"Yeah, well, they over-rotated on that last dive"; "trouble is, they didn't follow the breakaway from the peloton"; "a stunning yuko"; "her last lap? Faster than Lochte."
What a welcome change from Rooney's metatarsal, Terry's character and if Lamps and Gerrard will ever gel together outside of a changing room. In truth, we love it. Everyone is now an expert in a sport that last week they had hardly heard of. Entirely unexpected sporting enthusiasm has been found lurking within the unlikeliest characters as we discuss the impossibility of keeping goal in handball and the springiness of the gymnastics floor in the North Greenwich Arena.
Already I've been in a roomful of excited teenagers debating whether Phelps can possibly still be as hungry as Ryan Lochte after 14 gold medals, or are the five fried-egg sandwiches for breakfast catching up with him, and whether Adlington would have been helped by better rivals in the heat.
Most of all there's the cycling. Buoyed by a thrilling Tour de France and the resulting Wiggomania just a week before the Games, my household (and everyone else's) was glued to Saturday's road race. We were screaming at the TV − and not just because the coverage was so dreadful (not good enough BBC, you can't just blame the assigned broadcaster, what about your commentators?).
Then, yesterday, belatedly, a first medal. All at i towers were transfixed by the fantastic duel between Vos and Armitstead that resulted in a GB silver for the latter. It's all riveting, and captivating everyone I speak to − especially our young. No one has mentioned security since Friday. The seats scandal? That's another column. We will have a 12-page pullout every day plus news at the front. We hope you enjoy it.
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