How quaint!

I’ve been reminiscing a lot about the Centennial Olympic Games, held in Atlanta 30 years ago this summer. In looking through photographs and memorabilia from those three glorious weeks, I'm struck by how much has changed over those three decades.

In 1996, about 10 percent of Americans owned mobile phones and most of those folks were executives, life-and-death employees and on-call workers, according to our friend Google, which also did not exist that year. Ditto the pricey laptop, which was used mainly by executives who traveled often for business, and other professionals with money to burn. Wi-Fi didn't exist. As a result, communication while on vacation was dicey.

At the Olympics, there were almost always long lines at pay phones, which were emboldened with the AT&T logo and the Olympic rings. I don’t recall seeing so much as one person with a mobile phone, most of which at the time were the size of a brick and weighed about as much. An early-model flip phone was just being introduced around that time.

Pre-paid phone cards were about as high-tech as we got in 1996!
Photo: Marge Neal

Digital photography wasn’t yet in the mainstream, with early-edition cameras being extremely expensive while offering questionable picture resolution. My internet research tells me digital cameras really took root with consumers in the early- to mid-2000s, and the introduction of the first smart phone in 2007 paved the way for a camera in every pocket.

With that technology history lesson for background, let me tell you of some of my now rather quaint experiences in Atlanta.

And here’s another bit of background information relevant to the story. My Olympic traveling companion, Michelle Park, and I both worked in the field of recreation and parks. She worked for the National Recreation and Parks Association at the time, while I worked for the Baltimore County Department of Recreation and Parks. Anyone familiar with the field knows it’s extremely difficult to take time off during the summer, which tends to be the busiest and most visible season in the profession. To get a week off is highly unusual; three weeks off is unheard of. I requested my vacation time two years in advance because that was the time frame to order tickets. Michelle was granted the time off but took a work-issued laptop with her and agreed to work on a few projects and keep in touch with her office (her job was much more vital than mine).

When Michelle needed to work, we had to go to a Kinko’s office center and pay for internet service. Between pay phone sessions and Kinko’s visits, Michelle was able to keep up with work expectations. We stood in pay phone lines almost daily because that was the only way to keep in touch with folks back home as well as to get some work done.

In the photography department, I lugged three 35mm camera bodies, five lenses and 100 rolls of film with me. I thought it would be better to carry the extra weight of multiple cameras rather than risk damage by changing lenses in crowded situations. I shot roll after roll of film. The original plan was to shoot film there and bring it all back for processing at home. But excitement was hard to contain and several rolls — mainly Opening Ceremony photos — got processed at one-hour processing shops.

Throughout the three weeks, as photos were taken of new friends, we quaintly collected names and mailing addresses and promised to mail duplicate photos after they were processed. When I got home, I mailed the majority of the exposed film off in Clark Photo mailers — remember those? Clark was a discount mail-order film processing company whose mailers were everywhere. I ordered double prints so Michelle and I each got a complete set. A couple weeks after the Olympics ended, Michelle came to my place in Baltimore so we could go through the photos, figure out how many extra copies we needed to mail to folks across the globe, comb through negatives and make a list of all additional copies needed. We mailed a second order to Clark and were thankful for the affordable per-print prices.

When those copies came back in the mail, I sat down, lined up photos with names and addresses and mailed pictures to Idaho, Minnesota, Florida, Georgia, Ohio, Germany, Australia and Lithuania, that I can remember.

I giggle now to think that today, a digital image is created and shared instantly with the world via any number of social media sites, email addresses and text messaging. No processing costs, no money needed for additional copies, no need to squint at hundreds of negatives, no need to buy stamps or address envelopes. And no trip to the post office. Truly unthinkable 30 years ago!

Another technology not in widespread use in the ‘90s was GPS. We made the trip from Arlington, Va., to Atlanta thanks to a AAA TripTik, applied for in advance and received in the mail. It was a turn-by-turn set of directions the thickness of a small paperback! We augmented the TripTik with paper maps, still available for free at most service stations. (There is a rule that once a paper map is unfolded, it can never be refolded as it was originally. It is apparently scientifically impossible.)

