How many people does it take to market a website? At the moment, four of us are busy firing off e-leaflets to all our contacts (and many putative ones) with the aim of getting the Sport and Society website ‘out there’.

 This is the first marketing push we’ve made for the site, which had a soft launch last year and has since accumulated lots more content. We’ve also become more technically adept at editing and putting stuff online (helped by the BL’s patient and hardworking web management team) so it’s more than time to give the site the oxygen of publicity!

 Part of the process has entailed creating a leaflet which can be sent online, as well as distributed in print at events; in addition, we have a poster on the starting blocks, and this will eventually be sent to university sports departments to put on their notice boards for faculty and students to see.  

 It’s clear that lots of people are beavering away all over the UK (and elsewhere) creating what they hope will be a 2012 research legacy similar to our own. One of the most interesting of these is ‘The People’s Record’ which aims to “create a record of the impact of the Games on people across the nation”. As such, it will be the first coordinated record by a host nation of the public’s attitude to the Games, and it will encompass various projects right across the UK, all of which are dedicated to providing a platform for people’s reactions and experiences, and archiving these for the future. The result will be a range of research resources (some of which are already available online, including oral histories and photographs). The website is here:

 http://www.peoplesrecord.org.uk/

 

The momentum for London 2012 is definitely building up in the DCMS sector, with cultural institutions looking to showcase national treasures for the expected influx of visitors. I’m particularly looking forward to the Shakespeare festival - in which the RSC and the British Museum will both play their part. And let’s hope that these aren’t just ephemeral events but that they leave their own legacy in the form of archived film and artefacts.

Simone Bacchini writes:

 This week, I attended an event at Foyles bookshop, on Charing Cross Road, in central London. It was a book presentation: Ian Sinclair’s latest work, “Ghost Milk”, to be published in July.

 Quite interestingly, the event was organised as a dialogue between Sinclair and the academic, writer, and broadcaster Patrick Wright who, like Sinclair, has written extensively on the changing faces of the Capital. The venue was packed: women, men, young and old.

 “Ghost Milk” is subtitled: “calling time on the Grand Project”, the “Grand Project” being none other than the Olympic building programme. Quite appropriately, for a discussion about a book, much of the event consisted of a challenge: a challenge to, among other things, language.

 I’m talking about the language that we’ve heard and read infinite times, since London’s candidacy to host the Games in 2012 was announced. It’s a language of agency: things get planned, organised, done, built, and opened. In this kind of discourse, dynamism is everywhere: it’s about the city moving forward; the future getting a little bit closer.

 It’s also the language of positivity, nicely packaged in enticing nouns and adjectives: “legacy” (who wouldn’t want one?) and “engagement”, “inspiration” and, obviously, “inspirational”; and of course “exciting” and, needless to say, “new”. At times, the discourse around “London 2012” (notice the familiar allure of the name: like any “Jonnie”, or “Katie”) takes on quasi-religious overtones: areas get “rescued”, communities become “engaged”; where once there were only rubble and misery now – in the future which, by the way, is here –order and prosperity are to be found. “The Games save”, could be the motto of the event.

 But are there other voices? Is there another language, another narrative that has not been properly heard? Well, yes, according to Ian Sinclair who, in his forthcoming volume, articulates a different vision: a much less optimistic one. There the Olympics are still spoken of in a language of “doing” but it’s a “doing to”, rather than a “doing for” or “doing with”. The outcomes, in this narrative are much less positive; the “legacy” much more sinister. In this view, the whole Olympic project becomes a metaphor for a kind of voracious model of development, which stops at nothing and destroys in its progression.

 After the event was over, I was not sure how much I agreed with Sinclair and Wright. Was their view of the pre-Olympic past a bit too rosy? Was their elegy of the run-down streets and estates of East London a romanticisation of dereliction, coupled with the reassuring familiarity of bygone eras? Perhaps, at least to some extent, but there is a space - a need, I would argue –for dissenting voices, for a different use of language, for alternative narratives. Those present at the event certainly seemed to agree.

 I’m looking forward to reading Sinclair’s book when it’s published, as well as exploring some of Wright’s writings on urban development.

