Cheerio, London

For as long as I can remember, I've looked forward to the Olympics. Every four years, I couldn't wait to get wrapped up in the patriotic salute to athletic excellence. It was a chance to see hard-working, dedicated, impossibly gifted athletes pursue their dreams and I devoured every moment of competition that I could. I knew I would never be able to skate like Janet Lynn (my favorite way before Michele Kwan) or prance around on the balance beam like Nadia Comaneci but I lived vicariously through every routine; held my breath through every dangerous move. And I loved it.

Then, the Olympics changed. Amateur athletics was infiltrated by a parade of professionals. I know I'm not alone in thinking that the day they allowed the Dream Team on the floor was the day the Olympics lost a lot of its appeal. Watching NBA players beat Croatia by fifty points doesn't interest me in the least. And if I want to see Roger Federer square off against Andy Murray, I can wait for the next Grand Slam. All these professionals, with plenty of hardware in their cabinets and money in the bank, provided a few thrills but The Olympics, as I knew and loved them, were over.

I know I'm living in a fantasy land hoping the current configuration will change. I know sports are big business and The Olympics will never go back to the original celebration of amateur athletics. That's why I so appreciate a moment like the one that happened Saturday night when three platform divers, one from America, one from China and one from Great Britain were separated by .15 going into the final dive. One dive, one chance would determine the gold medal; a lifetime of practice would come down to this one moment in a pool in London.

No one flinched; each of the young men standing on the top of that platform performed the dive of his life. And as I watched our guy come out on top, I finally broke into the tears that had eluded me for two weeks. The underdog, digging deep under unbelievable pressure in the most important moment of his life, had triumphed.

And that's how I remember the Olympics.