When Michelle and I would get inadvertently separated while at venues, the only way to find each other was to physically hunt each other down. Michelle had a habit of leaving seating sections to take smoke breaks and, being the social animal she was, she would strike up a conversation with people she bumped in to along the way, losing track of time. She almost missed the entrance of the U.S. team at the Opening Ceremony because she had been out on a smoke break for more than 30 minutes. As it got closer to the home team’s entrance, I went looking. I found her sitting on a curb, drinking a beer and chatting with a couple she had just met. I let her know the parade of athletes was winding down and she needed to get back to her seat if she wanted to see our guys and gals march in. 

Today, a quick text message would do the trick!

I still think of how much better and more efficient that trip would have been if everyone was carrying a smart phone on their person. In 1996, most of us couldn’t have imagined being able to carry a device in our pockets that was simultaneously a phone, camera, atlas, alarm clock, calendar, calculator, library, television, radio, movie theater and gaming device. Pretty crazy stuff, huh?

To readers under a certain age, I’ve probably made the 1990s sound like the Neanderthal Age.

But it’s my story and I’m sticking with quaint.

Landing the hottest ticket in town — 30 years ago!

As the 2026 World Cup final kicked off today, I found myself reminiscing about another athletic event that kicked off on this date 30 years ago.

On July 19, 1996, my Olympic buddy Michelle Park and I had moved in to our home away from home in Atlanta and were cruising the downtown streets, visiting a few pubs before making our way to Centennial Olympic Stadium, home of the Opening Ceremony.

The first Coca Cola Pin of the Day honored the Opening Ceremony.
Photo: Marge Neal

We had tickets thanks to a happenstance stop at a welcome festival set up near the northern Georgia boarder. Michelle and I had made the trip from her place in Arlington in two legs with an overnight stop at a friend’s house in North Carolina.  We were on the second leg on July 18 and needed to stretch our legs when we saw the visitors event so we stopped. At one of the display booths, we struck up a conversation with two ladies and we mentioned that we were disappointed that we did not get opening or closing ceremony tickets in the ticket lottery. They told us there was an ad in the local paper that day for opening ceremony tickets and we sort of blew that off, knowing how overpriced third party tickets were. As it turns out, the ad was placed by a hotel that had invested in tickets to sell as part of a package deal, and they didn’t sell as well as they thought. They were selling them at face value rather than taking a total loss.

We called the hotel — from a pay phone!! — and they agreed to hold two tickets if we could get them within a couple hours. I forget the name of the town where the hotel was, but it was considerably out of our way. But that didn’t matter because it was a chance to be at the opening ceremony!

Michelle checking on the availability of Opening Ceremony tickets. 
Even the pay phone was provided by a brand sponsor!
Photo: Marge Neal

The tickets were $636 each and we didn’t bat the proverbial eyelash. We couldn’t wipe the smiles off our faces for the rest of the drive to the home of a friend of a friend, where we were renting a room for the three weeks of the games.

The hottest ticket in town!
Photo: Marge Neal

On the morning of the 19th, we got up early and established a routine that would serve us well for the duration. After showering, we’d have coffee and something light for breakfast before heading downtown. All Atlanta public transportation was free if you could show an event ticket for that day. There was a bus stop down the street from where we were staying. We transferred from the bus to subway/light rail to get to the Olympic Plaza.

We started each morning in the downtown square where the Coca Cola Pin Trading Center was set up. Since we knew we would be there from beginning to end, we decided to try to get the entire collection of Pins of the Day, issued by Coke. We stood in line each morning and managed to get the entire collection plus duplicates most days. Customers could get only one pin at a time, so duplicates meant standing in line again.

After an afternoon of absorbing the Olympic spirit, we headed to Olympic Stadium for the opening ceremony. We may have had an adult beverage or two along the way. We made our way to our section, where we discovered green fabric portfolio bags on our seats, stuffed with an opening ceremony program booklet, a special opening pin and various items needed for audience participation stunts. It also included a small audio translator and earplug that translated announcements in a variety of languages. Each seat was also graced with a big sunflower stem.

