I'm no fan of this circus but real stars still thrill us

I'm in China to do the politics - of which there is no shortage - but my temporary metamorphosis to showjumping correspondent, although mostly due to a coincidence of travel arrangements, also symbolises something that happens in all Olympics. In the week (indeed the four years) beforehand, no one stops talking about what Tony Benn calls the "ishoos" - in Beijing, smog and democracy; in London 2012, legacy and expense.

Then the Games begin, and suddenly the great machine that is sport rolls over all those boring human rights activists and tedious democracy nay-sayers, covering them all in lap-time statistics and pictures of people heroically pushing the boundaries of Lycra garment design.

It shouldn't do, of course. Objectively, almost no one is interested in at least half of these sports ( equestrianism being one of the exceptions). The claim, beloved of London 2012, that the Games inspire youth is one of those Olympic promises, like urban regeneration, that is never lastingly fulfilled. In many (though not all) Olympic disciplines, the gap between ordinary young park players and the massively-funded, industriallyproduced elite is now so huge as to be positively off-putting.

What's supposed to be a celebration of humanity often looks to me more like a perversion of it. The incredible pressure on competitors bends some of them out of shape. Not all the athletes (think of the cyclists, in their funny helmets and all-over condoms) even look human; and some, of course, will almost certainly resort to gifts well beyond Mother Nature's.

Here in Beijing, non-passholders are not allowed within half a mile of the stadium. The city is in semi-lockdown. What could be further from the sporting ideal of fun and participation?

Yet somehow, for a few days, the Games overcome this. The nations of the world do get involved, rooting for sportspeople they had never heard of before they opened the paper at breakfast. We all become instant experts on volleyball and archery.

The truth is that for most people it doesn't, in fact, matter that China has broken the human rights promises it made to win the Games; that this event is strengthening a dictatorship. For most people, this will be a good Games if Britain wins lots of medals. And events seem to be moving in that direction, with gold and bronze in the women's 400m freestyle swimming for Rebecca Adlington and Joanne Jackson respectively.

Even I, who know nothing about horses, experienced an atavistic thrill as I watched Mary King's cross-country ride in the equestrianism this morning, crossing the finish line with her hand over her mouth in excitement, hauling herself and Team GB back into the medal stakes.

That is why we buy into the Olympics - because even if horses, balls, or bows and arrows, are alien languages to many of us, naked humanity is not. Those moments of pride and passion are what redeem this absurd circus.

But are there enough of them? Perhaps we also believe because of the massed presence of people like me. If the BBC is doing 18 hours a day, the newspapers 10 pages an issue, the Olympics must be important.

It becomes almost self-reinforcing - and for all my excitement, I'm still basically cynical. The Olympics euphoria wears off very quickly. the Emperor's new clothes here - or at least the Emperor's new tracksuit.