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Games Play in My Mind

ATLANTA, Aug. 5—The bomb was tragic. That and so much else about the Centennial Olympics affect me still, and probably always will:

Ali, Dan O'Brien, Donovan Bailey, David Reid;

Softball's rubber-armed Lisa Fernandez, Tom Dolan, Ireland's Michelle Smith, the joyous looks of the U.S. women's 400 freestyle relay team—they did it;

Michael Jackson of Brazil's women's soccer team (no kidding), Michael Johnson and his tear, Josia Thugwane and Hezekiel Sepeng, Fatuma Roba, Naim Suleymanoglu ("Pocket Hercules");

American boxer Albert Guardado (106 pounds but a heavyweight in every other way);

The battle of Deng and Chen, China and Chinese Taipei, in the table tennis "showdown of the century (winner, 4-foot-9 Deng);

A local woman, Jennie, who cautioned, "Lay off the grits";

U.S. Greco-Roman wrestler Matt Ghaffari, who visited bomb victims;

Ghada Shouaa, Margaret Mitchell, a woman crying after the explosion, the photo of the black man cradling the head of the dazed white policeman;

Andrew Young's New South vignette, Oscar Schmidt, the synchronized swimmers (I'm in the minority, I still like them);

Tiffeny Milbrett and her gold medal winning goal in soccer at the University of Georgia's (yes, awesome is the word) Sanford Stadium;

The little minor league ballpark used for softball in Columbus, Ga., on the banks of the Chattahoochee;

Soccer haven RFK (on TV it looked as good as the home of AC Milan), the beach volleyball beach, MARTA's subway;

Coming through stark-empty International Boulevard after the bombing;

Bottled water, the feel of walking on grass after weeks on concrete, "YMCA" cheers, the new gold medal given Ali, Ali kissing it;

Volunteers on the road out of the city holding up a sign: "Goodbye. Thanks for coming."

See y'all.