We had a volunteer usher assigned to our section. Spectators were asked to get to their seats early because they held a dress rehearsal for us. Julie, our usher, went through each item in our bags and told us what to do with each. There was a portion of the ceremony where spectators waved fabric cloths that were the colors of the Olympic rings. My section waved yellow swatches.

It was an exciting time for this life-long Olympic fan — literally a dream come true to be at an opening ceremony! Celine Dion and Gladys Knight performed, a shaky Muhammad Ali brought the house down when he ignited the Olympic flame and then-President Bill Clinton officially opened the games.

I admit to crying more than a few times as my emotions caught up with me.

And we got lost going home that first night. But it was a great opening day/night of the trip that was five years in the planning.

Oh, and congratulations Spain!

New friends

I think it’s safe to say many of us, a mere three weeks ago or so, couldn’t have named a single soccer player if our lives depended on it.

I know that, if pressed to come up with any name, the first in my mind would be Pelé — which of course horribly dates me — and second would be David Beckham, which dates me only slightly less.  With considerably more effort, I could come up with the big names of the current soccer era: Neymar, Messi, Mbappé and Cristiano Ronaldo. Upon doing a little reading, I came across other names I recognized but certainly couldn’t have pulled out of my brain without the additional prompting.

Now, as World Cup competition is winding down, this former non-fan, who openly admitted to nearly 100-percent ignorance of the sport the rest of the world covets, is a convert. I’m so proud of so many of these players you would swear I had given birth to them. I know their tournament stats, I know about their parents and siblings, I know how many daily calories they consume, I’ve learned about their home countries and I know all about their recovery routines and game day rituals.

My new son, Erling Braut Neal Haaland. Photo credit: Getty Images

Though he is listed as one of the world’s top players, I had never heard of Erling Haaland of Norway until this tourney. I have now adopted him (don’t tell his parents) and I can’t get enough information about him. He seems to be quite generous with the time he spends with media members, seems to have a great sense of humor and is absolutely filled with national pride.

The online content featuring him is eclectic, amusing and informative. There are videos of children mimicking his head-forward stance/walk. There’s an interview about his typical day, when he talks about his daily walk, his workout routine, the cooking he does for himself (he explains that he’s been on his own for a long time and if he didn’t cook or clean, who would do it?). There are stories about his father, Alf-Inge “Alfie” Haaland, who played on Norway’s national team from 1994-2001, and on various professional teams through 2013. I learned that Erling Haaland added “Braut,” his mother’s surname, to his World Cup jersey so both sides of his family are recognized.

I’ve also been tracking tourney scoring and know that, as of the writing of this post, Kylian Mbappé and Lionel Messi are tied for the tourney’s Golden Boot award, with eight goals each. I’ve learned that, should a goal tie exist at the end of play, the award is further determined by assists and then fewest minutes played. Mbappé is the reigning Golden Boot holder, having scored eight times in the 2022 Cup.

During the writing of this column, France eliminated Morocco in the first quarter-final game. France moves on to the semi-finals and six teams remain to duke it out in the quarters: Argentina, Belgium, England, Norway, Spain and Switzerland. 

I’ve been cheering for Norway all along for a variety of reasons, Haaland and the now famous crowd rowing display chief among them. With the U.S out, I’m officially a Viking from here on. I’ve also been cheering for England, so the Norway/England quarter-final will be a heartbreaker either way.

At the risk of being repetitive, I bring this all up to show how important events like World Cup are, even if you hate sports. Big international sporting tournaments open up the world in ways few other happenings can. Many of us believe our nation has never been at a lower point in its history, has never been so widely disrespected on the global stage and, quite frankly, many of us are depressed. We go to bed terrified and we wake up terrified, wondering what new hell our nation’s leaders have created over night.

