Even if not everyone is familiar with the name Bishop Ethelbert Talbot, they are familiar with his sentiment that ‘The most important thing in the Olympic Games is not to win but to take part.’ This was adopted as part of the Olympic creed by the founder of the modern Olympiad, Baron Pierre de Coubertin. But try telling that to those celebrating Team GB’s success in the Beijing Olympics. Everyone from footballers to tennis players and even equestrianists are being told to show more competitive ruthlessness as the rest of British sport suffers under a weight of comparative failure. Yet at the same time footballers and cricketers are under fire for showing bad sportsmanship and there are general laments for the loss of fun and decency, which are now a rarity in sport. Ed Smith puts the blame on the rise of professionalism and the loss of amateur principles, but Stephen Jones sees the benefit professionalism has had on rugby union. Behind these debates lurks a lingering tension – what is sport for? Some suggest it is a spectacle, either for entertainment or admiring excellence. Others find its purpose in the transcendence of boundaries and the limits of human potential. The Victorians held it to have a civilising purpose teaching moral principles, and some feel this still has relevance. Today the government chiefly promotes its benefits in terms of tackling obesity, social exclusion and youth crime. Tim Black argues that in using sport as a tool for social engineering we are losing many of the positive inspirational attributes associated with competition, while David Mitchell wonders whether this is a price worth paying. Is winning (and losing) integral to the purpose and pleasure of sport, or can we still get those benefits through non-competition?

What does sporting success mean to us?
The 2003 Rugby World Cup, the 2005 Ashes…Beijing 2008? Despite one-off successes, national teams and performers have had little sustained sporting success recently – Andrew Anthony bemoans the English acceptance of failure and celebration of losers instead of their outrage at national mismanagement and collective lack of ambition. But Richard Beard argues that it is only arrogance which leads us to demand victories we have no right to expect. Does Britain really want winners? In swimming, the ‘tough-guy’ coach Bill Sweetenham faced criticism for his severe methods. But the performance of the GB team in 2008 shows he got results. Nicky Campbell bemoaned the lack of emphasis on competitive sport in schools, but Clint Witchalls feels that elitism prevents all but the best from enjoying and maintaining an interest in sport. Do we have to choose between cultivating victorious sports teams and trying to make sure every child takes part in regular exercise? Ariel Leve points out that even top Olympians invariably lose, but they still go out and compete. Can competition – when handled by responsible coaches – actually inspire broader participation?

Everyone loves a winner?
If sport were simply about winning, then the most successful figures would surely be cherished icons. But despite his status as the most successful Olympian of all time, Simon Barnes had to defend Michael Phelps against charges of being boring – and that nearly every great champion is hated as much as they’re respected. In almost every case they defeated beloved English icons frequently praised for their decency and fair play: Tim Henman (Sampras), Gary Lineker (Maradona) and English cricketers (West Indies). Duleep Allirajah makes the point that only losers are concerned with sportsmanship – which is why the British fetishise it. But Barnes could counter that there have been many ‘nice guys’ who also finished first. Do we want sport stars who seek to win at almost any price, including bending if not breaking the rules, or is there something less satisfying about a victory that hasn’t been won in the ‘right’ way? If she had knocked her rival off as well at Beijing would Gordon Brown be praising Shanaze Reade’s ‘gold or nothing’ approach?

To cheat or not to cheat?
Cheating has already ruined many sports, says Martin Jacques, and will only get worse as more money becomes involved. Drugs scandals and blatant illegality ruin the ethos and spectacle of competition. But David Lacey observes that the rules of sport can be arbitrary and transitory, and there is a difference between cheating and bending them to the absolute limit – the former spoils the game, while the latter is as much a sporting skill as technical ability or stamina. The economist Stephen J. Dubner wonders whether the ‘cat-and-mouse’ element to cheating rows actually complements the drama of sport – in which case we need cheats as much as honest competitors. David Hopps observes that gamesmanship can often inspire the opposition as much as it benefits you. Chei Amlani feels that rule-bending has always had a place in sport, that we should expect professional sportspeople to do everything to win, and that it is the authorities’ job to stop them. But can it go too far? While Harbhajan Singh was cleared of using racist language, can we distinguish between ‘mental attrition’ and offensive abuse? What kind of example are the professionals setting to impressionable youngsters?