Photograph: BBC
The past is a foreign country, and boy do we all need some escapism right now. From T2 Trainspotting to Twin Peaks, the 20th century is the place to be. This time it feels like more than just the usual nostalgia – more of a safe house, with a subtle infusion of melancholy, from the outright misery of contemporary society.
Sports fans of a certain age and disposition have never needed much excuse to do some mental time travel. The phrase “in my day”, never more powerful than when gruffly forced through a cloud of pipe smoke by Fred Trueman, is transferable to all sports. It feels particularly acute this weekend: it is the 10th anniversary of the final episode of Grandstand, the multi-sport extravaganza that was one of the BBC’s flagship shows for almost 50 years. It was as essential a part of the weekend as lie-ins, hangovers and a clock that seemed to be on fast-forward as Sunday progressed.
The famous theme tune (how do you write it?) could be used in academic studies of Proust and involuntary memory, while the smooth, avuncular hosting of Des Lynam, Frank Bough, Steve Rider and others – who all effortlessly trod the gossamer line between warm inclusivity and detached professionalism, made you feel in the safest hands. Yet, as essential as it was, it is hard to argue that the BBC made the wrong decision in ending the programme.
The steady loss of rights to show everything from football to rugby league led to jokes about Grandstand having little more than the 4.15 at Chepstow and some unusually raucous fishing. In May 2000, the BBC had so little to choose from that they cancelled the show for one weekend. On the same day, the FA Cup final was on ITV and the Test match on Channel 4.
The meagre rations of the later years make it easy to forget that, in its heyday, Grandstand – billed as “Saturday’s new-style, non-stop parade featuring sports and events as they happen, where they happen” on its first outing in 1958 – showed live coverage of some of the most seismic events in British sport: England winning the 1966 World Cup, Gareth Edwards’s try for the Barbarians against the All Blacks, Red Rum’s Grand National triumphs, much of Sir Ian Botham’s Ashes mirabilis in 1981.
It was technically pioneering, too. “It was the genius of David Coleman that made the programme work so well,” Paul Fox, founding editor, said in 2006. “Connected by his earpiece to the control room in Studio H at Lime Grove, Coleman knew which sport was coming up next: his skill lay in the handover. It was seamless television and those of us involved learned more about the possibility of live television than at any other time.”
But even if the BBC had access to all the crown jewels of sport, Grandstand would probably not work any more. Modern society is too impatient to spend an afternoon in front of one programme. We are all addicted to choice. The multi-sport experience still has an appeal, but it needs to be on our terms, not Dougie Donnelly’s.
For most of its life, Grandstand suited the rhythms of a slower, quieter society – and one where other sports were allowed to share the stage with football. But the more popular it became, the more the challenges, and competition from rivals, increased.
When the decision was taken to make the episode of 28 January 2007 the last, Fox agreed the format had lost its credibility. “It’s time the old warhorse was put down,” he said. “I like to think it has served us all well in its time.”
Lynam, too, accepted the end had been coming. ‘The writing has been on the wall for years. I’m saddened in many ways, but the decision was inevitable. In the Fifties and Sixties people were prepared to sit down and watch live action for four or five hours no matter what it was. Those days are gone.”
The great BBC commentator Barry Davies said a few years ago that “every generation gets the commentary it deserves”. The same is true of sports programming. Much of today’s output is exceptional, and Sky’s Soccer Saturday is one of the triumphs of modern sports broadcasting – but it’s a world away from Grandstand in its nature. The BBC’s flagship was restrained, professional and free from banter. Nobody ever shouted on Grandstand.
