Commonwealth Games opening ceremony in Birmingham

 Commonwealth Games opening ceremony in Birmingham

Of course it was a huge celebration of sporting excellence. It had to be because it always had been. But this was the opening ceremony of the 22nd edition of the Commonwealth Games and there was nothing else to be said on the subject although you can't help but  launch into chapter and verse about this wonderful exposition of sporting endeavour, this exhibition of everything that is good about sport. 

Every four years the Olympic Games comes a calling but the Commonwealth Games is equally accorded the kind of tumultuous reception that it so richly deserves. It may not have quite the historic significance that only an only Olympic Games can provide since it hasn't been around for quite as long as the Olympic movement. But try telling that to the athletes and the para athletes who were parading around the Alexander Stadium last night rather like exuberant teenagers at their end of term school prom. 

Altogether 72 territories and dominions from the Commonwealth were gathered for this unifying, richly uplifting, euphorically satisfying sporting festival. More so than ever people need to be among each other since some of us had forgotten what it felt like to be among the family of humanity. In Tokyo two years ago a deathly silence fell over the city in a way that seemed hardly possible. The Olympic Games had been denuded of its soul, its eternal spirit, any kind of life form and just empty stands with empty seats. It was heart breaking and deeply upsetting for a vast majority of people who couldn't understand what was happening.

But last night we came together in Birmingham, Britain's Second City and we felt considerably better. We knew exactly why and the relief etched on thousands of faces in the crowd was something to be behold. The Commonwealth Games, so close to Her Majesty the Queen's heart, pulled on our heartstrings once again. This time the occasion was heavy with poignancy for that reason alone. For the Queen as Head of the Commonwealth has actively and enthusiastically embraced the sportsmen and women of the Commonwealth since that glorious day of her coronation in June 1953. But Her Majesty couldn't be there to grace us with her presence.

On a cool but sultry evening in Birmingham the opening ceremony of these Games took place amid a vast homage to not only the city itself but its history, its ever present culture, its splendid traditions and somehow, its distinctive characteristics. There is something very modest and self deprecating about Birmingham that lifts the heart. They blow their trumpet about the ordinary things in life and then recognise its remarkable achievements. That much became obvious the longer the ceremony went on. 

Suddenly, a fleet of classic old cars smoothly drove into the stadium and the fun had begun. There were lengthy tributes to Longbridge, one of Britain's finest car manufacturers. The cars had the hallmark of style and class. Wherever you looked there were vintage Aston Martins, Jaguars and Land Rovers. Before you could blink orderly processions of vintage motors formed the shape of the Union Jack. It was stunning, fitting, beautifully choreographed and a joy to watch. The Commonwealth Games had now taken its hand off the brake and off the cars headed into the middle distance.

Now we were presented with all the magnificent imagery and story telling that most of us knew we'd be getting anyway. There were images of domesticity, home comforts, young athletes straining every limb and muscle to ensure their place in sporting immortality. This was a story about  human endeavour, the miracles that can still be reached out and grabbed for, the relentless commitment to record breaking, the dedication beyond the call of duty and the early mornings of training during winter when all you want to do is go back to sleep for another hour. 

As if by magic, a gigantic set appeared depicting the Birmingham Bull Ring around which industry and labour were illustrated with mind blowing authenticity. Groups of men and women were seen hammering, shouldering arms to the cause, dirt, grime and grubbiness pouring from diligent bodies. It was indeed both moving, deeply evocative and truly breath taking. It reminded you why you felt such an emotional attachment to sport in the first place.

Then His Royal Highness the Prince of Wales read from a note that Her Majesty the Queen had given to him. Accompanied by his wife the Duchess of Cornwall, he declared the Commonwealth Games open and everything clicked into gear. There was the traditional fly past of the Red Arrows and how good that was to see again. Red, blue and white flew past in orderly formation and everything was set. 

Now Birmingham moved into a mood of spectacular congratulation and self aggrandisement and why shouldn't it have done? It started boasting, bragging, showing off, calling on its famous sons and daughters, the captains of industry again, the inventors, the famous local dignitaries, the men and women who had put Birmingham on the map of the world. It just couldn't resist the temptation and this seemed as good a platform for that special occasion as any.

