An encounter with a heavyweight wrestling champion.

Mijain Lopez Nunez is a big man, a very big man. ‘El Terrible’ is one of the greatest heavyweight Greco-Roman wrestlers of all time, and I upset him.

I met the Cuban hero at the Olympic Games in Beijing in 2008, just as he was about to carry the flag into the opening ceremony. One would naturally assume that he would be excited in the moments before fulfilling such an enormous honour — but he wasn’t entirely happy, and I was partly to blame.

I’d been assured that Lopez had been advised that he was one of the flag bearers who’d been chosen for an interview.

The muscle-bound world and Olympic champion had assumed that he would assemble with teammates in the gymnastics stadium, have a bite to eat, then hoist the flag and experience the rush of adrenaline and pride that accompany an Olympic opening ceremony.

But this was not to be.

It had been decided that the international reporters in the news service would be accompanied by a Chinese colleague to ensure we could move quickly through accreditation checkpoints between the gymnastics stadium and the athletics stadium. Accreditation checkpoints are notoriously strict and/or mismanaged at international sporting events, so it was vital we had a Chinese speaker to explain our way through this maze if necessary.

Thus it was explained to our less-experienced Chinese colleagues that their primary responsibility was to ensure our passage through the checkpoints.

My partner, however, was not prepared to limit himself to such a perfunctory role. He was enthusiastic, energetic, ambitious and entirely deluded as to his own language and reporting ability.

Mr Wu had never worked in the media before, but that would not prevent him from attempting to take a prominent role in a media operation at the biggest event on earth.

Mr Wu guided me through the checkpoints with ease, for which I thanked him. At the gymnastics stadium, we located the bay which would hold the Cuban team, and waited; and waited, and waited.

Slowly, the world’s best athletes started to trickle into the stadium and take their seats for what would be a very long, hot and humid wait.

We stargazed at superstars, searching for Messi, Bolt, Phelps, Bryant, Nadal and the Williams sisters. Mr Wu took out his camera and started snapping away before I reminded him that reporters don’t do that — it’s not professional.

He then set himself another task; finding Dayron Robles. The Cuban hurdler was the biggest perceived threat to China’s pin-up boy Liu Xiang, after Robles had broken Liu’s world record earlier in 2008.

Mr Wu was determined to speak to and photograph Robles and to ask him about Liu. Thus, as soon as a small number of Cuban athletes and officials started to take their seats, Mr Wu set upon them and in broken English, interrogated them by asking,

“Where Robles, where Robles?”

The Cubans were at first bemused at a random local man haranguing them for information about their star hurdler, and answered in their own broken English that he had not arrived yet.

I rushed to remove Mr Wu from the scene and to apologise for bothering them, because I knew we might have to call on them again to interview Lopez.

I also understood too well that Cuban athletes and officials are notoriously taciturn lest they reveal something to a foreign journalist that upsets the government back home.

I placated the Cubans, but I didn’t placate Mr Wu. He found a new batch of athletes to interrogate and once again I had to pull him away. The majority of the Cuban team were now shooting suspicious glances at the bouncing Chinese man and his blonde companion, both dressed in the same uniforms as the remaining army of volunteers.

I dragged Mr Wu away, and in my best school teacher’s voice told him that he was making our job a lot harder and that he could just relax and let me do the interview.

This worked — until Robles arrived. The young hurdler glided into the stadium as gracefully as he glides over hurdles, and took a seat near the aisle. Mr Wu pounced on him with feline stealth and agility, and snapped photos and questions at the unsuspecting hurdler, who clearly had no idea what Mr Wu was saying.

Again, I extracted him from the scene, and in my best headmaster’s voice, reminded him to relax and let me do the interview once we’d located Lopez.

The big man finally arrived with a large group of athletes and seated himself in the font row — right in the middle. Obviously he hadn’t been told that he was to be interviewed.

I was worried about telling one of the strongest men on earth that he’d have to get out of his seat and come and talk to me — and then I had even more to worry about. Mr Wu had spotted him and was ordering the Cuban athletes seated to the left of Lopez that he must come and do an interview with us — now. Again, Mr Wu was haranguing athletes. Worse still, they understood the name Lopez and were communicating to the wrestler that he had to talk to the excited Chinese man.

Lopez looked very confused and not at all happy, so I started explaining to athletes seated to the right of Lopez that I would like to interview him. So, one of the world’s greatest Greco-Roman wrestlers was in the middle of what was becoming a Benny Hill sketch with two foreigners in colourful Olympic uniforms demanding to speak to him.

Eventually, Lopez ignored the calls from Mr Wu, and looked in my direction. I’d communicated to his teammates, in Spanish, that I would like to interview him, in Spanish. He finally understood what all the fuss was about — but then we had another problem.

Lopez had already inspected the contents of his snack bag — which every athlete had been given in anticipation of a long night ahead. He liked what he saw in the snack bag. He had even removed the wrapper of one of the delights. Now, here I was, asking him to put it back.

Lopez looked at me, looked at his snack, looked at me again and was not altogether pleased. Then he surmised another problem. The mountain of muscle would have to squeeze himself through about 20 occupied seats to get to me.

This is what he started doing after he returned the snack to the bag. He squeezed and struggled and apologised his way past his teammates, and every step he took, he got bigger. The muscles on his arms pressed against his jacket. The trousers struggled to contains his huge thighs and his chest threatened to rip the buttons off his shirt. He was huge. He wasn’t particularly tall, but every part of his body was big.

And I had upset him.

He crept closer, shuffling past the seats and looking at me with the eyes of someone trained to submit equally-large men in hand to hand combat.

I backed away slightly, realising that I was standing next to the railing on the second tier of the gymnastics stadium, and that this man surely knew 10 ways to throw me over the railing with minimal effort.

He closed on me and my mouth went dry and my hands started to sweat. I knew this man had won multiple national, regional, continental and world championships, and I knew that approaching me was one of the toughest men on the planet.

He looked at me with the eyes of someone disciplined and determined, someone primed to dominate and intimidate, someone about to lead his nation onto the biggest stage on earth.

I noticed the beads of sweat forming on his brow, heard the short, frustrated breaths as he pushed past the last remaining teammates, heard him reach for oxygen in the humid, stale air of the packed gymnastics stadium.

“Hola,” I ventured

“Hola,” he returned, without emotion.

I explained with a slightly trembling voice exactly who I was and what I had hoped to do, and stuck out my hand politely, if somewhat reluctantly.

I could feel the muscle and energy pulsing through his hand as it enveloped mine, and understood exactly how much sheer physical power is required to rule Greco-Roman wrestling in the 120/130kg weight categories.

Fortunately, Lopez clearly took pity on me and did not offer a firm handshake, because I’m certain he could have broken every bone in the hand of a former middle-distance runner.

Ultimately, Lopez fit the description of the gentle giant. He was actually softly spoken, polite and generous with his answers. He showed no ill-feelings at the inconvenience and offered another soft handshake when the interview was finished.

Mijain Lopez Nunez won gold in Beijing. I was happy for him, because he is a true sporting and national hero. I was also happy, because if he hadn’t won, I don’t know if he’d have come looking for the guy who interrupted his dinner.