When sport became more than just a game

These rare moments transcend the intense heat of competition and recall the times foe becomes friend.

Have your say on the greatest acts of sportsmanship by letting us know what you think of these moments and which other moments you think should be remembered. Simply leave your comments and suggestions at the bottom of the page with the best appearing in tomorrow's The Independent.

ANDREW FLINTOFF AND BRETT LEE

English gladiator shows rare compassion for fallen rival, writes David Lloyd

It is an image that has been used countless times to sum up sportsmanship of the highest level, and even now - four years on - the picture of Andrew Flintoff, with his hand on Brett Lee's shoulder, is worth a thousand words of good intentions. Sportsmen and women regularly speak about respecting their opponents and feeling sympathy for them when things go wrong. And most of them may even mean it. But to show compassion when all around you are whooping with delight is something special. England's cricketers were going through the emotional wringer on the morning of Sunday 7 August 2005 as Australia's last-wicket pair moved to within three runs of an amazing Ashes victory at Edgbaston. Then Steve Harmison had Michael Kasprowicz caught behind - in dodgy fashion, as it turned out - and the world went crazy. No one could blame the England players for celebrating wildly. But among all the hugging and highfiving, Flintoff walked up to Lee, crouched down beside the Aussie tail-ender and spoke to him for several seconds. According to cynics, the conversation probably went along the lines of: "Right, that's 1-1 and we haven't finished with you yet, matey." But as far as either player can remember, Flintoff's words were more like: "Bad luck, Brett, you didn't deserve to finish on the losing side." Whatever the precise nature of his message, Flintoff had shown that it is possible to think of others first in the heat of a sporting triumph. Not often, perhaps, but possible.

BOBBY MOORE AND PELE

James Lawton on a moment of respect after the greatest game of all

In one hand Pele holds the England shirt of Bobby Moore and with the other he reaches out to touch the cheek of his adversary. Moore has the great man's shirt and he reciprocates a gesture that will always speak beautifully of the respect and the affection which springs up between sportsmen who have played to limits that go beyond any normal measurement of winning and losing. Brazilwon the Group Three World Cup match in the Jalisco Stadium, Guadalajara, in 1970, by a single goal, and perhaps the smile of pleasure on Moore's face was made a little easier by the fact that he knew what had happened was not a killer blow. England, the reigning world champions,would eventually go out toWest Germany in the quarterfinals, after Sir Alf Ramsey's catastrophic decision to substitute Bobby Charlton, but in the Jalisco Stadium they had showed their quality and status. They had lost, by the barest possible margin, to arguably the greatest team in the history of international football in a match which everyone agreed was possibly the best ever played. All of this is reflected in the picture of Pele and Moore - and perhaps even a little more. It is certainly true that both men could be said to have stepped back into the sunlight. Moore had emerged from the crisis of his career when patient negotiating had just a few days earlier led to his release by the Colombian police, who had arrested him on the trumped-up charge of stealing a bracelet in Bogota. As Moore flew to join his team-mates, one of the most experienced of them, Bobby Charlton, feared that the captain and the inspiration of the side might be a broken man. "My fears were proved groundless," said Charlton later. "His self-possession was uncanny and his leadership, as always, brilliant." Pele had come into the tournament scarred from his experiences in England four years earlier, when after his triumph in Sweden as a 17-year-old and an injury-marred campaign in Chile in 1962, he was systematically kicked out of the 1966 World Cup by the players of Hungary and Portugal. But now in Mexico he was the master again, controlled, brilliant on the ball, visionary, and around him were players of immense ability: Tostao, Gerson, Carlos Alberto and the scorer of the only goal against England, Jairzinho. Pele's contribution to Jairzinho's goal embodied one of his greatest qualities, the humility that meant he always thought first of the possibilities of the team. When the ball came to him from Tostao on the left, he killed it dead under the pressure of attention from two defenders, then, in one seamless movement, played it into the path of Jairzinho who scored from close in. Earlier Pele had provoked the epic save of Gordon Banks. Moore played throughout with what might be described as incandescent authority. His tackling was, as almost always, immaculately timed, so good, so strong, that he was rarely if ever required to resort to the cynical methods employed by so many of his contemporaries. On one occasion Moore robbed Jairzinho in the penalty area with such exquisite nerve that the heart of the crowd stood still. But there was never any question of a penalty. When it was over, and Pele and Moore gravitated into each other's company as naturally as they had taken possession of the ball, the meaning of an unforgettable game had never been more tangible. They had played themselves to a glorious standstill and, for a moment or two at least, it had never been harder to know who had won and who had lost. Indeed, they seemed to be saying that neither of them, no more than any other player on the field, had.

