What Kati Did Next: It’s the crying Games

I’VE made my son cry four times this week.

No I didn’t snatch his favourite toy from the cot or make him pick up any food he dropped from his high chair, although goodness me I’ve tried.

No, my only crime was watching the Olympics. I blame the rowers. It all began with me reading his favourite book “The Gruffalo”, snuggled on the sofa.

Every now and then I would steal a sly look at the muted telly as the men’s coxless fours trailed second in an attempt to take gold for the third year running.

As the mouse in the story came across the Gruffalo himself, the boys in Bejing were pushing forward, challenging the front runners.

Suddenly, without any warning I was on my feet, The Gruffalo had slipped to the floor, I was holding my boy high in the air, cheering, screaming, shouting as the Bejing boys romped over the line to claim their rightful place as gold medal winners.

I sat down with a “Yes! yes!”

I picked up “The Gruffalo” from beneath the sofa and begin to read. Suddenly my boy’s bottom lip started a’quivering and suddenly... Waaaaaaaah!

It’s the shouting you see, he doesn’t like the shouting. I have to admit that I’m a bit of a one for the Olympics.

For some it’s the Premiership, others it’s Wimbledon. For me it’s the Olympics.

I believe this to be the pinnacle of Sportsmanship.

Brave and focused men and women, train, train and train some more, for four years and then if they’re not injured and can you imagine what it must feel like to work that hard and then at the last minute pick up an injury, they get that one chance to be the best in the world.

Forget the World Championships, all athletes dream of that gold. Look at Dame Kelly Holmes.

Having said all that I spend most of the time watching the Games in tears.

Tears when they win, tears when they lose, tears when they fall short or when they break a record but these are tears of joy.

I’m glad it only comes round once every four years, my nerves wouldn’t cope and neither would my poor boy’s.