With the opening ceremony of the Olympics just four months away, some major issues are unresolved.

Will reformed drug cheat Dwain Chambers overturn the lifetime ban imposed by the British Olympic Association and be allowed to race in the 100m?

The Court of Arbitration for Sport is due to rule on the ethical dust up between the BOA and the World Anti-Doping Agency, which believes athletes should be allowed to compete once they have served their suspensions.

Chambers was banned for two years in 2003 for taking a performance-enhancing anabolic steroid.

The BOA is relying on a quirky by-law which bans drug cheats for life from the Olympics. It’s a potty argument. Most child killers get a second chance. Is running along a track in Lycra shorts more important to us than the life of a murder victim?

The pompous BOA should throw in the towel. Chambers has done the crime and done the time.

There are also persisting questions about the spiralling costs of the Games and controversy continues to dog the allocation of tickets to prestige events.

There is also a fevered debate about the number of medals Team GB should pick up on home soil. Will they be in events that really matter, or will we triumph in hobby sports like the bow and arrow, dinghy sailing and pin the tail on the donkey?

All of these unresolved issues, however, pale into insignificance when compared with the big one. Yes, you know exactly what I’m thinking.

What tune will the TV stations pick to accompany their Olympic coverage?

The choice is absolutely critical. In years to come, our shared memories of London 2012 will be framed emotionally by the music the BBC, in particular, selects.

It is the Beeb to whom we turn for major sports coverage, or rather we did before the rise of satellite telly. The Olympics is one of the few events Auntie still has under her control and the selection of the 2012 soundtrack will be as critical as Jessica Ennis hamstrings and Sir Chris Hoy’s tyre pressures. Because when the music department pull it off, they create TV magic.

Years after the event, decades even, the hairs on the back of your neck stand up at the recollection of the music.

Do you think I’m over doing it? Two words: Nessun Dorma. Before the 1990 World Cup, cultured types were familiar with the aria from Puccini’s Turandot. I’m a pleb, so I’m not sure I knew of the ditty until this point. But if I had, all previous memories were erased by a fat lad with a beard and Gazza’s tears.

Pavarotti’s tumultuous performance, and the BBC’s canny use of “None shall sleep,” set the benchmark for modern-day sports anthems. Others have come close – such as Frank Skinner and David Baddiel’s 1996 Three Lions – but Nessun Dorma has never been matched for emotional potency.