MARK TAYLOR AND BRADMAN'S RECORD

Paul Newman remembers a captain's sacrifice

Few sports are as obsessed with statistics as cricket and when Mark Taylor left the field at the end of the second day of the second Test against Pakistan in Peshawar 11 years ago, the Australia captain did not need to be reminded of the significance of his score. Taylor was unbeaten on 334, which, as any schoolboy from Wollongong to Warrnambool would tell you, was the highest Test score made by Don Bradman, the greatest sportsman in Australian history, against England in 1930. Only six players - and no Australians - had scored more in a Test and Brian Lara's world record of 375 was just 41 runs away. Itwas a sweet moment for Taylor, whose batting form had deserted him in England the previous summer and had even brought his captaincy into question, but it also presented a dilemma. The team's prematch plan had been to accumulate as many runs as possible in the first two days and then try to dismiss Pakistan twice. Should Taylor declare overnight (Australia were 599 for 4) and leave himself tantalisingly short of a host of records? Almost everybody expected Taylor to bat until he was dismissed or had overhauled Lara's total, but at 8.45 on the third morning the captain called a team meeting. He had decided to declare in order to give Australia the best chance of victory. The whole team applauded. While Taylor was never the most elegant or skilful of batsmen, he was a strong leader who inspired great loyalty among his men. Taylor explained his thinking at the end of the third day's play. "The world record would have taken too long," he said. "I'd prefer to win this game. That's what I'm here for." As for Bradman's record, Taylor said: "It will be nice to be bracketed with Sir Donald. It will be my only chance to be compared with him." Taylor's unselfishness did not bring immediate reward as the match ended in a draw. When Australia batted again Taylor was dismissed just eight runs short of equalling Graham Gooch's achievement of scoring a triple century and a century in the same Test.

JACK NICKLAUS AND TONY JACKLIN

American concedes most famous 'gimme' in history, writes James Corrigan

"Tony, I don't think for a second you're going to miss that putt. But I'm not going to give you the chance." Golf is proud of being a game of sportsmanship, but nowhere in what it likes to think of as its gentlemanly history has a gesture so encapsulated this cherished spirit than the above quote. The scene was the 18th at Royal Birkdale, it was 1969 and Great Britain and Ireland had lost every Ryder Cup but one in 13 stagings. Tony Jacklin and Jack Nicklaus were the last singles out on the course on the final day and with the scores level the significance of Jacklin's short but eminently missable two-footer for a half was as obvious as it was ominous. Make it and for the first time in the match's then 42-year history, the Ryder Cup would be tied. It was then that Jack Nicklaus stooped down, picked up Jacklin's marker and uttered the famous words to the young Open champion. What made it so much more remarkablewas the backdrop to the "gimme". Twenty minutes before on the final green the Welshman Brian Huggett had cried after winning his singles in the belief he had just landed the cup. Huggett had heard a huge cheer from the 17th, which he took as Jacklin beating Nicklaus. In fact, Jacklin's 50- footer for eagle had merely levelled his encounter. As they walked to the 18th tee, the pair realised it all rested on them. Recalled Jacklin: "Jack asked me, 'You nervous?' 'Petrified,' I replied. 'If it's any consolation, I feel exactly the same way,' said Jack." Both found the par-four green; Jacklin 30 feet away, Nicklaus 20 feet. Jacklin went first, his centrecup effort just dying short. Nicklaus had the putt to win and typically gave it every chance. It shot past almost five feet. "I would've loved to have offered a half, but he hit it so far by, it was impossible," said Jacklin. Nicklaus confidently rammed it home. And so followed what his opponent called "the greatest single sporting gesture in golf". Inevitably, not everyone was so impressed. The American captain, Sam Snead, was furious; and so, apparently, was the rest of his team. "All the boys thought it was ridiculous to give him that putt," snarled Snead. "We went over there to win, not to be good ol' boys." Nicklaus, however, remained unrepentant. "I believed good sportsmanship should be as much a part of the Ryder Cup as great competition," was the way he saw it.

