The Olympic Files: Day Eight.

Jamaican water; loaded with Lucozade and creatine.

There cannot be too many events in the world, where you would happily stand around for five hours in the chilly open air of a London summers evening; surviving on cheap coffee and fat English chips coated in condiments, purely for a moment which lasts 9.64 seconds. But this is the Olympic Games, Team GB are flying on all cylinders, and we are in Hyde Park with 80,000 or so other crazy sports lovers, waiting for the next best alternative to being in the heart of Stratford, ready to see the greatest sportsman of the 21st century, show the world how brilliance operates. In other words, Usain Bolt, and the centrepiece of the Games; the Men's 100 meter sprint final.

A week ago, here in Central London, the city was buzzing with an energetic glow. Seven days later, the feeling has grown to a mass euphoric wave of positivity. The closest I have ever felt this, was sixteen years ago during the heart of Euro 1996; this Olympics transcends the same essence, times by one-thousand. I was always aware how a city is transformed by the games, but being in it, around it, and just to bask in the nature of how unifying it truly is, is a remarkable form of beauty to behold. Olympic fever has reached such a height, that on the train into the city, the Metro newspaper was covered in wall-to-wall stories concerning London 2012; a far more pleasurable experience, than the usual murderers, government bullshit, and Eastenders plot-lines, we are accustomed to.

But back to Bolt, and Hyde Park. In the meantime of the afternoon, I managed to accidentally miss out on all Britain's medal achievements. I left my house and the Sailing march of Big Ben Ainslee, as I was unsure of what the hell was going on amidst all the dirty air and downwind pumping; only for two minutes down the road, to receive the now customary text message from my eldest brother, proclaiming Team GB's latest Gold medal success - in the sailing, of course. Andy Murray's Tennis Gold was of personal choice (My brother kept me updated on this one) - as he always loses whenever I watch him. I considered this thought ridiculous, then entered Hyde Park during the last few points of his mixed-double final - which he lost; though Silver medallists, are not really losers at all. The bronze in Cycling, and the Silver and Bronze in Gymnastics, I never even knew about till an hour ago. The solitary exception was Christine Ohurogu's 400 meter Silver; which was impossible to miss on a giant screen.

And yet, it was worthwhile, in an odd kind of way. We still managed to catch a solid Hockey comeback from Team Gb against Australia, a water polo match, some wrestling - my girlfriend expected it to be like the WWF, before I explained how amateur wresting is more professional, then professional wresting. Some women's Boxing; new to the games, and even though I don't personally like females fighting, if dudes can be pugilists, why not the ladies too. And a little fencing as well. Five hours after all this, the night was all about Bolt. Strutting around like a peacock without a care in the world, starting out the blocks like a lazy schoolboy, yet still running the second fastest 100 meters time, of all time - only behind his 2009 World Championship world record. Myself and my girlfriend - along with 80,000 other people, knew we were seeing something special - anybody lucky enough to have been in the Olympic stadium tonight, or yesterday for that matter, will never forget the last 48 hours.

Olympians are a different breed - they are the best out there. Gold medallists, are the best of the best. Guys like Usain Bolt - and Roger Federer, who also was in action today, are the very best of the very best. And if Olympians are a different breed, a guy like Bolt, is a whole other animal altogether. And whatever it is they put in that Jamaican water, I want my gym to begin supplying it. Until the next time...


Lee.