Now I ask myself? Has the time come for our very own Sport and Society website to really join the debate?

References:

Write, Patrick (2009). A Journey Through Ruins: The Last Days of London. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2009

London reference collections shelfmark:  YK.1990.12465

 

The announcement of the route for the Olympic torch relay was made last week, and the BBC had some interesting content on its London 2012 website, focusing on the different designs of the torches going back to 1936, and describing the highlights of the torch’s progress on its numerous journeys from that date.

 Many people are surprised by the fact that the Olympic torch was originally an idea of those arch propagandists, the German National Socialists, but Nazi rallies were often held at night with flaming torches - the idea being to introduce a note of high drama into the proceedings - and so the idea of carrying a flame into the Olympic stadium would have had an immediate appeal for them.

 The torch was not the only innovation at the Berlin Olympics however: there was also an Olympic bell weighing many tons, which was designed by Walter Lemcke and cast by the firm of Bochum in Westphalia. Once completed, it set out on its journey to Berlin in January 1936, stopping in a number of cities on the way and accompanied - as the official report puts it - by “festivals and demonstrations”, with its arrival at Magdeburg being greeted “ by the entire population”. The bell was finally transported to the Reich Sport Field in Berlin where it was hauled up to its tower on May 11^th. And there it stayed until it fell to the ground in the aftermath of the 2^nd World War. Now it sits, cracked and immobile outside the old Olympic stadium.

 The idea of creating a bell for each Olympics was never pursued thereafter, much to the relief no doubt of all the other OCOGS who would surely not have welcomed the logistical planning necessary for the lugging of the thing, here, there and everywhere. It would however, have made a wonderful subject for the BBC’s satirical take on the Olympics: Twenty Twelve.

 

As widely reported in the media, last week saw a three-day exercise by security teams at the athletes’ village in the Olympic Park: part of a “robust testing and exercising programme” according to a spokesman from the Metropolitan Police.

 When the London Games start in 2012 it will be exactly 40 years since Israeli athletes were taken hostage by terrorists at the Munich Olympics. This event, which was just one of a number of terrorist attacks mounted across the world by various dissident groups in the 1970s, taught the world a tragic lesson about the way in which mega events like the Olympic Games would have to be policed in the future. So much so that in April this year, the Telegraph reported that the IOC had managed to secure a £62,000,100 insurance policy ‘to cover terrorism or acts of war which may impact on the London 2012 Olympic Games’.

 Clearly, what makes the Olympics a great opportunity for the marketing managers of big corporations - huge crowds, complex logistics, global publicity - makes them equally attractive to anyone else with an axe to grind; so whereas in the past it was the vast costs of the infrastructure which had to be taken into account, host cities now have to ask themselves whether they really want to go down that controversial, emotionally charged and financially crippling road of keeping everyone safe.

 Ideas about the security of the Games particularly resonate with Londoners because the 2005 July 7^th bombings took place the day after it was announced that the 2012 Olympics had been awarded to their city. What was strongly felt on 7/7 was that life had to go on as usual; and the staging of mega events is all part of the same process. London 2012 will be symbolic in that way too.

 A fascinating recent publication by Pete Fussey, Jon Coaffee, Gary Armstrong and Dick Hobbs looks at all these issues. Details below:

 References

 Pete Fussey et al Securing and sustaining the Olympic city

Farnham: Ashgate, 2011

London reference collections shelfmark: SPIS 796.480684

Lending collections shelfmark: m11/.14289

 London 2012: Olympic and Paralympic safety and security strategy. [London?: COI on behalf of the Home Office], 2011.)

Lending collections shelfmark: m11/.13744

 Reeve, Simon. One day in September: the story of the 1972 Munich Olympics massacre and Israeli revenge operation 'Wrath of God'  London : Faber, 2005.

London reference collections shelfmark:YK.2010.a.2759

 

All the excitement about the royal wedding got me thinking about the role that royalty has played in sport over the centuries. The present royal family, of course, has impeccable sporting credentials, particularly as far as the Olympics are concerned. As is well known, the Princess Royal competed at the 1976 Olympics in Montreal, and her daughter Zara Phillips is a former World eventing champion who was only prevented from representing Great Britain in Beijing by an injury to her horse. Less well known perhaps, is that Prince Michael of Kent was a reserve member of the British team in the Bobsleigh event at the Winter Olympics of 1972.

