BY COINCIDENCE, just in time for the 31st Olympiad in Rio de Janeiro, we've stumbled across this brilliant story concerning the 4th Olympiad that was held in London in 1908 when great things were expected of George "Butt" Butterfield in the 1,500m and 800m.

Butterfield was born in Stockton, but lived in Darlington where he trained with the Harriers club, which is currently celebrating its 150th anniversary. For three consecutive years from 1905, he was the champion miler in the country, and in 1906 he ran the fastest mile in the world. However, he was even more renowned for out-running a greyhound.

The story is set on a snowy day at the North Yorkshire and South Durham Coursing Club’s meet at Sir Robert Ropner’s estate – we would guess, therefore, that this story takes place at the fabulously-named Skutterskelfe Hall, near Stokesley, which was the German-born shipbuilder’s country residence.

Two dogs were to race off, one of which was called Lord Nelson II. This poor hound had a lamentable record and so everyone was backing its spritely opponent.

True to form, when the hare was raised and the race was on, the opponent rushed ahead, leaving his lordship trailing behind. But the leader slipped in the snow, somersaulted and crashed to the ground, dislocating its shoulder.

Lord Nelson was the only dog left in the race, slowly sauntering after the fleet of foot hare. One of the spectators was heard to call out in disgust: “I’m darned sure I can run as fast as that. I’ll have a try.”

It was George Butterfield, at the height of his powers, throwing down the gauntlet to a greyhound.

“With that, he scooted off in the tracks of the greyhound showing clearly in the snow,” remembered one who was there. “Away he raced over hedges and ditches, hot on the trail, until he was out of sight.”

Out of sight, out of mind, and no one was worried when the worthless Lord Nelson II never came home. “It might ‘ave fallen down deed,” said one. “Just as weel,” said another.

Later that evening, Butterfield turned up in a pub in Hutton Rudby, sweating profusely.

“Following him was the sorriest-looking greyhound imaginable, perfectly abject and weary,” recalled the eye witness. “George said he must have run over five miles over the roughest country he could ever remember, and had captured his quest in a wood.”

Man 1 Greyhound 0.