Gold medals are slowly accumulating.

 Gold medals are slowly accumulating. 

The gold medals are slowly accumulating but then we always knew they would eventually. Nine years ago the golds mounted up at London's Olympic Games as if there were no tomorrow. Mo Farrah sprinted towards glory in his middle distance pomp and emerged with gold. Sir Bradley Wiggins performed acts of genuine greatness on the cycling track, Nicola Adams polished off her opponents in the boxing ring and the Olympics has rarely been in safer hands with its very own Olympians, its heroes of valour and honour. 

A couple of days ago in the Olympic swimming pool in Tokyo, the names of Tom Dean and Duncan Scott engraved themselves onto the roll call of Olympic gold medallists. Britain was beside itself with happiness, overjoyed and in its element. Britain had picked up its first clutch of gold and there could surely have been no better feeling for them since the delayed Games in Tokyo must have been an agonising wait at times. Covid 19 had put on hold the fierce ambitions of both Dean and Scott. 

But the family and friends who had gathered together in Maidenhead, Surrey, this would be a night to set the pulses racing, the excitement to flow and in the end, gold medal validation. Tom Dean, that bloke with the distinctive orange cap, punched the water in barely suppressed joy. Dean had won a gold medal for Team GB and how good that must have felt. He stared over to the electronic scoreboard just to make absolutely sure and this was all the confirmation he needed. It was time to jump up and down, dig out the booze, spraying champagne to all four corners of the world and just revel in the moment. 

In an enthralling and pulsating finish to the 200 metres freestyle, Dean and Scott went arm to arm, shoulder to shoulder to finish with both gold and silver medals respectively. It felt for a minute that London 2012 had briefly revisited Tokyo for a few words of encouragement not that they were ever needed. Great Britain are beginning to rack up the medals as if it was something they'd now been conditioned to achieve as part of their DNA. The Games are up and running and Britain are at the head of the queue. 

In years gone by the powerful likes of Duncan Goodhew and David Wilkie, Adrian Moorhouse and Sharon Davies have all delivered the goods for Team GB. They've all been aerodynamically streamlined and athletically well proportioned, bodies honed and toned, rippling, muscular frames, confident, easy on the eye and, above all, winners. Tom Dean and Duncan Scott were always likely to be their successors to the throne because both had been up early ready and waiting for their mothers to take them to the local swimming pool for intensive training sessions. Their reward was gold and silver for Great Britain at the Tokyo 2020 Olympic Games. 

There's something about swimming and the British love of water that has so inspired its participants. Maybe it's their proud naval history, the ferocious competitive spirit or Britain's once innumerable lidos that have so energised this country. During its halcyon days of the 1970s those now sadly rusting outdoor swimming venues would echo to the sound of millions of children and families who just couldn't wait to dive into and plough through icy water.

Your personal memory takes you back to that golden year of the 1976 heatwave when Valentines Park in Ilford, Essex, every child, or so it seemed, would fill out the lido with its light blue lockers and whistling lifeguards sitting comfortably on the railings. Then a full throated voice would reprimand any child who felt tempted to dive bomb or try the patience of those devoted lifeguards. 

But yesterday in Tokyo there was an altogether higher level of expertise. Of course the amateur ethos that has positively characterised any Olympic Games was also in evidence. Swimming was the ultimate expression of patriotism for both Dean and Scott. They had done their laps just before breakfast, put in the hard miles, clocked up their phenomenal times, hundreds of lengths, backwards and forwards, relentless in their quest for something truly remarkable. And now this was their time to shine. 

Stepping onto the starting blocks, they gazed thoughtfully towards their respective lanes. Bodies arched symmetrically, finger tips clutching the side of their lanes, Dean and Scott were studies in concentration and intensity. Then those same fingers were excitedly wiggled, shaken and then poised. Heads now firmly tucked into their chest, the two Brits exchanged admiring glances and then threw themselves into the water for the 200 metres freestyle.

For what seemed like an age both men powered their way down their lanes, front crawl now a well choreographed routine that must have been replicated so many times in their head that maybe they thought the race would be over in no time. Arms and shoulders moving together in unison, both Dean and Scott were smooth stylists, gliding at speed, heads bobbing in and out of the water, the classical stroke motion, sheer poetry. 

Then heading for the final straight, the two men began to kick furiously for the finishing line. Firstly the rest of Dean and Scott's opponents made a race of it. The respective nations thrashed their way through the pool, backs pushing and aching, hands plunging and measuring every second or minute. It was a display of almost synchronised magnificence although this was not synchronised swimming. Then the pressure was on and a renewed momentum was on its way. Dean and Scott were locked together and knew that both would win either a gold or silver. 

With seconds to go Dean took the initiative, Scott rose to the challenge but couldn't quite manage to keep up with his British friend. Dean pulled away ever so slightly and then groped for the wall just seconds in front of Scott. What a gripping finish to the race. The style and technique had been executed perfectly. It almost felt like a desperate shame that one or the other had to win the gold and the other had to be content with silver. But appreciation was mutual and none seemed to mind although the disappointment must have been privately felt. 

Meanwhile back in Maidenhead, mum, sister and what looked like the entire set of a West End musical were celebrating, whooping it all up, bursting out of their chairs, soaring into the air like well trained astronauts. Their boy Tom Dean had done it. He'd made another triumphant statement for British Olympic sport. A gold medal was his for keeps, permanently preserved on the Dean mantelpiece. The Games in Tokyo have now been launched for Team GB and Tom Dean had witnessed the start of it all.