The moments that will live forever

As we enter a new millennium, it is but natural that we should look back on the past century and size up its heroes and their accomplishments - this is especially irresistible in the world of sport where drawing up lists is everybody's favourite pastime. In the three articles featured in this page, ROBERT PHILIP, a Daily Telegraph (London) sports columnist, picks his own top ten sports events and the top ten male and female athletes of the 20th century.

A MEMORY, said Edward de Bono, is what is left when something happens and does not completely unhappen. In selecting my most memorable sports events of the century, it would have been simple to nominate 10 Partick Thistle games, 10 speedway meetings involving the Glasgow Tigers, or my one unforgettable trip to the Palio horse race in Siena.

To choose but 10 moments in time when sport touched the very heart and soul is nigh-on impossible - please, go ahead and try it yourself - because any such list must be purely subjective. I doubt if you will agree with many - or any - of my memories but here I go anyway. Some I was privileged to witness in person, others I followed on television, a couple I have learned about through books and grainy black and white newsreels of the day. They have one thing in common; they all happened and will never completely unhappen...

Cassius Clay v Sonny Liston, Miami, Feb 25, 1964: Liston was an ogre, a fearsome ex-convict who could petrify opponents with a look as hard and cold as a tombstone. Henry Cooper's kindly manager Jim Wicks refused to countenance a world title fight. ``We don't want to meet this geezer Liston walking down the street, let alone in the ring.''

Knowing Liston feared no one, Clay acted like a crazed lunatic during the weigh-in, his pulse-rate going off the scale to such an extent the official doctor wanted to postpone the fight. ``Liston is afraid of no sane man,'' the challenger explained to his cornerman Bundini Brown after they had returned to their hotel, ``but he might just be afraid of a madman.''

To chip away at Liston's sense of invincibility, the youthful Clay had spent the weeks before the fight delivering a stream of seemingly empty taunts. ``I'm young... I'm handsome... I can't possibly be beat. I predict he will go in eight to prove I'm great, but if he wants to go to heaven, I'll get him in seven.''

And seven it was; Liston, the proudest, angriest, most brutal heavyweight champion of them all, quitting on his stool complaining of an injured shoulder and with tears streaming down his face. Why? We will never know the truth, but it was the end of Sonny Liston, who died a penniless drug addict, and the beginning of the legend that is Muhammad Ali.

Real Madrid 7, Eintracht Frankfurt 3, European Cup final, Glasgow, May 18, 1960: Football has never provided 90 minutes of such magic; the pace and wizardry of Gento on the left touchline, the poise and panache of Di Stefano, the power and accuracy of Puskas's left foot. Over 135,000 spectators at Hampden Park were held spellbound as Real, in that wondrous all-white strip, performed a football ballet which has never been surpassed. I was there, aged 10, and 35 years on the image has never faded.

England v Australia, Cricket Test, Headingley, 1981: The fat lady had sung and was sitting at home with her feet up when Ian Botham came into bat with England, which was following-on, still 92 runs behind and seven second-innings wickets down.

What happened next defied logic but, then, Botham's ability to wreak mayhem with bat or ball was nothing if not illogical. Slamming the Australian bowlers to all parts of the ground in an undefeated 149, Botham gave England the precious lifeline of a 129-run lead. Exit Beefy, enter fast-bowler Bob Willis who proceeded to skittle-out the Aussies in a dynamic eight-wicket spell. It was only the second time in history a team had won a Test after following on.

John McEnroe v Bjorn Borg, Wimbledon, 1980: Fire and ice; tennis' greatest rivalry was encapsulated in a 20-minute fourth- set tie- break. Five times Borg reached championship point only to be thwarted by McEnroe's ability to conjure up unthinkable winners, six times the American stood at set point, he, in turn, denied by the Swede's devastating lobs and bludgeoning ground strokes. Each and every point - all 36 of them - was a self-contained drama before Borg finally wilted and missed a forehand volley.

Borg went on to win the title for the fifth successive year 1-6, 7-5, 6-3, 6-7, 8-6 but his reign was nearing an end. At the U.S. Open two months later, McEnroe triumphed in five sets to assume the mantle of the world's No 1 player.

Frequently at loggerheads during their years at the top - McEnroe was a far more gentleman than his public image, Borg far less admirable than the general perception - they have since become firm friends.

