Viktor Axelsen breaks Loh Kean Yew’s heart but does it in brilliant style

PARIS – In a corner of Paris two friends are trying to break each other’s confidence on a badminton court. It’s edging towards 10pm at La Chapelle Arena but everyone’s awake. Even three Danish kids are squeaking out encouragement

as Viktor Axelsen and Loh Kean Yew do polite, fierce battle

. It’s a quarter-final, three wins from Olympic gold. Fairly close, impossibly far.

Many people in this stadium are neither Singaporean or Danish, but they are roused, at one juncture by a rally which takes 44 shots and 46 seconds. For them, and surely us, the thrill of the Olympics is to witness the world at play. An archer from Kazakhstan. A canoeist from Slovenia. A BMX cyclist from Colombia. Talent from places on a map we might never have been to. Ambition comes in multiple languages.

We might wear flags but we rise for talent. This is what binds us all, this love of play. We clap for last-place finishers even if we can’t tell what nation they are from. We recognise courage irrespective of passport. Until recently the International Olympic Committee didn’t even have a medal table, for this isn’t really a contest between nations. Only gifted people. That sound you hear in stadiums is just young athletes hurling their dreams at each other. Often only pieces remain.

Jingoism is boring and blind and yet sport is also about allegiance. The French crowds have been superbly fair and yet have also joyously expressed home advantage. It’s a thrill to watch someone from your nation do well. Or to cheer for a kid from your next suburb who has made it to the Games. Who plays for himself, of course, but in a little way for you, too. The history he writes is a gift to you.

This is what Loh is trying to do for Singaporeans on a Friday night in Paris. Beat the odds. Axelsen is 19cm taller and seeded eight places higher and beaten him eight times out of 10. A challenge looms.

In the extraordinary noise that surrounds the Olympics only the resilient survive. Axelsen has an Olympic gold already, a lean, rangy figure with an almost unfair reach. His smashes sound like small firecrackers going off. He should win but sport has a mad, romantic streak. Maybe Loh has a sliver of a chance.

It’s kind of sweet that fans of both nations are wearing red and white. The Danes make more noise because Axelsen wins more points. Momentum shifts in matches with breathtaking speed and here it lurches from even to lopsided. One moment it’s 3-2 to Axelsen, next it’s 14-3.

Loh is diving around and at 3-7 down an old scar starts to bleed on his racket hand. The match pauses, a doctor comes, his hand is wrapped. Badminton is a sport of sensitive feel and precise deceit and now there’s this bandage between Loh’s palm and his grip. Later he will grin, a man of fine character who doesn’t let defeat blunt his decency, and say, “It’s hard to beat him with a normal hand”.

In modern sport sometimes, the winning and losing has overtaken everything else. The fun, for instance. I have seen Australian cricketers hit a spectacular shot in India and be met with silence. And yet here you sense that even those who cheer for Loh are admiring Axelsen.

The Dane paces as the Singaporean is bandaged. He shadow plays. He looks infected with urgency. When a great player starts playing great it is awesome to watch and terrible to play against. Loh hits wonderful shots but they all come back. His fine coach, Kelvin Ho, sits with his arms tightly crossed. How do you teach someone to break down such brilliance?

The first game goes 21-9 to the Dane, the second is closer. 7-7. 8-8. Axelsen lifts and it’s 14-9. Loh brings it to 14-14 with a bellow. Now? Now champions turn into Formula One drivers of a sort, they just have more gears and know when to change. Axelsen takes it to 18-14 and Danish commentators lurch to their feet. Their hair is grey, their excitement is boyish.

The families, on whom every athlete leans, will later wait outside. Here there is love irrespective of result. When Axelsen appears his two, tiny daughters run to him. He folds his 1.94m body and sinks to his haunches. He laughs and makes faces. It is only the second time the defending Olympic champion has bent before anyone this day.

The first is on court when Axelsen falls to his knees before his fans as he wins 21-17. He comes from under the net to shake Loh’s hand and share a hug. They were buddies before this match. They will be friends after their careers are over. It is such days which makes the Olympics work.