Antony Miles kept a special kind of scoreboard for the duration of our hosting of the Olympics. Specifically, he was on “buns and bulge watch”. Fair enough. Pair some of the world’s most well wrought physical specimens in Lycra onesies with a Sky+ Box’s slow-mo feature, and you’ve a recipe for trouble. But what will we do come 2016, when snaking Latin hips are thrown into the mix? Sad as we were to discover that the castanets that resounded through London’s closing ceremony weren’t, in fact, the beginnings of a Spice Up Your Life encore, we felt even sadder when we realised it was Rio’s grand entrance and the time had come to pass the baton. For all of five seconds, that is. How could we fail to enjoy a samba-dancing street sweeper, a herd of jiggling women in little more than strip lights and platform shoes, the songstress Marisa Monte, apparently over prepared for London showers atop a sea of brollies, and finally, the Victoria’s Secret beauty Alessandria Ambrosio in a crown (most deserved), just smiling and waving casually? And, oh wait – let’s just whip out Pelé, shall we? We didn’t understand all of it, but hey, therein lies the beauty. It inspired us to discover more. Well, of course it bloody did – what d’you think you’ve been reading for the past 200 or so pages? Who knows, if we get our bundas seriously into gear with a personal trainer over the next four years, there’ll be no plasma screen to separate us from the bevy of totally doable athletes. We could compete!
by Vincent Levy