 Earlier royals have had a rather ambivalent attitude towards sport, however. Edward II disliked the rowdy, rackety street football matches of the London apprentices and banned them from playing, and the interminable war with France which started in 1338 prompted later kings to do the same. Their justification was that their subjects would be better employed practising sports – like archery - that improved their fighting prowess, instead of shouting and knocking a ball about (someone beside me mutters “no wonder our record in the World Cup is so pathetic”).

 The appearance of being a hale and hearty sportsman was actually a desirable one at a time when government & law were represented in the person of the King. That most autocratic of the English kings - Henry VIII - was a celebrated athlete, excelling at jousting, wrestling, running and tennis. After him though, things got a bit complicated, with much debate about the propriety of sport on Sundays and Holy days, the only times when the common people were able to take their leisure. The Book of Sports was issued by James I in an attempt to clarify what was permissible on these occasions and he came down in favour of such activities as “leaping and vaulting”, archery, Morris dancing and the setting up of May poles, so British sporting prowess of the leaping variety was saved (only to be dashed later by the Puritans).

 Fortunately the powers that be have now decided - in the words of ‘1066 and all that’ that sport is a Good Thing.

 Reference

England. [Miscellaneous Public Documents. (Domestic Transactions, Royal Messages, Speeches from the Throne, etc.). III. Chronological Series. James I. [1603-1625.] ] The Book of Sports, as set forth by K. Charles the I. [Issued by King James, May 24, 1618, and re-enacted Oct. 18, 1633.] With remarks, etc. (1709.)

London reference collections shelfmark: T.1810.(14.)

 

Simone Bacchini writes:

In the previous post, musing on the hilarity that synchronised swimming often engenders, Gill Ridgley provocatively asks: “Is synchronised swimming a feminist issue?” Never one to resist temptation - and as an admirer of the sport myself - I’d like to add my voice to the debate by answering in the affirmative.

 Let me begin by quoting from a recently published novel I’ve just read: “Annabel”, by Canadian author Kathleen Winter. The book, which has now been shortlisted for this year’s Orange Prize for Fiction (winner to be announced on 8^th June, 2011), tells the story of Wayne, an intersexed child born in the remote Labrador region of Canada in 1968. Wayne’s parents, Jacinta and Treadway, are shocked to discover that the child has come into the world with both female and male genitalia, a “true hermaphrodite.” After much thought – and relying on medical advice – they decide to raise it as male, and name him Wayne. I’m not going to spoil the readers’ pleasure by revealing too many details of the plot; or – God forbid – the denouement. However, I’m sure anyone can guess that, for Wayne and his family, it’s not all plain sailing. Winter skilfully depicts the fluidity of gender identity as we follow Wayne through his childhood, teenage years, and adulthood.

 Aged eight or nine, he is enthralled by symmetry; he loves geometric shapes and maths. Typical boy, one might comment. And yet … one evening:

 "The World Aquatic Championships came on television and Wayne watched them with Jacinta. He saw synchronized swimming for the first time. The Russian team turned into a lily. The lily turned inside out and became a decahedron. The hats of the Russian swimmers had starbursts of sequins at the crown, and they were turquoise. The suits were of Arabian paisley. Wayne was transfixed.

    “Mom. They’re making patterns. With their own bodies.”

    […]

    Wayne looked at his hands, his legs, and wished he had more than two of them. He couldn’t get over the Russian team. It was glorious. […] the Russian team had a symmetry that went beyond what Wayne had imagined possible. He dreamed about it that night. (pp. 78-79)"

 For the young Wayne, it’s the beginning of a love-affair: synchronised swimming has got symmetry and coordination, it requires strength and discipline. But it also has beauty, harmony, and glamour: the latter symbolised by the soloist swimmer’s bright orange bathing suit, which Wayne dreams of possessing.

