The hell with the Olympics !

He's in position now in his armchair ! The tele's on! And ifs BENNY GREEN! And he's really blasting away into the final of the 1.200 word article

"lt's Just a few addresses in Wolverhampton in case you lose."

Whether any of our Olympics team actually nicked those shirts from Marks and Sparks I can't remember now; the facts got lost in cannabis fumes, the shaking of dusky fists, and other mani- festations of the sporting spirit. If they did, I wouldn't blame them. l'd also hope for equal indulgence from any Bench. Who, in their position, lying awake nights at the prospect of appearing before an audience of billions in a damp under- vest with a cardboard number on the back, wouldn't be tempted to sprint among the haberdashery picking up an item or two they wouldn't mind being seen dead in?

Fearless hard-hitting sports columnist Patrick Ryan drags the Games into the XXth Century

Now the last holiday-nauts are returning to base, let's face it: isn't there something overly intimate, faintly indecent, about billeting yourself in other people's houses, whether they are called hotels, inns, guest-houses or farm accommodation? Smelling their smells, rinsing out their baths, gluing back the arms of their ornaments with spit, leaving their sheets like knotted ropes, putting your bare feet on their linoleum, re-arranging their food on your plate so that it looks like the aftermath of an autopsy, drilling yourself in their rules and regulations, learning to talk their jargon and endure their politics?

With impeccable timing, managed to break out on the 33rd and no doubt Britain shall respond with we're keeping