The Olympic losers - David Cameron, George Michael, the SNP, the Premiership and multiculturalism

I’m not sure David Cameron’s reputation hasn’t fallen faster and more precipitately during the past six months than even Gordon Brown’s during the second year of his abysmal premiership. We can measure the giddiness of Cast-iron Dave’s descent by the fact that not one speck from the clouds of euphoric gold-dust created by the extravagant success of the 2012 Olympics has attached itself to one of his nice navy-blue suits.

Cameron has turned up dutifully on television over the past few days in an attempt to mop up some kudos. But his pat encomiums to Team GB, the army, the volunteers, and his assurances that rewards will accrue to those who work hard and really go for it sounded wooden and trite and hollow, as if they’d been composed by media advisors in a hurry to get back to the TV in time for the next British success.

Boris Johnson, by way of contrast, has played an absolute blinder – lovable, mad, enthusiastic, blustering, human and very, very funny. When his name was announced during the closing ceremony, the Team GB athletes immediately broke into grins as they turned towards what the Mayor calls “the politburo seats”, expecting a bit of fun. If Cameron had been announced instead I imagined they’d have rolled their eyes and muttered “Oh Gawd!” (When Nick Clegg sent a congratulatory message to the earliest GB medal winners, I’m sure the whole nation felt like telling him to piss off and mind his own business.)

As I mentioned in a comment on an earlier post, Alex Salmond must have felt as sick as a dog as the whole of the UK roared on the likes of Sir Chris Hoy and Andy Murray. I mean, crikey – Andy Murray even managed to mouth some of the national anthem after having kissed the Union Jack! In that instant, England forgave him his “anyone but England” remark when asked who he’d be supporting in the World Cup. And if Scotland keeps producing athletes like these – hell, they can go on receiving their subsidies from those of us who pay our taxes in England.

The Community Shield match between Manchester City and Chelsea kicked off the football season on Sunday. Apart from their fans, who cared? Even the football commentators on the BBC’s Olympics team who kept saying “I can’t wait” whenever the subject of the new football season cropped up sounded totally unconvinced. And when I heard that Alex Ferguson had refused to release Javier Hernandez to represent Mexico at the Olympics – they won, beating Brazil in the final – I was disgusted. Imagine denying a talented kid the chance to win gold for his country – especially one as benighted as poor old Mexico. I hope Hernandez gets an offer from another club, and accepts it. What Ferguson did was vile – and I generally support Manchester United. (Mind you, Ferguson did Mexico a favour by allowing Rafael to play for Brazil – the defender handed the opposition their first goal and was crap throughout, being substituted after rowing with one of his team-mates.)

Tony Blair was all over the place yesterday making sure he garnered as much credit for the Olympics as possible, and busily claiming that Team GB’s success proved that multiculturalism was a really good idea. Nonsense, of course. What it proved was that multiracialism and inter-marriage (which I would imagine favours the adoption by both parties of the prevailing indigenous culture) are a good idea. When asked to account for his extraordinary success, Mo Farrah replied: “I don’t know what’s going on, mate,” and when boxer Nicola Adams was trying to sum up how she felt about winning gold, she said, “It’s really made my day” (just before telling us she wanted to celebrate with an outing to Nando’s). You don’t get more British than that. Whatever their religion, whatever their race, these athletes are British to the core, not aliens flying under a flag of convenience (are you listening, Kevin Pietersen?).

Even before the end of the Olympics, there was good old Newsnight – along with Channel 4 News, the television flagship of left-liberal anti-patriotism – asking whether the sports Britons were doing well at weren’t a bit, you know, elitist, by which they mean non-working-class. Later, the BBC was horrified to discover that over a third of Team GB’s medals had been won by people who’d been to – gasp! – private school! Is it even worth bothering to point out that athletics and boxing aren’t in the least bit posh? Or that Charlotte Dujardin, the winner of two gold medals in the upper-class dressage event went to a comprehensive? If Britain’s private schools were over-represented on the podium, well, great! Why doesn’t the state sector look at what the private sector is doing right and, you know, copy it! (Mind you, I expect Nick Clegg will be along presently telling us that we need to introduce quotas for the next Olympics to ensure that athletes with more “potential” from poor backgrounds - but who won’t win dick - are selected at the expense of middle-class athletes who are guaranteed medals.)

Finally, my heart sank a bit to discover that The Who were the penultimate “big act” at the closing ceremony (rather than, say, the Stones or Led Zep – or, even, David Bowie giving us “Heroes” in person). But they did us proud, I reckon, even if the two remaining members must be jolly disappointed not to have died before they got old. But their general excellence was in stark contrast to that appalling jerk, George Michael, who managed to bore us all rigid by choosing, as his second song of the night, a fantastically dreary number off his new album, no doubt hoping to boost sales (I kept shouting “where’s the x!@$ing chorus!”). Glad to see a has-been dope-smoking pop star helping to promote the Olympic ideal. Selfish, greedy blister!