In Tokyo, the emptiness haunts every venue

There are matches that deserve to be played in a packed stadium. You could argue that at the Olympics, that should apply to every match, but Japan winning their first-ever table tennis Olympic gold at the Tokyo Metropolitan Centre was more than special. The mixed doubles pair of Mizutani Jun and Ito Mima producing an epic comeback to beat the Chinese duo Xu Xin and Liu Shiwen 4-3. Emotions and thrills, defining the contest at the biggest sporting spectacle, threatened to burst through the roof.

Yet at the Tokyo Metropolitan Gymnasium, in the heart of the city, the empty multi-colored bucket seats stare back at you. The sound of the ping pong ball hitting the table echo through the 7000-seater hall. Volunteers and local media assume the role of cheerleaders, jumping from their seats with triumphant cries with the winning shot.

The cameras captured the winning moment beautifully: Jun and Mima letting out a huge roar, pumping their fists, and their coach hugging them in the middle for an extended celebration. It was instinctive, the pure joy to leave everything out there for your country. Then the silence of the stadium took over.

This is the most unsettling part of covering this edition of the Olympics: the new normal, as some would say. The excitement of watching an event backed by a boisterous, raucous crowd; the whistles, comments, screams and sighs, the odd silence if the favourites are losing, is what makes watching sports such a transcendental experience. The absence of this is bitter reminder of the many ways this pandemic has impacted lives the world over.

The incomplete feeling haunts every venue.

At the Oi hockey stadium, all you can hear is the clatter of sticks and the coaches and players shouting instructions.

"It is strange," reckons India's hockey coach Graham Reid. When you play hockey you play in front of thousands or you can play in front of no crowd. That's the reality but yes, it's disappointing."