Foinavon wins Grand National,Aintree, 1967: The Grand National never fails to weave the most romantic of tales: Red Rum's three victories, Bob Champion and Aldaniti's heroic adventure, Devon Loch's tragic misadventure within yards of victory. Had it been in operation at the time, jockey John Buckingham would have had more chance winning the National Lottery than winning steeple chasing's greatest prize on the plodding Foinavon.

But it was the 100-1 outsider's very lack of speed of hoof that brought about his unlikely triumph. At the 23rd fence, the smallest on the course, a loose horse wreaked havoc with the field; most of the runners baulked and refused, some jockeys reached the landing side without their equine partners, other mounts negotiated the obstacle safely enough but left their riders behind. Into this war zone lumbered Foinavon, who had been so far adrift of the leaders, Buckingham was able to steer him through the mayhem. With seven fences remaining, Foinavon set off on his lonely journey for home; watching newsreel footage today, you feel certain someone must catch him. They never do...

The Shot Heard Round The World, The Polo Grounds, New York, Oct 3, 1951: Trailing their bitter rivals, the Brooklyn Dodgers, by 13-1/2 games, the New York Giants won 37 of their last 44 games to take the National League baseball championship into a play- off. In the last inning of the third and final game, the Giants were behind 4-2 (but with two men on base) when Glasgow-born Bobby Thomson walked out to the plate to face pitcher Ralph Branca.

As radio commentator Russ Hodges described it: ``Thomson up there swinging... Dodgers lead 4-2... Branca throws... Thomson hits a long drive...

I believe it's gonna be... THE GIANTS WIN THE PENNANT! THE GIANTS WIN THE PENNANT! And they are going crazy. YAAAHOOO!''

In the New York Herald Tribune, the peerless Red Smith was moved to report: ``Now it is done. Now the story ends. And there is no way to tell it. The art of fiction is dead. Reality has strangled invention. Only the utterly impossible, the inexpressibly fantastic, can ever be plausible again.''

Europe v United States, Ryder Cup, The Belfry, 1985: He stands there yet, arms raised in triumph, a rolled-up fag behind one ear, a great cheesy grin on his face, and the tears beginning to turn his famous Groucho Marx moustache into a soggy quagmire. After decades of American dominance, it befell Sam Torrance to sink the putt which won the Ryder Cup. ``Look at me,'' be bubbled in a live interview with the BBC's Steve Rider, ``and I don't give a shit.''

For good or bad, the event has never been the same since.

Roger Bannister breaks four-minute mile barrier, Iffley Road, Oxford, May 6, 1954: The most famous numbers in sport: 3-59.4. And no one has ever succeeded in describing that historic afternoon better than Roger Bannister himself: ``Those last few seconds seemed never-ending. The faint line of the finishing tape stood ahead as a haven of peace after struggle. The arms of the world were waiting to receive me, if only I could reach the tape without slackening my speed. If I faltered, there would be no arms to hold me and the world would be a cold, forbidding place because I had been so close. I leapt at the tape like a man taking his last spring to save himself from the chasm that threatens to engulf him.''

Bannister did not falter, crossing the line into immortality by a precious 0.6 sec.

Nadia Comaneci achieves `perfection', Montreal, 1976: Even the electronic scoreboard was stunned. As the figure `1' flashed up, a collective gasp of disbelief went round the Olympic arena. The computer, it transpired, had not been programmed to register a `perfect 10'. ``I knew my routine was flawless,'' Comaneci said of her display on the uneven bars. ``After all, I had performed it hundreds of times exactly the same way in practice.''

Over the next few days, Comaneci gained seven `10s' in winning three gold, one silver and one bronze medals. Millions of TV viewers were captivated, thousands of pixies around the globe were inspired to take up gymnastics.

Poignantly, although she gave the world happiness, it would take many years before Comaneci could smile without being prompted to do so by her Romanian masters. Abused physically and mentally by coaches and members of the Ceaucescu family, she would eventually flee to the West to find the peace and contentment denied her in childhood.

But remember her as she was, the fusion of sport and art. Something which happened and 100 years from now will not have unhappened.

France 43, New Zealand 31, World Cup semi-final, Twickenham, Oct 31, 1999: Quite simply the best game of international rugby played.

- Copyright Telegraph Group Ltd. London 1999.

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