David Leggat: Sublime moments stay etched on the memory

Every now and then sport can send the spirits soaring.

Forget the actual business of winning. Set aside for a moment the darker elements, the doping and chicanery which can anger, sadden or bemuse.

That capacity to thrill, to pull the watcher to the edge of their seat, happened twice this week, once in Berlin, once in Minnesota.

Those lucky enough to witness Usain Bolt win the Olympic 100m gold last year will never forget it.

Just as those in the Berlin Olympic Stadium on Monday will always be thankful they were there when Bolt hurtled down the 100m stretch in 9.58s.

Fabulous. And just for a moment you'd wonder how on earth any human can move that swiftly.

In 1988 when Ben Johnson, eyes bloodshot and body loaded with stanazolol, sped to the line in 9.79s at the Seoul Olympics you were entitled to wonder if anyone would ever legally better that time.

Bolt would have buried Johnson by at least a couple of metres. Easing up.

On Monday, Bolt shaved 0.11s off his own world record time from the Beijing Olympics. He did exactly the same yesterday in the 200m.

But at least to these eyes, there was an inevitability about the 200m. Not only on the identity of the winner, but also accompanied by a reasonable expectation of another world mark.

Does a sense of ho-hum take a smidgen of gloss off the achievement? Of course not.

Bolt is now the first athlete to hold the Olympic and world sprint double titles, and both world records. He's a freak, with a physique more suited to bowling fast or shooting hoops than running quickly.

And he will go faster. The more so when/if someone comes along to push him. And he will continue to enthral.

There is an argument that in slowing down as he eases to the finish line he's mocking, if not by design, those straining every sinew behind him. Perhaps, but that's for another day, just as the hope remains that Bolt won't prove to be dirty.

He is a thrilling sight, but there are murmurings around how the present Jamaican sprinters have attained their prowess. Hand on heart, would you be surprised if one day Bolt turns the crystals the wrong colour?

At Hazeltine Country Club in Minnesota, Y.E. Yang ended one part of the legend of Tiger Woods: that he was uncatchable if he had the lead going into the final round of a major.

He was, until Monday when Yang eyeballed the game's greatest and won, easing away by three shots.

Take one stroke. His penultimate strike, with a hybrid 3 wood, hitting blind over trees to stop his ball a couple of metres from the hole.

It was the sort of shot which could have come badly undone. But it didn't. Yang trusted in himself and went for it. And those watching went with him, willing it to land safely. Stunning.

Here was a hardworking journeyman golfer having the greatest day of his life. It seems a safe bet that no matter what his future holds, in terms of dramatic achievement Yang will never approach this again.

And he seemed to have a grin stitched on his face, enjoying himself hugely. Wouldn't you?

Anyone watching with a passing appreciation of sport and what it can do to the heart and mind, will know. Everyone will have their own "how the heck did he/she do that" personal favourites that set the pulse racing.

You can even get that frisson down the spine when ultimately the moment is unfulfilled.

Remember Moss Burmester leading Michael Phelps at 50m and being a tick behind him at halfway in the 200m butterfly final in Beijing last year? From lane one. Burmester got run down, but for a fleeting moment you held your breath and felt yourself leaning forward.

So much of sport ultimately doesn't really matter. But among the real joys of the game are those magic moments. They don't happen that often. And that's a good thing too.