The Brownlee brothers miss out on Commonwealth Games medals.

The Brownlee brothers miss out on Commonwealth Games medals.

The Brownlee brothers have always been there for each other. So it was inevitable that when things go ever so slightly pear shaped sport's finest and closest of siblings come together, wrap a comforting arm around each other's shoulders and smile very philosophically in the face of defeat. There was nothing else they could have done under the circumstances because they did bust a gut, they did give everything for their country and the best man won on the day.

We are now a couple of days into the Commonwealth Games in the Gold Coast of Australia and those two brothers in arms did their utmost to cement a place in British sporting memories. They swam gallantly for England, ran determinedly for England and they sweated blood for England. You simply couldn't have asked for any more. The Brownlee brothers are fine, upstanding, deeply patriotic men who must have thought that their world had come to an end when the Commonwealth Games triathlon reached its conclusion.

But on the day it wasn't quite good enough. And yet six years ago in London the Brownlee brothers had gone well beyond the call of duty. They were the gold medal winning duo who electrified the London Olympic Games in 2012. They crushed the opposition, made mincemeat of the rest of the field and won quite comprehensively with plenty of time to spare. They must have broken all kinds of records, left their indelible imprint on the pages of Olympic history and warmed the cockles of British hearts.

Still this is what we've come to expect from brothers. Brothers look after each other, come to each other's rescue when they fall off their childhood bikes, graze themselves, injure themselves or generally support and console one another when their dreams and hopes disappear into obscurity. Brothers often go to the same primary school and secondary school as each other, their hobbies and interests are similar while nothing is too much trouble when the chips are down and adversity lurks in a dark corner.

On one of the first days of this Commonwealth Games that warmth, brotherly camaraderie and a driven, totally focused approach to their sport once again made itself readily apparent. You could almost feel their disappointment at the end of the triathlon and there was an admirable empathy between the two that was deeply heartwarming.

The triathlon itself is the ultimate test of endurance and stamina, a wondrous display of athleticism, colossal strength, cardiovascular fitness in a race against time and sheer bloody minded determination to reach the giddiest heights of perfection. In the Commonwealth Games triathlon, the competitors did their utmost to achieve the impossible, swimming like the most energetic fish, thrashing their way through the Australian water, arms front crawling with furious intent and for the Brownlee brothers it  was all going according to the script. They were out in front by some considerable distance but once out of the water both men began to flag and run out of steam.

After that first punishing swim, men from all corners of Commonwealth scrambled their way onto dry land, foamy water now trailing behind them and it was every man for themselves. The triathlon is quite the most amazing spectacle and none could deny its captivating appeal.  Denying anything that might have looked like exhaustion the two British triathlon giants, surged forward, pushing themselves to the limit, thrusting their bodies forward and giving everything in the cause of sport.

Once out of the water, Jonny Brownlee and Alistair Brownlee must have exchanged the most fleeting of glances, reluctantly accepted that this was not going to be their day and then bit their lips when they knew the race had been lost. Both of the Brownlees now hopped onto their cycles, pedalled like crazy, pumped their legs frantically and furiously but couldn't keep up with the rest of the chasing pack. On another day this could have been their day in the sun, a lung bursting and heroic charge for the finishing line. Not now though.

With the bike race now successfully accomplished it had become patently clear that Jonny and Alistair were now puffing and panting, struggling to make up the ground. Then a Scotsman by the name of Marc Austin arrived on the shoulders of the brothers and nonchalantly flew past their next door neighbours in much the way the Scottish football team had grinned at their English counterparts after they had been beaten at the old Wembley, a year following England's 1966 World Cup victory. How Austin must have derived an almost sadistic pleasure in beating his English rival.

Further back in the field was the lonely sight of Alistair Brownlee who was nowhere to be seen and potentially stirring day for British sport had now become one of those off days at the office when nothing seems to go your way. Eventually Jonny finished seventh and Alistair was now sadly trailing way back out of contention in 10th. This was one of those teeth clenching days of what might have been and what ifs, the best laid plans of mice and men going up in smoke.

Meanwhile at the front of the triathlon the race had been won by Henri Schoeman, a South African whirlwind, a human dynamo, a force of nature and a man who on the day had amply demonstrated all of the qualities needed to become a Commonwealth gold medal. He flung himself over the winning line, milking the applause and leaving our battle hardened Brownlees privately hurt and bruised but pride firmly intact.

In the way that brothers have always behaved they'll probably come back to Britain, climb onto their bikes once again, slap each other on the backs in a show of utter mutual respect and then hurtle up and down the heavenly hills of the Yorkshire Dales. Then after a gruelling session of pedalling and more pedalling they will probably engage in heart to heart discussions about the weather and Brexit before downing a quintessentially English pint of lager. At some point they will shrug their shoulders, smile wistfully at the clouds and then share a blissful moment of brotherly love. This was sport at its most richly satisfying. We knew it wouldn't let us down.