A mixture of messages is being recieved from the two men now most publicly identified with the 2012 Games and their prospects for success. Seb Coe, the face of Games evangelism, has declared himself not cowed by China's imperious announcement of its global power: "Beijing has delivered a spectacular games and we will also deliver a spectacular games." By contrast, Boris Johnson has spoken of a "more intimate" Games - the "language of estate agents," he calls this - and, in keeping with his unofficial role as financial good housekeeper, made a firm pledge about sticking to the budget.
Can London 2012 be intimate and spectacular at the same time? I suppose it can, though given the deepening economic gloom it might prove necessary to draw on the long British history of ingenuity if the next Games are to leave a mark on Olympic history. In this respect, Boris and Seb could do worse than learn some lessons from the two previous London Olympics, in 1908 and 1948. Both were staged under difficult circumstances. The former were held at a hurriedly-built White City because Italy, the intended host, was forced to concentrate instead on rebuilding Naples following an eruption by Mount Vesuvius. The latter took place at Wembley in the harsh aftermath of the war.
A feature of the London Olympiad a century ago was the inventiveness of the powers that be. After Dorando Pietri was deprived of victory in the marathon because officials helped him cross the finish line, Edward VII's consort Queen Alexandra gave him a special gold cup to make up for it. The marathon's length too was adjusted in light of circumstances: it was lengthened at one end so it would start at Windsor Castle and at the other so it would end in front of the king. Here, surely, are precedents that could be called on should events in Stratford start to disappoint. Why not award our own prizes? Why not invent our own rules? Such interventions might not add to the spectacle, but they'd certainly be memorable.
By 1948 there was less scope for such creative tampering, and not much cash to throw around either. We mustered a 35-foot flagpole, a Royal Artillery gun salute and 2,500 pigeons to release, but it wasn't much of a show compared with the Games preceding it. Still, those were Hitler's in 1936, and I know which of the two I feel fondest towards. Those ration book Games also contain a potential crumb of comfort if budgets really have got tight by 2012 - at least the pigeons in London are free.
