We crumblies hail from a sporting era when a Scottish rugby captain could stub out his fourth fag of the day before leading the team out on to Murrayfield. When a one-handed slip catch would receive a brief nod of approval from the captain. And when a goal could be scored without a mass bromance occurring by the corner flag. We find triumphalism distasteful.
So, for many of us, it has been hard to be wholehearted in our celebration of the recent Olympics and Paralympics. After a lifetime keeping things in perspective down the touchline, between the wickets and under the posts, we have a different attitude towards sport.
We know that the Olympic 'legacy' won't be to inspire the able-bodied to abandon the couch for the pitch, court, track or pool. And the same holds true for the disabled. Indeed I would go further; overall, the effect of the Paralympics is positively demoralising.
Able-bodied sport has become intoxicated with hubris, primarily because of its commercial connections. Sport has been reduced to a charmless ferocity, where grace and graciousness have given way to brawn and braggadocio. It now acts as a magnet for people who are obsessive in their pursuit of personal bests. Inflated ego are encouraged by a commentariat, who deliver obsequious hyperbole to bolster the 'you`re worth it' mindset. There is also a gender distinction here, because the fuel of contemporary sport is testosterone. There are ominous signs that this hyper-masculinity is beginning to affect women's sports – and sadly, the Paralympians too.
Able-bodied athletes are not superhuman, simply the beneficiaries of massive physical advantage. They are humans who in nearly every case enjoyed a substantial biological head-start in the race of life. And, in most cases, they opted to focus that advantage into one core activity. With very few exceptions, these are not multi-taskers, able to convert their aptitudes to different activities. They wish to be masters, not jacks. After all, to spend four years in sustained refinement of one skill, enduring angst and ache, for the sake of a once-in-every-four-years opportunity to mount a podium requires a self-belief of messianic proportions.
As well as the disparity created by their physical privileges and uber- funding, they are also backed by a court of therapists, coaches, psychologists, nutritionists – in a world of food banks - and an array of managerial support which would be the envy of most presidents. Nor is that all. Their equipment, from clothing to footwear to apparatus, is pimped to aerodynamic perfection.
And they are paid. The days are long gone of the pre-work work-out. Today`s Olympians, the ones who get the medals, are well-funded, which enables them to devote time to their talents. Once they win their medals, their image is bid for by banks, watches, cars and other life-style products. These pampered jades are the product of unusual biological advantage, massive investment, sustained hot-housing and singleminded commitment. They are addicted to their self.
That`s why the 'legacy' mantra is a lie. The only people who will be inspired to go `faster, higher, stronger` are the already athletically gifted. The vast majority of us remain fixed to the couch. We are applause junkies hooked on fantasy.
There is a chasmic disconnect between the idolised able-bodied Olympians and we bog-standard members of the public. It mirrors the disconnect between, say the Westminster bubble and the electorate, between the CEO and the lowly employee. Each live in different worlds. And in sport, that disconnect becomes larger with every passing season .
The gap is even wider for the disabled. For every Paralympian who proclains that 'Yes I can', there are tens of thousands whose life-long experience tells them otherwise. For many years I have been engaged, familially and socially, with a variety of people who are challenged, in brain and body. For most of them the effect of the games has been to deepen an already intrinsic angst. Every day, in their different ways, these true heroes struggle against utterly unequal and demoralising odds to fashion some sort of normality of life. That struggle, to dress, to eat, to walk, to function, informs a narrative which tells them unequivocally 'No, you can`t'.
So when it is suggested that they too can simply 'become Paralympians', it is deeply insensitive. Those making the suggestion do not recognise that these people already do activities each day which should be recognised. But there is no applause for John as he lines up the trolleys outside the supermarket, no medals for Pauline when her palsied fingers finally manage to tie shoe laces, no podium for Justin after mastering the bus route to college. Yet these are genuine `superhumans`, for whom every day is a marathon. What is needed is a little less applause for the elite performers battling it out for glory in the stadia and a lot more attention to the underfunded casualties struggling for respect on the street.
Stewart Dakers is a 77-year-old community voluntary worker