PAOLO DI CANIO

Chris McGrath recalls an uncontrollable force who proved his conscience

If there were times when impulse betrayed Paolo Di Canio, then it was also responsible for his great moment of redemption. Thiswas the man whose impetuosity notoriously extended to shoving a referee to the ground, on receipt of a red card, or exchanging a fascist salute with the loathed Ultras of Lazio. But this was also the man who suddenly made the football world stand still, in what remains cherished as one of the most gallant episodes in sporting history. When Di Canio ran on to the field at Goodison Park, in December 2001, he did so as a symbol of football as an uncontrollable force. To many eyes, the financial explosion of the Premier League had corroded the best traditions of the game with greed and arrogance. But here he was, playing now for West Ham, showing that he retained an instinctive sense of right and wrong. The scores were level, deep into injury time. Paul Gerrard, the Everton goalkeeper, came out of his area, twisted his knee and lay stricken. Trevor Sinclair looped the ball across the box, seeing Di Canio poised for the coup de grâce. He could have chested it down, tapped it in. The Everton fans winced, then gasped. Di Canio had caught the ball, and was pointing at the keeper. Sepp Blatter, the Fifa president, congratulated the Italian "for this splendid gesture made in the true spirit of fair play". At the end of the season Di Canio found himself receiving the Fifa Fair Play Award at a ceremony in Zurich.

JESSE OWENS AND THE ARYAN

Paul Newman on the German who defied Hitler to befriend black medallist

The idealists say that sport and politics should never mix, but there are times when the two are inextricably linked. The 1936 Olympic Games in Berlin were such an occasion. Adolf Hitler wanted the Games to prove his theories about the Aryan master race, only for the glory to be stolen by an African-American son of a sharecropper whose grandparents were slaves. To add to the Nazis' horror, Jesse Owens might not have won the second of his four gold medals but for the help of a strapping, blond long jumper who epitomised German manhood. Owens competed in Berlin despite the disapproval of German officials, one of whom complained about the US selecting "non-humans, like Owens and other negro athletes". Having won his first gold in the 100 metres, Owens competed 24 hours later in the long jump, only to foul on the first two of his three qualifying attempts. It was at that stage that Carl Ludwig "Lutz" Long, who was likely to be Owens' biggest rival, suggested to him that he should mark out his run-up again. With Hitler himself watching from the stands, Owens took the German's advice and qualified with his last jump. The final later that afternoon was a closely fought affair, with Long matching Owens' best jump at one point, only for the American to produce two even better leaps in the closing stages to secure the gold. Long was the first to congratulate him. The crowd, who had taken to Owens from the start of the Games, cheered as the German and the American walked arm in arm around the track. Hitler reportedly left the stadium and did not witness the medal ceremony. "It took a lot of courage for him to befriend me in front of Hitler," Owens said later. "You can melt down all the medals and cups I have and they wouldn't be worth the plating on the 24-carat friendship I felt for Lutz Long at that moment. Hitler must have gone crazy watching us embrace."

Have your say on the greatest acts of sportsmanship by letting us know what you think of these moments and which other moments you think should be remembered. Simply leave your comments and suggestions at the bottom of the page with the best appearing in tomorrow's The Independent.