Sport remains a powerful intoxicant but some wonderful moments aside, the French capital has felt a little atomised
Tout puissant. Magnifique. The golden city. At times during the opening week of Paris 2024, there has been a vague sense of being a guest at someone else’s party. A chic and very beautiful party, but one where you are nonetheless cast in the role of background filler, meat in the room, assiduous canapé waiter patrolling the halls with your tray as France hogs the karaoke, disco-dances in the centre of the lighted floor and generally has the time of its sporting life.
One week in, the Games have so far been grand, exhilarating, and unusually light and sustainable in their staging. But the big moments have mainly been Francophone, from delight at the men’s rugby sevens victory – France’s players are still engaged in an unceasing celebration: a selection of them were seen most recently dancing in sunglasses in Ibiza – to an opening ceremony that was basically a slick and persuasive TV advert for Paris, to the wonderful spectacle of the triathlon that felt at times like a mash-up of ominous pollution bulletins and a super-shiny chocolate box Netflix series, E.coli in Paris.
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