What a feast of athletic endeavour. Every taste catered for, every emotion aroused. It was a forty eight hour fantfest of sport.
It was like flying a combat mission. Hunched over the controls, twitching from channel to channel anxious to avoid missing any targets. Events unfolding at bewildering speed, some of split second duration, others rumbling onwards in a longer time frame.
The slow bombing raid was the First Test. The Texaco One Days had given the wrong signal. The enemy was not down and out; in spite of the most unlikely weather for West Indians it was England that caught the cold and not much else. Lara larruping the leather was an awesome sight. England were shot down in flames long before reaching the end of the mission.
The return of the Graf Zeppelin to a successful raid over Paris was a triumph of style over adversity. To come back from persistent injury with no preparation and whip the steely Sanchez Vicario was an example to all who suffer from chronic problems. That she should do so at the incredibly advanced age of 25 (26 this week, Ed) was remarkable.
The formidable forehand was as fierce as ever on the uncomfortable red shale service. But its the legs that we will always remember - as elegant as those of Schiffer or Evangelista but filled with power and grace. The balance of the player in full flow across the court leaves a lasting impression.
If you'd like to write a column here, look at this.
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