Chariots of Fire

I should be letting the Olympic Games
interfere with my shorthand.

But if you were my age, with a chance
to win the World Championship in Paris,

you would be just as big a fool as I am.
By the way, it's awfully kind of Pa
to fnance me here, in spite of my idiocy.

It's marvellous for esprit de corps.
Most of the chaps have managed to get down.

- Cricket, Montague, in the ballroom.
- Now!

No ball!
Come on, Aubrey, the old leg break.
- Howzat!
- Not out.

What? You could hear it
in bloody Bournemouth!

- Come on, Liddell, my innings.
- I didn't touch it.

- You heard the crack of my wrist.
- I saw the bloody thing bend! Andy!

No tickle for me.
He's out, I tell you.
You're all deaf and bloody blind.

Aubrey, I ask you, for God's sake!
It's not fair!
All right.
Harold's here. As intense as ever.
Just as he was
on our very frst day at Cambridge.

I remember we shared a taxi together.
I'll take these.
- See you inside, Aubrey.
- Right.

Thank you.