One race Seb Coe didn’t win…
Like millions of others, I took part in the Olympic sport of ‘applying for tickets’ last month. My Dad had also called me up, asking for help navigating the Mensa-esque digital maze that was the application process, and I duly popped over to assist.
I explained there was going to be insane levels of interest in certain events, and that he’d never have a hope in hell of getting anything involving Usain Bolt or a bicycle. Avoid those both like the plague, I said. If you want to experience the Olympics, go for something left field, was the advice.
Two tickets for the synchronised swimming heats were bid for – still in shock on the choice, Dad – and the wait began. In the meantime, I went against my own advice and bid for a pair of tickets for my wife and I to go to the 200m final – expecting zilch in return.
The deadline passes and it’s clear that Dad has failed in his bid to watch the worst Olympic sport that there is (apologies to all you coordinated swimmers out there, but it’s not a sport). He’s understandably a little disappointed, and I explain there was just so much interest ...

