It’s time to look north: this weekend, the ultimate obstacle race is back. An estimated six million of us will tune in to watch those finely tuned bodies powering themselves around the famously hellish course, with its exhausting series of hurdles. By the final straight, only the strongest will be left. We’ve already got our favourites. We’re already making predictions. And by Saturday evening we’ll know exactly who is going to be in the Gladiators final.
Apologies to any racing lovers offended by that joke. I intend no slight on the Grand National, the traditional high point of this sporting weekend, but the enforced hiatus between the semi-finals of one of my favourite shows has me revved up. I genuinely missed them all last week – Phantom, Fury, Cyclone, Steel – and it’s still hard to believe such massive, almost planetary, entities could get bumped off the schedule for an FA Cup quarter-final. Legend must have thrown a cosmic tantrum.
And what a missed opportunity for a crossover episode it was. We should have had Mark Clattenburg overseeing proceedings at the Amex Stadium, standing on the halfway line at kick-off yelling: “Nottingham Forest, ready? Brighton and Hove Albion, readddddyyyy?” It was certainly a game that could have been improved by defenders patrolling the box in Atlaspheres. And if Bart Verbruggen had been armed with a pugil stick maybe Forest wouldn’t have won the shootout.
For many, hardcore nostalgia is a big part of the Gladiators appeal – it certainly motivated several of the older contestants to take part in this reboot. My own enthusiasm, however, is not inspired by love for the original. If I want to lose myself in the 90s I’ll make a second outing to Clueless: The Musical (and to those who call it a shameless way to part women in their 40s from their money I say: whatever.)
In fact, this show hooked me against my will. It has overcome the cringe factor of Apollo’s improv work and his phoney locker-room flirting with Sabre. It has even transcended Barney Walsh’s painfully limited presenting skills – I’m just guessing here, but I imagine if you bump into Barney in the street, he excitedly shouts: “You bumped into me in the street!”
With its panto pantheon of heroes and villains, no one mistakes Gladiators for actual sport. This is costume jewellery, alcohol-free prosecco. And yet for all its ersatz nature and WWE vibes, it contains something true enough that sporting connoisseurs still get caught up in the action. Given the right light, even paste diamonds can dazzle.
If you’ve ever watched a nip-and-tuck eliminator race, with a lead dramatically overturned after a too-hasty attempt at the travelator, you’ll know what I’m talking about (and if you don’t, look up Amanda and Toni’s epic in the heats). This series has reminded us what a great format it presents for the beloved underdog victory. Take Joe H, the bearded driving instructor from Wirral who took his drubbings so cheerfully. He may have had a passionate fanbase, but I doubt even they saw him getting as far as the semi-finals.
And yes, this tournament is an invitational, not an open. The contestants, physically gifted as they are, have not made it on to our screens through qualifying or rankings: they’re cast for their differing backgrounds and life stories. But the skills and resilience on display have been outstanding, from Joe F skidding around a grid of beams 30 feet off the ground to set a new record on The Edge, to Poppy becoming the first contestant to complete the rings on Hang Tough.
Given that they’re up against former professional athletes, it is no surprise perhaps that Joe F, no regular Joe, was himself a Team GB gymnast. And it was particularly instructive to see the reaction of Aneila, a multiple British taekwondo champion, when she just missed out on a place in a final. She was the first contestant to display the true extent of her disappointment.
Because one key question raised by watching Gladiators is what we believe true sportsmanship to be. This series there seems to have been an editorial decision to increase the Big Villain Energy in the Sheffield Arena. The introduction of Cyclone has given us our first female baddie; there’s been a modest increase in the PG-standard trash talking; Legend’s self-confidence has gone beyond even Kevin Pietersen levels.
And yet, the contenders still treat each other with the kind of respect that makes you proud to be a sports lover. We see competitors embracing each other – and sometimes the Gladiators, too, at the end of a gruelling round of Powerball (netball meets rugby) or Unleash (track sprint with a dash of Point Break). And it is reminiscent of triathletes and long-distance runners collapsing past the tape and throwing their gratefulbodies on top of each other in mutual admiration.
It’s a great lesson for the young audience that the show has been actively pursuing this year, with its CBBC spin-offs. I don’t think the producers have always got it right. Viper, whose whole shtick is that he’s too angry to speak, has been given the kind of “scenes” that send quite worrying messages, not least when he got beaten by Junior, a professional dancer, on the rings. First he threw his helmet at him, then he called him a worm and pushed him to the mat. The camera caught Junior’s young son in the audience, looking genuinely worried. There were probably plenty of nervous parents too, picturing all the future playground bullies being formed in that moment.
Happily, since then, there has been a more concerted effort to show Gladiators modelling grace in defeat (and there’s no one doing it with more class and decency than Steel). “The best thing about being a Gladiator,” said Fury, herself a former professional rugby player, “is trying to inspire kids to get into sport.” Now, hand me that foam finger …
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