Again there was an outrageous show of braggadocio, a puffing out of the patriotic chest, a feeling of swollen pride, a sense of being in the right place and the right time. Birmingham had prepared for this evening, the dinner suit, smart shirt and bow tie were smartly displayed and now we could party for as long as we wanted as long as the neighbours couldn't hear us. Which, quite clearly they couldn't. The fixtures and fittings looked secure and off we went.

In the fields of literature there was JB Priestley, that quaint word painter of poetry and heart warming stories who although a proud Yorkshireman, plied his admirable trade in Warwickshire. Priestley could be controversial and contentious when the mood took him but you suspect he'd have had plenty to write and comment on last night. Maybe this man of letters and all things lyrical would have noticed some strange goings on in the heart of Birmingham for this was a unique night of magical wonders.

Then the unforgettable Bard himself William Shakespeare was vigorously acclaimed for his Stratford Upon Avon literary connections. Quite what Shakespeare would have made of mechanical bulls breathing fire in a sports stadium is perhaps left to the imagination. But the pen or quill would have been poised, the poetic predilections in sparkling form and perhaps this would have been a very light hearted comedy. 

And perhaps logically there was Dr Samuel Johnson, a man of Lichfield, Staffordshire, the man who gave us the English dictionary, grammar and words. Birmingham began to pat itself on the back quite heartily since the entire Commonwealth seemed to be singing its praises and you could hardly blame them. The right words are always available when you need them and this had all the apt descriptions you could think of. 

This big gala occasion, full of the pomp and ceremony of a major cultural event, was about to turn on its electrifying charm. Onto the stage there were forests of umbrellas while behind them were the expressive choirs hands fluttering with a vengeance, singing in unison in perfect harmony. Then in the middle of the stage there were winding stretches of water, tiny rivers with dancers splashing joyfully in a tight, confined space. It was overwhelmingly sensational and how the crowds demanded more of the same.

For our next act Ladies and Gentlemen we give you cabaret and burlesque. From nowhere we were confronted with what looked like something from The Showman where Hugh Jackman bursts into song and then finds himself surrounded by crazy machines and mad, wacky characters. There were concertinas, violinists, hot air balloons, tuba players and cartoon sketches of schools and classrooms, underlining the sheer academic brilliance of Birmingham's brightest and best. 

And then there was the giant mechanical bull. Yes the giant mechanical bull, a sight so spellbinding that you wondered whether you'd walked into the wrong show. From nowhere, there emerged a huge beast, a metallic monstrosity that could have been borrowed from some horror gothic West End musical. In no time at all the mechanical bull was breathing red fire, mouth opening and closing very slowly.

By now the audience must have been mesmerised not quite knowing what to expect but beginning to believe the evidence of their eyes. This was England at her industrial, technological and historic best. This was what England was doing exactly 10 years ago when the London Olympic Games came to town. It was England trumpeting her undoubted virtues, her prettiest skirts, her most elegant suits, looking at her self in her own mirror and feeling pretty good about herself. 

Back then we had Kenneth Branagh and company making grandiloquent gestures about the Industrial Revolution, the Victorian chimney sweeps, the hard working labourers, the Dickens of London and everything synonymous with England and London. There were the inevitable references to red pillar post boxes, vicars gently riding on their bikes, double decker red Routemaster buses and warm beer. London then was the place to be. 

Fast forward 10 years later and Birmingham merrily whistled its own notable accomplishments. Birmingham had its own writers, geniuses and of course poets. Birmingham had the Indian Balti belt, its rich spices, Birmingham City, Aston Villa and Leicester but they were never mentioned. Birmigham had the brilliant Tammy Grey Thompson, Denise Lewis, a Black Sabbath guitarist and just to close the evening's proceedings 1980s teenage heart throbs Duran Duran.

But the evening had been all about the Commonwealth Games and the part Birmingham had now unmistakably made to what should prove to be 11 days of sporting virtuosity. It is strange that England ten years ago at more or less this time was once again the centre of the universe. In an era where globalisation and commercialism seem to go hand in hand on the sporting stage, England, in her own little island, somehow dominated the world's attention. It did so 56 years tomorrow when our national football team lifted its only World Cup but that's another well documented story and perhaps left in the dusty pages of the history books.