Back in 1996, while covering the Olympics in Atlanta, I ventured into Centennial Olympic Park to try and get a look at the commemorative brick with my name on it that graces part of the sidewalk. But when I came upon the section where my brick was supposed to be, the syrupy runoff from a nearby Coca-Cola tent had mixed with some mud and garbage and covered the bricks making them impossible to read.

How’s that for a perfect metaphor for the Atlanta Games, huh?

Well, I had always vowed to someday find my brick, so this weekend while I was in town covering the Falcons-Panthers game I headed over to the park to complete my mission.

Atlanta has been rightfully criticized for the way it ran the Games, but I must say the one thing they got right was Centennial Olympic Park, which turned a rundown section of town into a vibrant oasis. Just before dusk, the park was crowded with people and bathed in gilded shades from the reflection of the setting sun in the mirrored windows of the office buildings that border the park. There were men reading on park benches, families playing Frisbee on the immaculate and expansive fields, and, of course, scores of kids playing in the Olympic Rings water fountain which, unfortunately, has become a kind of public bidet.

Passing by a series of American flags still at half mast, I went to a kiosk to help locate my brick. But when I punched in my name 93 Flemings came up, including Dave Fleming from Mansfield, Ohio, (imposter!) and a whole mess of folks from Flemington, N.J. ... but no David Fleming. Hmmm.

I found Jagadeesh Chilakapati in sidewalk section 102.

I found Janette Berne, The Best Mom, in section 111.

I found Summer Zuck in section 99; along with Otch Bomber, One Obedient Dog; and Homer Welchel, 1924 Olympian; and Doug Ewing and Bill Templeton, who were only three bricks away from each other but both claimed to be The Best Dad Ever.

But my brick was nowhere to be found.

Perhaps I was so geeked up on free Powerade during the Games that I hallucinated the whole brick thing? Had Shaq heaved so many bricks this past NBA season he had run out of his own and was now stealing other people's? Or, after reading my series of Olympic Fleming Files, which included coverage of a Nude Olympics at a nearby nudist colony, had the IOC come by in the middle of the night and crow-barred my brick?

On Sunday before the game I gave section 117 one last look. And there it was. Clear as day, right by the grass and near the cascading waterfalls and reflecting pool. It was in pretty good shape. Not chipped or cracked, but weathered a bit and definitely just a little off center.

Yeah, this was definitely my brick.

E-mail David Fleming at flemfile@aol.com.