Eton Manor. Again, stroke of luck, a German player, Sabine Ellerbrock, was playing the French No. 1 Kristine Schoenn, a real clown, great with her audience, on Court 1. We got in, sat in a great spot, very similar to Wimbledon I guess (never having been to a live tennis game before), and watched Sabine beat her French opponent in two straight sets. Excellent! (On Thursday, she came within shouting distance of the bronze medal but lost to a Dutch player).
Time for another b'ball game! We crossed over the dual carriageway and drifted into a women's prelim, Australia vs Canada, which Canada won 57-50 -- ironic, since Australia ended up with the silver (Gold: Germany. Yay!)
Then it was time to catch the train out of London and go home.
We both enjoyed the experience, and the day out, so much that we had the Channel 4 Paralympics pretty much on stand-by from then on. Both of us would dearly wish that tv sports coverage was more inclusive. Neither of us can stand the monoculture of overpaid testosterone monsters on our tv screens. More Goalball, please, than Premier League, more Oscar Pistorius' receding hairline than Wayne Rooney's hair extensions.
The only thing that's jarring is the faintly sinister discourse of Paralympians as somehow "superhuman". You can see where this is going. "Look at Jonnie Peacock", the for-profit benefits assessor will say to the out-of-work human with intermittent fibromyalgia, "if he can do it, so can you. Get up and walk, you whingeing, scrounging bag of uselessness, and if you can't, you can get into your fake wheelchair and roll right on to the food bank round the corner for your weekend emergency ration because your disability benefit is being withdrawn as of now. I've declared you cured. Goodbye. Next."
Oh well, the tide's already turning. 80,000 people in the Olympic Stadium booing those heartless millionnaire politicians and destroying their little opportunistic PR coat-tail ride -- one of the most beautiful sounds of the entire year.
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