The Winter Olympics in Beijing

 The Winter Olympics in Bejing.

It hardly seems like 33 years ago since, in a faraway land in the Far East, a gentleman stood purposefully next to three tanks in Tiananmen Square, Beijing. It was an act of military defiance, an image of a lone figure of intransigence that immediately went viral across the whole world. It was political militancy on a most aggressive scale. It captured the imagination of every photographer hoping to snatch that iconic moment in our lives. 

Today, Beijing hosts the Winter Olympics, a capital city riven by constant internal struggles, political bickering and a cruel, oppressive dictatorship where only the air would seem to be pure at times. At least this is the only observation the outside world can make since none of us would ever condone the actions of those whose only objective is to bring hurt, shame and, even destruction if given half the chance. 

And so it is that Beijing is the unlikely setting for a Winter Olympics. In the old days the Winter Olympics would be awarded to countries that were renowned for thick, snowy landscapes. We presumed that Switzerland, the Nordic countries, Italy, Austria and France were obvious locations for this festival of winter sport. We sat enthralled as intrepid skiers slalomed their way down the picturesque slopes of the Alps and where the idyllic backdrop of a stunning mountain range would provide a perfect illustration of what the Winter Olympics were all about. 

Then we would remain permanently fascinated by the stomach-churning tobogganing, the luge and the curling in which Scotland would always emerge as the most appealing participants, shuffling their brooms along the ice and then running after it, gently coaxing it and persuading it to reach a winning spot. Then there were the acrobatic skiers, flipping through the sky a hundred times, and then flying through the air like a glider on a summer's day. Olympic sport has now entered a radically new dimension, achieving a level of sophistication that seems to go way beyond our understanding. Or maybe you can count the number of tucks and spins. 

But back in 1984 a charming couple from Nottingham won our hearts with perhaps the most captivating performance a Winter Olympics has ever seen. In downtown Sarajevo, Jayne Torvill and Christopher Dean slid onto an ice rink and forced us all to sit up until well after midnight. There have been moments in sporting history when you just have to gasp in astonishment, suspend your belief and wonder if you're imagining if you've seen what you've just seen. 

They held hands, posed romantically for what seemed like ages and then revealed perhaps the most enchanting dance routine ever to find its way onto an ice rink. And then we fell in love with their technical brilliance, their superlative virtuosity, their undoubted excellence, that telepathy, that elegant synchronicity, the perfect meeting of two minds and bodies, the kind of artistry and spontaneity that most of us could only dream of achieving. 

They danced to Bolero, a classical piece of music that almost seemed tailor made for Torvill and Dean. For goodness knows how long now they glided, swayed, spinning in ever increasing circles, Jayne Torvill, almost balletic in her serenity, thrown dramatically to the floor by Christopher Dean and then gracefully picked up. They would hold hands again before launching into another session of cunning calisthenics; twirling, whirling, making eyes for each other, swishing across the ice, pushing each other away and then falling in love again.

So the Winter Olympics will come out all flying from the traps. There will be wannabe Eddie the Eagle Edwards types who just want to take part in an Olympics because they can still feel the spirit of Baron Pierre De Coubertin just happens to be on their shoulder. It surely is the taking part that counts or perhaps it isn't. Edwards was just a lovable eccentric who just wanted to prove a point. He wanted to be the first British Olympian to win a medal of any description at a Winter Olympics. Nothing wrong with that.

He rode the wave of scepticism from the crusty reactionaries on the British Olympic committee and he flew like that Eagle for mile after mile, high over the snow capped pines and into the history books. The Winter Olympics can never get enough of its underdogs. Edwards knew he could do it and he promptly did. It was the kind of sublime achievement that may never be seen again in any time frame. But De Coubertin would have been rightly proud of this very British hero.