 Throughout the novel, Wayne’s infatuation with synchronised swimming, its protagonists and accoutrements, most notably the orange bathing suit, comes to symbolise the protagonist’s mixed gender-identity. For him – or her –the sport fuses the stereotypically masculine with the stereotypically feminine: traits that make up his own personality.

 For society, however, it only represents the feminine and, as is often the case, is devalued. An activity at best, certainly not a sport, as revealed by a comment by Treadway, overhearing a conversation between Wayne and his mother on the advanced coordination skills required by synchronised swimmers:

 “Well, their time would be better spent,” Treadway said, “if they went to secretarial school and learned to do shorthand.” (pp. 80-81)

 In Treadway’s world of binary, well-defined gender roles, the numerous skills needed to engage in synchronised swimming are barely acknowledged, and then only to implicitly comment on their uselessness.

 Another Canadian, this time an academic, Laura Thomas (2000: 55-56), has noted that in her country’s imagination, synchronised swimmers are always conceived of as “bathing beauties”; this, in turn, has led the sport media and, crucially, sport scholars “to trivialize the athletic achievements of synchronized swimmers […]. That synchronized swimmers are legitimate sportswomen in their own right is subsumed by the assumption that they are too feminine, or sexual, in their appearance to be true athletes.” Beauty, so often used to flatter women, is equated with weakness; to comment on a female athlete’s beauty – or the beauty of the sport she engages in – becomes an act of disempowerment, by stealth.

 But don’t misjudge those smiling women; and don’t underestimate them, or their audacity. Canadian critic Jeanne Randolph (hang on: another Canadian; is there a connection here?), in her essay titled: Psychoanalysis & Synchronized Swimming – how’s that for a title? – speaks of the deceptively jolly nature of synchronised swimmers’ smiles. Following Hegel, she argues that athletic competition revolves around death as a mediator; death which is present but must never be actualised.

 Death must be imagined. If [synchronised swimmers] smile, no matter what, always, always, smile, smile […], the spectators would merely imagine death, for jollity and drowning are mutually exclusive. Not only that, but a full grin is the only facial position that two athletes can maintain in perfect unison (1991: 153).

 So yes, I suppose synchronised swimming is a feminist issue, after all; and much more.

 References:

 Corey, S. Synchronized Swimming. Livingston, Al.: Livingston University Press. 1984.

London reference collection shelfmark: YD.2004.a.4139.

This is a collection of poems. The opening one is titled: Synchronized Swimming,

 

Randolph, J. Psychoanalysis & Synchronized Swimming: And Other Writings on Art. Toronto: YYZ Books, 1991

London reference collection shelfmark: YA.1995.b.8037.

 

 

 

I love synchronised swimming, and I don’t remember seeing much of it on British TV at the time of the Beijing games - which strikes me as odd, because the sport combines everything: grace; beauty, skill, creativity. And yet it’s too often the butt of jokes. What’s actually ‘wrong’ with it? Too sparkly, too pretty, too showbiz, too female? Today I’d like to ask - a la Carrie Bradshaw  - “Is synchronised swimming a feminist issue?”

 The fact is, this sport sets out to hide its light behind a bushel. All that strength, flexibility, control, and effort, made to look simple, elegant and effortless; in much the same way as the gliding of a swan in a fast current hides the furious efforts going on under the water.

 Take a look at some of the displays of the sport on Youtube, like this one, of the US team in 2007:

 http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EwutR1VSUmE

 What’s going on here is something amazing and powerful. Forget the waterproof makeup. Look at how strong these young women are; and bear in mind that they are trying to make you think there’s nothing to it!

 The sport had its origins in the United States of America, as water ballet, and came from a strong showbiz background. There were quite a few proponents of the art who performed on stage in large water tanks, and who can forget the fabulous water ballet sequence in Busby Berkeley’s ‘Footlight parade (1933)  while Ruby Keeler sings ‘By a waterfall’. This is also on Youtube:

 http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=csG6MBYsmOU&feature=related

 I’m pleased to see that the British Library has some books on synchronised swimming in its collections, including Donna Moe’s tantalisingly entitled thesis Personality factors of university women participating in creative dance, speed swimming, or synchronized swimming, and Dawn Bean’s fascinating history of the sport.

