XVIII Commonwealth Games Blog

XVIII Commonwealth Games
Blog: 25th March 2006

XVIII Commonwealth Games Blog: 25th March 2006

There’s an interesting phenomenon that seems to infect this kind of international sporting event - and it’s not limited to geography or ethnicity. It’s something about human nature that they tend to bring out, and I think in some ways Australia makes it even worse.

I’m talking about the little emperor syndrome - give a normal person a uniform and some authority and you’ll discover what they’re really made of. International sporting events rely of course on thousands and thousands of volunteers, festooned in colourful outfits they’ll never, ever wear again, but during the run of the Games they proudly strut their stuff, accreditation badge on chest, whistle (or megaphone, for the really powerful) in mouth.

The vast majority of these people are absolutely delightful. In my years covering six Olympics, an All Africa Games and a Commonwealth Games, I’ve had a great time bantering, flirting, joking and bargaining with these people. They tend to be either middle-aged women or 20-somethings giving their time as a way to escape the daily grind of housework or the impending terror of grown-up responsibility. And they’re generally the kind of people who love meeting strangers.

But dotted in their midst are the power freaks who take the job simply to boss people around. And they revel in their ability to tell members of the media that no, you can’t go into this handy door, you have to walk all the way around the stadium to get in. At every event I’ve had run-ins with these people, and I’m a bit too stubborn to meekly follow their sneering instructions (I would have never survived if I’d been born in the Soviet Union - they’d have sent me to a gulag by the time I was 3).

And Australian society has a bit of a control-freak streak in it - there are rules everywhere about where and when to walk, how to do this or that, and so on. I had an brief encounter yesterday with a volunteer security guard on the Flinders Street Bridge over the Yarra River.

It was a glorious afternoon, baking hot afternoon sunshine. The pedestrian traffic was intense, and they’ve built a bewildering series of barricades across the lanes of traffic - even Jana Pittman couldn’t hurdle over all of those temporary fences and barriers. Then on the walkway itself, they have smiling little volunteers with little signs that say "keep left" and "keep moving". But of course, the views from this bridge are spectacular - you can see the skyline, the fish sculptures stretching down the river, the festival that’s swarming along the riverbank, the MCG emerging just downstream like Oz, with its lights aflame and the gentle sound of the audience’s roar.

I thought it would make a nice picture. So I navigated through the oncoming throng to the bridge railing, got out my camera and snapped a couple of pics, including the requisite one with the outstretched arm so I could appear in it myself. At this point, Super-Cop came up to me and said, loudly and aggressively, "You cannot stand here, you must keep moving. You are not allowed to stop."

I just looked at him and said, rather sharply (I haven’t had much sleep this week), "I’m just taking a photo, I’ll be gone in a second."

What I wanted to say, but didn’t, was: "I’m not taking up any more space than you are - and you’re just standing on the bridge. Also, you probably don’t realise it, but I’m a journalist here to cover the Games and your fine city, which you’ve just made look really bad. Because you are going to feature in my report tomorrow."

Human nature, eh? I’ve had variations on the exact same experience in Athens, Sydney, Atlanta, Lillehammer, Barcelona, Los Angeles and Harare. They’re isolated enough that they in no way ruin the experience. But they always end up in my report somehow.

Rich Cline.

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