Sport

The news, reported by the New York Times, that Lance Armstrong is preparing to confess his sins reminds me of this passage from the Book of Daniel: Thou, O king, sawest, and behold a great image. This great image, whose brightness was excellent, stood before thee; and the form thereof was terrible. This image's head was of fine gold, his breast and his arms of silver, his belly and his thighs of brass, His legs of iron, his feet part of iron and part of clay. Remember, however, that golden-sunned afternoon in Paris in the summer of 2005. On the Champs-Elysees Lance Armstrong, the undisputed titan of his era, stands atop a podium to deliver a message to the masses thronged before him: "I'll say to the people who don't believe, the cynics and the sceptics, I'm sorry for you.

With the Don at three and Keith Miller inked for the all-rounder's role at six there are only two open spots in Australia's all-time middle order. It is a measure of Ricky Ponting's greatness that no-one doubts he's a sensible, worthy contender for one of those places. You may prefer the claims of Clem Hill, Charlie McCartney, Stan McCabe, Neil Harvey or Greg Chappell, but Punter is undoubtedly part of the conversation and only a fool would scoff at including him in this Fantasy XI. That's how good he was. In England I fancy there's sometimes a tendency to forget how fine a batsman Ponting was and instead place a little too much emphasis upon his captaincy. We sometimes forget how important luck is in cricket.

Who was the greatest sporting star who fought in the first world war? It is a difficult argument to settle at a century’s distance, with nobody still alive who saw them play and only fleeting glimpses from the very first steps of the newsreel era. The names are less familiar now, but contemporary accounts of their exploits and the sporting record books prove that they belong in the first rank of British sporting history. British Future has selected an inevitably subjective ‘1st XI’ of the fallen, to help to bring the names of these sporting greats back into our public consciousness.

And then there were four. If Andy Murray's accomplishments still make him the least of the great quartet ruling tennis in this golden age that's about as useful a comment as remarking that Roberto Duran was outshone by Sugar Ray Leonard, Marvin Hagler and Tommy Hearns. It may be true but it doesn't matter very much. There have been other great eras in tennis - Borg, McEnroe and Connors for one - but there's never been a quartet quite like Roger Federer, Rafael Nadal, Novak Djokovic and, yes, Andy Murray. Consider this: eight men shared the ten Grand Slam tournaments preceding Roger Federer's first Grand Slam victory (Wimbledon 2003). The subsequent 37 tournaments have been divvied up between eight players.

In one sense, I have some sympathy for Lance Armstrong. He has been hounded by the American anti-doping agency USADA who, like other federal agencies, are remorseless foes. Once they have their hooks in you they never let go. The usefulness of their investigations is another matter. Even so, Armstrong's declaration that enough is enough and that he will no longer bother to defend himself against doping charges will doubtless be seen as a capitulation. Most people, I suspect, will take his silence as an admission of guilt. So it really wasn't just about the bike, was it? Apparently not.

There's a glass case in the hall of Number 10 at the moment which contains a large sports bag with two shiny Olympic medals poking out. This wasn't left behind by a Team GB athlete: it's actually an enormous, elaborate cake, complete with icing zips. Downing Street staffers are looking forward to eating this part of the Olympic legacy soon. A considerably less tasty leftover from the Games is the row over school sports provision. During the Olympics, I argued that the Prime Minister's interventions on the matter were largely unhelpful, but as Fraser and Matthew d'Ancona have pointed out, schools selling off old tennis courts to pay for new gyms, or a proliferation of Indian dancing classes will become more common under the freedoms they now enjoy.

And then there was one.  Of the four princes who made India the world's best side to watch in the first decade of the 21st century, only Sachin Tendulkar - the first and greatest of them - remains. Saurav Ganguly, the tiger of Bengal, was first to leave the arena. Rahul Dravid, the classicist, departed last year. Now Vangipurappu Venkata Sai Laxman, the most artistic member of India's most formidable quartet, has announced his retirement from international cricket. As Cardus (who else?) wrote of Ranji, Laxman distributed his runs as largesse delivered in silk purses. If he could not claim Ranji's aristocratic lineage, he was still, even in his own time, something of a throwback to an earlier age.

If you're a minister, or even the Prime Minister, and you take to the airwaves holding a page of figures aloft, it's always a good idea to make sure the figures are actually correct before you enter the studio. When David Cameron read out a break down of playing field sales on LBC radio during the Olympics, he was trying to crush reports that under this government, schools are continuing to reduce their sports facilities in return for money. You can watch the film of Cameron with his sheet of paper here. The problem is that this sheet of paper wasn't actually correct when it said there were only 21 sell-offs, and as Christopher Hope reveals in today's Telegraph, there were actually 35 applications to sell school playing fields, of which 30 were approved.

Reader TT asks a good question: given your (self-appointed) role as the Spectator's unofficial darts correspondent, why haven't you written anything on the death of Sid Waddell? What can I say? Grief moves one in mysterious ways. Few people can claim to have created a sport, yet that was Waddell's achievement and only nit-pickers and other churls would mock the fact that the sport Waddell created was darts. Before Sid there was nothing and the darts universe is his creation. As he might almost have put it, "God took six days to create his world, Phil Taylor needed just three hours to build his. And Taylor never rests on the Sabbath." Though a Northumbrian by birth, Waddell was an example of the democratic intellect. Had he been Scottish he'd have been considered a "lad o'pairts".

The Chinese have excelled at London 2012, much to the annoyance of their Western rivals. In this week’s issue of the Spectator, Ross Clark argues that the claims against swimmer Ye Shiwen reflect irrational suspicion of her country. Here is an edited version of Ross’s article (you can read the full version here): The story of London 2012 has been that of a country which was once an underachiever in the Olympics but which, through sheer hard work on the part of its athletes, has hauled itself to the top of the medals tables, producing in the process one of the most dramatic world records in Olympic history. I refer, of course, to the People’s Republic of China. But this is not a story you will have picked up from the BBC or the press.

The genius of Mo Farah was only underscored by the plodding stupidity of Downing Street's statements about the "All Must Have Prizes" culture this weekend. If this is the culture which produced Mo Farah then surely we should be celebrating it. But the truth is that it doesn't exist and never has done. How does David Cameron think we managed to get 28 gold medals if not through the promotion of competitive sport in schools? Mo Farah attended an inner city comprehensive his talent was spotted and encouraged. What's wrong with that? Considering the scale of the success of London 2012, it's no surprise that there have been attempts from both ends of the political spectrum to claim this Olympics for their side. It is a rather pointless game to play.