Scrooge-like humbug threatens to cheapen the spirit of 2012

[richard]

It is a magical time and not just for the children. As it gets ever closer we are talking about it more and more. Sure, there are always going to be whingers, cheapskates and cynics but what is so wonderful is that when the big day finally arrives most of us abandon the scepticism and surrender to the wonder of it all. I just love the Olympics.

There was a shudder of concern last week, though, when plans for the 2012 aquatic centre were scrapped at an advanced stage. Zaha Hadid's extravagant design was selected by a judging panel of architects and the design made Elton John's en suite look like a bucket in a bedsit. The undulating roof resembled a manta ray floating over the sea bed, and in synthesising Olympian musculature and the geomorphology of the lower Lea Valley, the concept was both a stunning vision and a persuasive argument for the reclassification of cannabis.

This whiff of exorbitant chlorine sent the organisers scurrying back to the drawing board, fearfully peering over their shoulders at the flak they avoided. But those dreaded cynics, like white hunters after white elephants, haven't gone away. They are stalking, lurking and waiting to kill.

With the pool, Jowell was quite right to dive in, but those in charge need to be careful they don't get too careful. There is a real danger that fear of overspend will result in a poverty of ambition and this is a fear gripping those at the heart of the project. It is nothing less than rampant Domophobia - the paralysing terror of big projects going seriously "Pete Tong". Someone at the centre of things told me that if the Dome had never happened all this would all have been so much easier.

"What did we get?" said my contact. "A crap New Year's Eve show and 12 months of entertainment Disney wouldn't wipe his arse on." Ironically, Hadid's previous work included the Dome's Mind Zone. Now everybody is stuck in the paranoid zone.

This is not good, especially when mixed with the Gordophobia that possesses any Labour politician who doesn't want a great future behind them. The candlelit chancellor, scratching his quill pen over his dusty ledger, is casting a long and lugubrious shadow and the ghost of projects past will haunt all plans between now and 2012. Even factoring in inflation and increased construction costs, the games will exceed their budget, and so they should. All Olympics do. This is the biggest opportunity for a generation and the long-term UK benefits are immeasurable.

Commentators more accustomed to sitting on their fat backsides typing about our lack of world-class sporting facilities are already complaining we'll have stadiums no one needs when the party is over. In the face of a rabid media, genetically programmed to bay for blood, the organisers have got to stick to their guns. Journalists should understand this and cut them some generous slack. OK, I'm being ridiculous but it's time to refuse to be bullied.

The funding comes from the International Olympic Committee, the lottery, London council tax and what is euphemistically called government money. No one is suggesting that they should go out and blow the cash with the elan of that winsome "Lotto lout" but the concern is that prudence creeps too close to parsimony. We cannot afford to sell ourselves short and do this on the cheap. Great projects demand great buildings. Crystal Palace wasn't exactly a Nissen hut. We need to concentrate on the value and not get too stuck on the price. Yes, legacy is incredibly important but as my contact says: "Cut too many corners and we won't even get that right."

And earlier this week our Olympic ambitions took another hit. In his pre-budget report Gordon Brown ignored pleas to make an announcement on funding for elite athletes. Simon Clegg of the British Olympic Association is adamant that the quest for gold needs long-term planning. I put this to the chancellor on Five Live Breakfast and he testily accused Clegg of jumping the gun. Problem is, the gun went off ages ago.

But let's not entirely lose hope - even Scrooge came to love Christmas.


Source
Nicky Campbell
The Guardian