"Are you excited?" My friend asks me. We're standing in the stands of Old Trafford watching Team GB play Senegal in the Olympic Games.
"Excited?" I query. "What, about?"
"The Olympics!" She replies in a manner which I can only describe as excited.
This seems a strange question; why would I be excited?
"The Olympics?" I offer back, trying to hide any form of incredulity in my voice and failing miserably.
"Yes!" she replies, in a manner which, I decide now, is undoubtedly one of excitement. "I can't wait... why, aren't you excited...?"
But, despite my friend's evident enthusiasm on that day, I just couldn't conjure any kind of similar emotion. Was there something wrong with me? Should I be more excited? It's not that I didn't want the games to be in London and I certainly wasn't one of those nay-sayers that were so prolific in the British media pre-Olympic Games. No, I was simply apathetic. I neither cared, nor didn't care. I imagined I would catch a few events on 'the box'; that The Games would affect me rather in the same way that football does each season: I enjoy watching it live and when it's showing 'live' in the corner of my lounge, I'll glance up occasionally to see what's caused Mik to swear profusely and leap up and down with excessive arm gestures.
How wrong was I.
The game at Old Trafford was pre-Olympic Opening Ceremony. It turns out that, for me, the Opening Ceremony was a turning point. I was entertained. I was moved. I was proud. And I can use those three words to summarise the whole two weeks. The Games continually entertained me, surprised me even. I felt tears well in my eyes when the National Anthem accompanied our athletes standing atop of the podium.
A whole new world of exciting sports had been revealed to me; who'd have thought I'd enjoy watching weight-lifting, would be engaged by equestrian or would find myself leaping up and down and screaming at swimmers? Certainly not me. But I there I was, fully affected by these people and their sports. Their effort. Their achievements. And, frequently, over the two weeks, as we worked our way further and further up the medal table, Mik would look over at me, shake his head and ask "You having another cry?".
"No." I'd assert, looking away and surreptitiously sweeping a tiny tear from the corner of my eye.
But, the Olympic Games have ruined me. I want more... I expect more. No longer am I satisfied with the weekend offerings of our television companies. X-Factor? Red or Black? Celebrity Big Brother? Boring. I'm spoilt; I want more. After two weeks of watching people with real talent, doing something that takes real hard work and real dedication, they just appear anaemic and inadequate. I need more.
So, I can't wait for the Paralympic Games to start this week, and I know I'm not the only one, am I?...
Bring on the Superhumans!