Pete Cashmore: Rio 2016 Olympics

One thing that I value among my readership, next to their fierce passion for puns and aloofness when it comes to sending me complimentary emails, is their constant alertness to things going on in the world, so I'm quite sure the Olympics haven't escaped your notice. In Rio, I think they are.

Anyway, one thing that the Olympics always manages to throw up is scenes of raw, lump-in-the-throat human emotion. In much the same way that major football tournaments manage to throw up scenes of bitter, entirely predictable disappointment if you are an England fan.

I'd like to revisit one of those moments now, partly because it is timely, and partly because it is the single most moving, tear-jerking thing I've ever seen, in sport or anywhere else. The scene is Barcelona and the year is 1992, and the race is one of the semi-finals for the 400 metres. Not necessarily an event in which we Britons have the greatest of pedigrees, having won two silver medals in the last 80 years.

Our great hope in this race was British record holder Derek Redmond, the fastest qualifier in the first round. In his semi-final, he went off at a fine old lick, and looked all set for the final, were it not for the fact that, at about 250 metres, his hamstring ruptured. In fact, it ruptured so comprehensively that you could practically hear the twang as it went under.

What happened next is the stuff of which legends are hewn. In agony, Derek clearly couldn't win the race without sprouting wings, but he was determined to make it to the line and finish the race. As he hobbled into the home straight, the tears came. One hundred yards up ahead, the rest of the field had finished but this was now Derek's private race – Redmond vs pain.

And then it happened.

As the crowd rose to their feet to applaud this act of supreme athletic bravery, a little figure appeared on the track, dressed like a tourist, running towards Derek. A track official tried to get between the little man and the stricken athlete, and keen lip-readers were able to spot the little man saying to the jobsworth ass he barged past: "F*** off, that's my son."

Jim Redmond took Derek's arm and tenderly walked the distraught runner towards, and over, the finishing line, where he collapsed into his father's arms. The Barcelona crowd erupted. People around the world wept at this scene of parental instinct and the power of love. Derek was disqualified for getting help from an outside agent but it didn't matter. Two heroes had been born, and Jim Redmond was a shoo-in for 1992 Dad Of The Year. Let us hope that the next couple of weeks or so throw up more heroes, in rather happier circumstances.