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The Moscow Olympics followed, my abiding memories being Seb Coe’s sulky face after surprisingly losing the 800 metres final to Steve Ovett, Scottish sprinter Allan Wells running as if breaking down a door in a police raid to win the 100 metres gold and Ethiopian Miruts Yifter ‘The Shifter’, who looked about 50, winning the 5,000 and 10,000 metres double with finishing bursts that Mo Farah would have been proud of.
By the time I returned to school that September, sport had taken on greater meaning. I would re-live sporting contests in my mind in the classroom, while walking down the street, while eating dinner, and pretty much at most points during the day. My love of sport required no dependency on other people, except of course my father, who controlled the television. There were no restrictions on my imagination. And television was never boring because there was always another major sporting event around the corner.
In the lead up to the Minter–Hagler fight, Minter had reportedly said: ‘It has taken me 17 years to become champion of the world. I’m not going to let a black man take it away from me.’ Minter later claimed that he ‘didn’t mean it the way it might sound’.3 If it had been a ploy to sell more tickets or gain more support, it was ill advised.