Sniggering Philistines

Once when I'd just started judo classes, the tutor divided us into teams and paired us randomly. My opponent was twice my size and wore a green belt at somewhere near my eye level. There were embarrassed titters on his side of the hall as we took our positions, such as were probably heard in the Philistine lines as Goliath approached David.  

Of course with judo, the fact that your opponent weighs 100 kilos doesn’t have to be a problem. In fact, it can be his problem. Green Belt didn’t seem to know this, and closed in on me with confidence.

The bout lasted about three seconds. I landed on my head.  As someone (Runyon? Thurber?) once said: “The race is not always to the swift, nor the battle to the strong, but that's the way to bet.”

Fast forward to this summer, and Britain v Luxembourg in the Davis Cup. Laurent Bram can’t have enjoyed being triple-bagelled: and conversely it’s tiring for British fans to see our team as a whole in such straits. But I found myself identifying with Green Belt’s friends. What embarrassed was the ease of Murray’s victory.

Or again, the second Test against India. I travelled through rain on the Monday and checked the score in the evening – wondering whether England had declared and how far Tendulkar & co had got towards a (hopefully) distant target. To find that the match was over with a day to spare was somehow disappointing.

I suspect it may be an English thing, to be uncomfortable with total dominance. Well: with total English dominance. We love Pele’s Brazil: we grudgingly admire Manchester United (who admittedly aren’t that English, but they fly an English flag).

We seem to warm to heroes who prevail after disappointment (Kelly Holmes), against the odds (Dennis Taylor – again, and like Andy Murray, not actually English), or at least at evident cost (Steve Redgrave). Best of all we love heroes who totally don’t prevail (Tim Henman, Eddie the Eagle). I mean, name a polar explorer.

As I write, England are starting the third Test as they finished the second. By the end of the summer maybe we’ll learn to relax and enjoy it – convinced as we are that it isn’t normality. The Three Musketeers’ watchword was: “All for one, and one for all.” Ours seems to be: “Just for once, and not for long.” And on that basis, we can enjoy the good times when they come.

By contrast, I somehow imagine after all that the Philistines weren't sniggering in English embarrassment:  but laughing out loud and taunting, like Australians. Much good it did them.