What happened to the London Marathon? And Donald Trump.

What happened to the London Marathon? And Donald Trump.

Oh yes. What happened to the London Marathon? In the usual scheme of things it should have been yesterday but yesterday almost sounds like just another word, a total misnomer because quite obviously it didn't happen so we know the reason why. So this may be the time to just clench our teeth, pretend that yesterday never happened nor was it ever likely to. There are some who may be cursing its postponement because for those who love the London Marathon and its sense of communal togetherness these are terribly frustrating times.

Wherever you looked around you there was a sense of freedom, an air of exhilaration, a sense that the heartbeat of London was there to be found just pumping and throbbing at the rate of knots. The London Marathon brought out the best in human behaviour, that vast gathering of the fancy dress, the fun running fraternity and then the professionals with their fast and furious pace and sprinting legs. There they go hurtling through the backstreets of Poplar and Greenwich which then took them into London's thriving Docklands.

Then the experienced runners from Nigeria, Ethiopia and Kenya would kick most impressively on their way home past the lively pubs, the infectious sounds of the jazz bands and then the public lining the streets cheering on the athletes with their hearty encouragement. Then the Mall and Buckingham Palace would appear and a hectic whirl of activity would follow. The pounding feet would send out an almost musical message of triumph and hope. It is a race quite unlike any other in the sporting calendar.

But now the London Marathon would take on a whole new dimension. The seething, mind blowing multitudes would once again have gathered on the streets of London, yelling good natured support and willing the fun runners to greater deeds of achievement. There is a wonderful esprit de corps about the London Marathon, a mass rapport between athlete and observer, a genuine understanding of the pain, the agonising pain at times but an obvious sympathy because the wall has to be hit and every bone in their body is just pleading for mercy.

Still, the London Marathon is, essentially, a celebration of the human spirit, a tribute to heroic athleticism, a ringing endorsement of sport at its finest, its stunning stamina, its classical endurance and willpower. Ever since that ancient first Olympics in Athens in 1896, the marathon has survived the ages, convinced us that anything is possible and pushed back the boundaries of sport in every sense of the word. Records are continually broken, times smashed to smithereens and the 26 miles legends have carved their personal niche.

Sadly though yesterday was not about the London Marathon since we now have to live with the knowledge that everything around us that should have been pencilled into this year's cultural agenda is now just a historical nonentity. It was something that was planned and lovingly prepared before the year crumpled to the ground, toppled over and then just vanished into the ether. Now a faint puff of smoke can be seen drifting around the streets of London and London is simply beside itself with tears, tears of defeat, tears of hurt and mortification.

The loss of life around the world in the wake of Covid 19 can never be truly measured but when a nation holds its breath in anticipation of a major street carnival, we can only shed a tear for what might have been rather than what is quite clearly not. Think though of the charity runners dressed up hilariously as hot dogs, Big Ben, the London Eye, men wearing the frilliest of skirts, the inevitable clowns, dogs and cats, fishes and hippos. It is life affirming and a joy to behold.

We shall though carry on regardless and try to imagine that yesterday did actually take place in our imaginations, that we did follow the London Marathon in our subconscious. Sunday was simply postponed for the time being and the re-scheduled date in October will tick all the right boxes. There is a feeling here that everything is just on hold, in glorious abeyance, sidelined because spiritually it may be just injured. It'll be back in October stronger, fitter and raring to go.

For the time being though we must put everything to the back of our minds. Regrettably we are now at the end of April and none of us are any the wiser or clearer. The minds of football's Premier League are still wrestling with a possible return in early June so we may wish them the best of luck with that one. Test cricket may have to wait until, quite possibly, the end of May, there's no tennis at Wimbledon, the Glastonbury rock and pop fest will just be a field in deepest Somerset with nothing but the occasional bleat of a sheep and you may have to put a bet on whether the annual cheese rolling contest will still be taking place in Middle England.

Meanwhile, back at the White House, a tremendous and incredible man who goes by the name of Donald Trump continues to bring fresh supplies of astonishment to every passing day in the United States of America. One day the President of the United States will wake from his bed and just stick up the proverbial two fingers at all his vicious opponents. This is a man who seems to live in a cloud cuckoo land where everything he says, although absurd, is still right. Now though Trump looks as if he may have gone too far. What on earth is this man talking about?

It would be perhaps slightly unfair to suggest that Trump is under the influence of some narcotic substance that even we haven't heard of. Of course you've heard the latest from the Trump factory and to those who believe Trump's alleged imbecility has reached its lowest nadir, this can be no surprise. Some of us believe that Trump can still dig his way out of this one, that there is a hint of diplomacy left in the tank and that he can exert some kind of grown up intelligence. But judging by his latest comments there could be a long way to go before he uses anything to back up his judgements.

Now it is that Trump has come up with the ultimate remedy for the coronavirus pandemic. The President of the United States has just announced to the whole of the world that where we might be going wrong with potential vaccines for Covid 19 is staring us in the face. Yes folks. Let's mix some bleach or any kind of disinfectant into the vaccine and wow what could be simpler. Eureka! Why didn't we think of that? Keep them coming Donald. What's the next wheeze and light bulb moment.

In his defence though Trump did insist that he was being sarcastic and we all know that sarcasm is the lowest form of wit. But regrettably this idea looks as if it might be destined for a laboratory bin or i a wastepaper basket in the Oval House. The simple truth is of course that short of killing off the whole of the human population, you begin to doubt whether it would work. Trump may well be advised to  sit down for a while and just say nothing at all.  Oh to be a fly on the wall in Trump's living room. There are those around the world who would like to watch next year's London Marathon all being well. Keep well and stay safe Donald Trump. You need to take a long rest.