 Let’s hope the GB team has a great 2012 Olympics and that their success will generate an Olga Korbut effect for aspiring young mermaids.

 Moe, Donna Adeline. Personality factors of university women participating in creative dance, speed swimming, or synchronized swimming.

{S.l.] : University of Washington, 1971.

Dissertation thesis (M.S.)--University of Washington.

Lending collections shelfmark: MFE/4660 *1*

 Bean, Dawn Pawson, Synchronized swimming: an American history.

Jefferson, N.C. ; London : McFarland, c2005.

DSC m05/.31151

YK.2006.b.4147

 

Simone Bacchini writes:

What do Little Red Riding-Hood, the Book of Genesis, Nelson Mandela’s “Long Walk to Freedom”, and William Baker’s “Jesse Owens: An American Life” have in common?

 They are all “myths”; not in the sense that they are not true – well, perhaps Little Red Riding-Hood” does contain one or two elements of fantasy and the account of the earth’s creation in Genesis is a tad unscientific – but rather in the sense that they all aim to coherently present complex stories. They all use narrative to make order out of apparently chaotic events; they aim to convey general truths, moving from the particular to universal and vice versa.

 As Dan P. McAdams (1993: 27), a professor of Human Development and Psychology, reminds us, “[h]uman beings are storytellers by nature. In many guises, as folktale, legend, myth, epic, history, motion picture and television program, the story appears in every human culture.” He continues by pointing out that “[t]he story is a natural package for organizing many different kinds of information. Storytelling appears to be a fundamental way of expressing ourselves and our world to others” (my emphasis).

 Telling stories, then, is fundamentally human; is it any wonder we all do it and like it so much? A few years ago, I was contemplating writing a book on it. Typical me, the book’s title was ready well before a single word had been written: “Homo Narrans”, the story-telling human being. Alas, someone beat me to it (well, many as it happens), to my disappointment and, I’m sure, the relief of the reading public.

 But how does all this relate to the Olympics? Where do these musings of mine fit into the stated aims of the Sports and Society website? Well, it occurred to me (and again, I’m not claiming any originality here) that participation in an event to which so many meanings and values are attached (rightly or wrongly), is in itself myth-making material.

 Browsing the British Library’s collection – or, for that matter, any well-stocked book store, the number of biographies or autobiographies about or by Olympians is staggering. For some, participation in the Games is the culminating event, the zenith of a life and sporting careers. For others, it is but one event, an extremely important building block in a personal myth.

 This is why we’ve decided to add a new section to the website. Work is well under way for the forthcoming “Olympic Lives” (provisional title). Its overall aim will be to explore the links between the Olympics and (auto)biography writing, as a type of “myth making”. In so doing, we aim to introduce existing and future researchers to the vast resources that the library holds, many of which have been only marginally explored. They include books, journals, newspapers and sound recordings.

 And this is not all. We are also working on an event to be held later this year or early in 2012 to bring together researchers working on biography from different perspectives (keep an eye on the website for more precise information).

 And if you already have written an article and would be happy to make it freely available to the public, please do not hesitate to get in touch by emailing me, Simon Bacchini, at [email protected]

We’re all very excited here in the Social Sciences team; we hope you’ll join us!

 References:

 Baker, W. (1986). Jesse Owens: An American Life. New York City, NY: Free Press.

London reference collections shelfmark: YK.1987.b.2061.

 Mandela, N. (1994). Long Walk to Freedom: The Autobiography of Nelson Mandela. London: Little.

London reference shelfmark: YC.1995.b.1399.

 

McAdams, D.P. (1993). The Stories We Live By: Personal Myths and the Making of the Self. New York, NY: The Guilford Press.

London reference collections shelfmark: YC.1998.a.69.

 Niles, J.D. (1999). Homo Narrans: The Poetics and Anthropology of Oral Literature. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press.

London reference collections shelfmark: YC.200.a.13558.

 Schmitt, C. (ed.) (1999). Homo narrans: Studien zur populären Erzälkultur. Berlin: Waxmann Münster.

London reference collections shelfmark: YA.200.a.20105.