Cheering all home deep in the Dublin mountains

ATHLETICS:IT WAS around midnight when my accountant knocked at the door. Not without warning, as he'd just pulled into the driveway on his old Triumph 500, revving the engine a few times to announce his arrival, and which I know must have terrified the neighbours.

“What’s the score from Daegu?” he asked coming in the door – well-dressed, as usual, and carrying a large leather rucksack. Straightaway I wondered if this was such a good idea, until he emptied his rucksack of enough Captain Morgan and Coke to keep us awake for the next three days.

“Perfect,” I said, and told him to put them in the fridge. He’d persuaded me to have a World Championships party, complete with traditional Korean-style barbecue, partly motivated by the prospect of an all-night session, but mostly by me Not Being In Daegu – knowing full well how sickening it felt to be watching it all on Channel 4.

Frank and April were already in the kitchen marinating the dog burgers, and we poured ourselves the first drink of the night. True, it’s not easy covering a World Championships from the Dublin Mountains, but we figured Thursday’s sessions – or day six in Daegu – was at least worthy of a night-and-day shift. My accountant was convinced Ciarán O’Lionaird was going to make the 1,500 metres final, although that’s usually his eternal optimism talking, while I had a sneaking suspicion Alistair Cragg might actually deliver on his potential this time. April once competed against Deirdre Ryan, or at least claimed she did, although Crazy Fitz, sitting in the corner and who doesn’t really follow athletics, said none of us needed an excuse to watch women’s high jump.

“What did you make of Olive Loughnane?” asked Frank, puffing heavily on a cigarette, then adding: “Not bad, in fairness. But those rules are crazy. They disqualify Usain Bolt for one false start, yet some of those girls were actually running. Seriously. You could see it on the TV. It’s ridiculous, really.”

We agreed it didn’t make much sense: why enforce some rules with electronic sensors and others with the naked eye? “Guess what?” said Crazy Fitz. “Too big to fail . . . Goddess of victory . . . I don’t know who’s running this sport, but it’s pretty obvious they’re doing what they want. Why on earth are the championships in Daegu in the first place? An offer they couldn’t refuse?”

Knowing Crazy Fitz had already sunk a few in the Blue Light we just nodded in agreement. Then I turned down the stereo and we went inside to watch Channel 4.

“No more Ortis!” cried April. “No!” – and we all cried too. Furry creatures have looked less startled in headlights on full beam than poor Ortis Deley did over the opening days anchoring the Channel 4 coverage, although anyone who introduces Oscar Pistorius as “the fastest man on no legs” could be considered a stunning success.

Ah, memories, memories – and the opening days from Daegu had been as memorable as anything I’d once witnessed in person. Bolt may have lived up to his name in another sense, but where else would you see a woman from Botswana and an 18-year-old kid from Grenada conquer world sport – beating the Americans, in the 400m, in the process? Take a bow Amantle Montsho and Kirani James. I still think the Chinese were robbed by the Cubans.

“What time is Cragg running,” asked my accountant, sitting on the floor with his shoes off, true Korean style. I had sat in the media seats in both Osaka and Berlin watching Cragg trail home in 13th place in his 5,000 metres heats – and as the time approached 2am, the nerves were being tested. Cragg took the lead at 800 metres, 20 runners still bunched up behind him, and I feared the worst – only this time, when a couple of runners did pass, Cragg held his ground. Better still he finished strong, with some proper, driving arm action, just half a stride down on Eliud Kipchoge, the 2003 World Champion, in fifth place.

“Nice!” said Crazy Fitz, and it was very impressive – the sort of run Cragg has always promised. There’s still the fear he’ll undo that good run with a poor show in the final, although at that hour of the morning we didn’t care, and poured a round of celebratory rums.

It was around 4am when, yes, it dawned on us that Ryan had qualified for the high jump final. April actually predicted 1.95 metres, but even after Ryan cleared 1.80, 1.85, and 1.89 at the first attempt, two failures at 1.92 didn’t look good. Truth is we weren’t really paying attention when she fairly floated over 1.95, at the second attempt – although Crazy Fitz promptly enlightened us.

“Sweet as!” he shouted, before April added that was the Olympic A-standard in the bag as well. I’ve met Ryan at a couple of championships in recent years, and never been less than impressed by her enthusiasm. Pure persistence and determination had put her among the 12 best woman high jumpers in the world. And believe me, she’s in good company.

Then with the sun coming up over Killiney Hill we went outside to light up the barbecue. We’d a few hours to kill before O’Lionaird’s semi-final, and fearing that might spark the end of the party, my accountant made us promise we’d all grow mullet hairstyles in O’Lionaird’s honour, should he actually make the final.

What happened next is still a bit of a blur: O’Lionaird coming into the homestretch, chasing the Olympic champion, and what, qualifying for the 1,500m final? Frank checked his iPhone to make sure Captain Morgan hadn’t fooled us, although the result was even more astonishing on the little screen. Look who didn’t make it! The red hot Daniel Komen! Deresse Mekonnen, two-time World Indoor champion! Yusuf Kamel, the defending World Champion! Maybe we can still breed proper distance runners after all, at least down in Toonsbridge.

“Is that the guy who ran 3:34 after having a few beers?” asked Crazy Fitz, and we told him it was – relishing the fact O’Lionaird really is one of our own. No expectations, no limitations, as he likes to say, and no reason to doubt it. It was noon already, we’d been up all night, but O’Lionaird gave us such a shot in the arm there was no slowing down now. With four finals to come we poured another rum and for the next hour might as well have been in Daegu. We cheered out loud when Ezekiel Kemboi won the steeplechase – in lane seven! – then fell over laughing at his dance moves.

We’d never heard of Hannah England but wow, what a great run, and in the end we celebrated Dai Greene’s gold medal in the 400m hurdles like he was one of our own.

“Wonder if the lads on Newstalk were watching,” said Crazy Fitz, as if realising this really was the most amazingly fascinating sport of all. Then, with three more days still to come, and plenty of Irish still in the thick of it, we agreed we’d better all split and get some sleep, and the last thing I remember is my accountant mumbling something about Saturday morning, Derval O’Rourke, and feeling really sorry now for Not Being In Daegu.