Almanack

THE organisers of the Atlanta Olympics have taken an innovative decision: they have 'relocated' the beach volleyball competition from its seaside site. The new location: Clayton County, an Atlanta suburb more than 250 miles away from the sea. Officials deny that kickbacks were involved. 'We're not that Machiavellian,' spokesman Bob Brennan said. 'There was no deal.'

Punter at the Proms

THE Last Night of the Proms is not an event that would normally be connected with sport in any form, despite the apparent similarity of its Union Jack-waving audience to a Wembley crowd on international night. But last Saturday the Welsh baritone Bryn Terfel appeared for the ritual performance of 'Rule Britannia' clad in a Welsh rugby shirt and bearing a rugby ball and a small cuddly dragon, which in turn sported a Manchester United cap. This did not look as incongruous as it might sound. Terfel, who has been described by one critic as 'the Welsh Meat Loaf', has the build of a prop forward, and he's not unskilled at the game. At the end of his rousing performance, he kicked his rugby ball far into the arena with a flourish worthy of Neil Jenkins.

Bad construction

DANNY BERGARA, Stockport County's Uruguayan manager, is justly proud of his English. Marvel at his metaphoric powers in these recent programme notes: 'As we strive to make progress it is very much like building a dream home. However getting to the play-off finals and losing is rather like laying good foundations, building the walls, putting in the windows and doors, putting the roof on but then putting poorly fitted facilities inside. If you do not have the right staff to fit the bathroom and toilet, and to fit the central heating, then the house could collapse or even worse blow up. At this moment we are in a three bedroom detached house with a single garage, but our dream is of a four bedroom detached with double garage . . .'

Reining glory of class act

'IF that's a proper extended trot,' boomed the commentator, a vocal ringer for Margaret Rutherford, 'this is a nice sunny day.' So, we surmised, that was one lousy trot. Blenheim Palace loomed out of the drizzle like a baroque ocean liner, and the dressage competitors in the Audi International Horse Trials sploshed doggedly around the ring.

On television, dressage is usually crammed into two recorded minutes before the live show- jumping, yet it accounts for a third of the points available in competition. Due, no doubt, to the inclement conditions, there was only a crowd of perhaps 25 when Almanack arrived at the Blenheim grandstand. In the nice, warm Members' marquee sat 60 more, nibbling at smoked salmon, watching the event on TV and listening to Peggy Maxwell's commentary.

This was an extraordinary performance. In order to stay dry, yet still be able to see what was going on, Mrs Maxwell was giving us the benefit of her wisdom from one of the sponsor's cars on display next to the ring. This accounted for the strange swishing sound in the background (the windscreen wipers) and the occasional whooshing that all but drowned her out. 'Sorry about the noise from the heater,' she yelled, 'but we've got to keep our tootsies warm]'

With the aid of her commentary and the advice of Andrew Griffiths, assistant director of the event and a former international rider, we began to piece together what was required of the competitors. The form is to canter around the outside of the ring a couple of times, relaxing your horse; then a wet man tips his bowler to you and holds aside the entry rope. You canter down the centre line to a spot in front of the judges' Portakabin, remove your topper gracefully, then replace it quickly before it fills with rain. Then into the routine.

Spectators can follow the test on paper as a rider goes through it. It starts 'Enter at working canter; halt; immobility; salute'. We've just told you about that. Then it's 'Proceed at working trot; C track to the right; MRXVK medium trot.' The letters of the alphabet correspond to signboards around the arena: M is bottom left, K is top right, X indicates crossing the centre. There are 20 different paces and movements required, and in an ideal test the transitions between them will be seamless.

Smoothness and elegance are essential, so it is quite impossible for the uneducated spectator to see how the rider is instructing the horse. This is because the movements they use are almost imperceptible. One rider explained to us her 'get ready for an instruction' signal: a tug on the left rein. Sorry, missed that. Do it again? Her left index finger moved about a quarter of an inch.

Don't let all this formality and subtlety give you the idea that the sport is passionless. Just look in the instruction book: Not Enough From Behind, Not Between Hand and Leg, Lacking Rhythm. It's a sniggerer's charter, and it's easy to see where Jilly Cooper got her inspiration for Riders. Event riders know how to party, too: Almanack recalls a marathon gin-and-tonic session a few years ago with a Leading International Rider that culminated with the LIR involuntarily redecorating their bathroom. But when they are in the arena, all is dignity.

Even the rain could not impair the grace. Doesn't it put the horses off, we asked Andrew Griffiths? 'Oh no,' he said. 'The rain doesn't bother 'em. It's the wind. Gets up their tails. Makes 'em think they're out hunting.' Lord Carew, head honcho of worldwide equestrianism, was having a very jolly time. 'Blenheim,' he told us emphatically, 'is a class act.' And in Marxist terms, at least, he was absolutely right.

(Photograph omitted)