Fuck you Olympics for making me cry.
Fuck all of the athletes who cried at winning and those who cried with their families. Fuck the athletes that just couldn’t contain the pure emotion that comes from the climax of years of training all to reach that gold medal.
Fuck the athletes who embraced their competitors with pure joy at having been bested by the smallest increments of time or distance but knowing that being the second best of 7 billion humans still makes them a superhero.
Fuck the smiling happy faces and fuck the uncontrollable laughter that comes with realisation. Fuck the primal screams and fist pounding and air punching and hands forming hearts and jersey ripping. No hakas.
Fuck the celebration.
A big part of the reason for the emotion was the super beautiful slow-mo cameras that captured the action as pretty as any Nike ad. For all the complaints about the coverage (and I was one of many complaining from time to time) that stuff we did see was amazing.
And, naturally, all of the worry that things would go badly never eventuated. Even the empty seats were quickly filled.
Well done London, it was a bloody nice ride.