Under the 'most influential person in my career' section of his biography Bradley Wiggins lists two entries: Muhammad Ali and Michael Johnson.

There is not much evidence of either Ali, who won Olympic gold at just 18, or Johnson, double gold medallist in the 200m and 400m sprints, being too handy on a bike.

But there is something about the desire and ambition of Wiggins which is entirely consistent with the Olympic make-up of the legends he idolises.

Anyone who was in the Velodrome yesterday afternoon would have spotted it as, together with Rob Hayles, he won bronze for Britain in the Men's madison.

It made Wiggins, after his gold in the individual pursuit and silver in the team pursuit, the first Briton to win three medals at an Olympics since Mary Rand at Tokyo in 1964 and the manner of their victory, Hayles getting up from the heaviest of falls a shade before the half-way mark, put a snarl back into the old British Bulldog.

Only 24 hours earlier team-mate Chris Newton from Stockton had ducked out of the Points race because his legs had felt ''tired'' with the lame explanation ''I thought, stuff it.''

Only last Sunday Paula Radcliffe had surrendered some of her respect by failing to finish the marathon four miles from home.

Both should have been in the Velodrome to witness the courage of Hayles and the resolve of Wiggins in one of the most thrilling races of these Games.

The madison, which to the uninitiated might look totally incomprehensible, is probably the nearest thing at the modern Games to the charioteering of Ancient Olympia.

Teams of two race around the Velodrome for 50km, tagging each other into the race and earning points for their placing in ten sprints as well as distance covered. Tangles are inevitable, crashes frequent and injuries probable.

The scoring might require a degree in calculus to understand but the requirement for heart and soul do not. Plain and simple you need bottle.

Britain were lying fourth after the fourth sprint, in fine form and looking good, potentially for gold.

Then came the sort of thud you used to hear when Ali deposited one of his victims on the canvas as Hayles became tangled with a Dutch rider at top speed and ended up on the deck as battered and bruised as his bike appeared twisted.

The same had happened four years ago in Sydney with a lap to go, robbing Hayles of a silver medal.

If there was a thought of pulling out Hayles showed none, rising to his feet, jumping back on a new bike and a couple of minutes later rejoining the race while Wiggins pedalled like fury to keep them in contention.

''When I went down I thought the British public watching back home must think I am a proper idiot after what happened four years ago,'' said Hayles. ''It was just a case of getting my composure back and getting on with it.''

That they did, though the inevitable draining effect of that fall saw them drop to seventh position.

The medal looked to have gone but this is a discipline which repays courage in triplicate and with eight laps gone the British pair decided to attempt to gain a lap on the field, their only option if they were to score enough points to medal.

It was heads down, pedal-for-your-life time and as they circled the Velodrome lap after hypnotic lap they were swept along by a carpet of noise from the large section of Union Jack fans. It is doubtful whether the roar which greeted them as they lapped the field to slip into silver medal position has been bettered anywhere these past two weeks.

And while Switzerland outsprinted them in the last three sprints to leave the Brits with bronze, the Aussies of Graeme Brown and Stuart O'Grady taking gold, it did not matter.

This was the night Wiggins made history and the British bulldog roared. It was the sweetest sound