We are being told on a daily basis how horrible we are and how horrible the rest of the world is. Everyone is mean and nasty, journalists are the enemy of the people, all Democrats are communists, media outlets (except Fox) are spouting fake news — you get the picture.

But the World Cup has reminded us of the world as it actually exists — filled with hard-working, loving, caring, enthusiastic, patriotic people who, in spite of lingual, cultural, religious and political differences, are more alike than different.

Many foreign visitors have raved about their visits to North America and have admitted that their nations lied to them. The America they witnessed was not the America their leaders told them about. I honestly think more effective diplomacy takes place in subway cars, stadium seats and on bar stools than in situation rooms and palaces.

Thinking about it, it saddens and angers me that just a handful of people can so stain the image of an entire nation. But I’m grateful that a sporting event can begin to clean up that stain simply by having real people share a meal, sit side-by-side on a bus, learn each other’s chants and trade memorabilia.

The World Cup has made the world a better place. Even if only for five weeks.

Unpatriotic?

This might put my citizenship card at risk but I’m going to say it regardless: I’m not terribly upset about last night’s World Cup loss.

Much can be said about the validity of the red card shown U.S. player Folarin Balogun during last week’s match against Bosnia-Herzogovina. The US won that game, but played a man down for nearly 30 minutes after Balogun was thrown out for what was determined to be a serious foul on another player.

USNMT player Folarin Balogun. Photo credit: Jamie Squires/Getty Images

At first glance, it looked like just a typical, fast-paced tackle/collision of two players but then there was a slow-motion review of the play with the video assisted review (VAR) system. After the review, referee Raphael Claus determined that Balogun had raked his cleat down Tarik Muharemovic’s leg and foot, declared a serious foul and flashed a red card at the US team’s top scorer.

The red card not only removes a player from the game in question but also suspends him from the immediate following game, no matter when that happens.

Now, here’s what you need to understand and where things get dicey, if not political and sleazy. FIFA, soccer’s world governing body, takes its issuing of red cards seriously and has built quite a defensive system around protecting them. It is highly unusual for a red card to be overturned on appeal, with proof that the ref issued the card to the wrong player being the most successful defense on appeal.

“It is extremely difficult to overturn cards involving the referee’s subjective judgment — such as speed, force, or whether a tackle was a dangerous foul,” according to Fox Sports. “If an appeal is based entirely on contesting whether a challenge deserved a red or yellow, it is rarely successful.”

Because he thinks he is the king of the world, Donald Trump decided to step in and call his buddy, FIFA president Gianni Infantino. Keep in mind that Infantino is the guy who shamelessly created the meaningless “FIFA Peace Prize” and presented it to the baby who constantly begs for awards, accolades and praise.

Trump, who has trouble staying awake during pretty much anything (such as high-level meetings and summits, sporting events and even fireworks displays), said he looked at the play in question and determined no foul had occurred. Because, you know, he’s such an expert.

“I asked for a review because I didn’t think it was a foul,” Trump said, adding, “I didn’t know what the hell a red card was” before offering his expert interpretation.

Again, many sport experts, pundits and commentators questioned the original issuing of the red card and weighed in with the opinion that the tackle did not look deliberate or malicious and was just the result of intense play. But a red card was issued as the result of a largely unappealable subjective call by the referee and life should have moved on accordingly.

But Infantino obviously supported Trump’s effort and on Sunday, FIFA’s disciplinary board announced the suspension of Balogun’s one-game suspension, while keeping the issuing of the red card in place.

The soccer world exploded over what it called an unprecedented move.

The Union of European Football Associations (UEFA) said the decision was “unprecedented, incomprehensible and unjustifiable.” The disciplinary reversal “crossed a red line,” UEFA said in its statement.

The Royal Belgian Football Association said it was “astonished” over the decision. Belgium was the team next on the US’s World Cup dance card and had a vested interest in the outcome.

Belgium coach Rudi Garcia made his feelings known: “I didn’t know that in the offices of FIFA, the fifth of July was the first of April in Europe.” 

“Red cards are not overturned by political phone calls,” former FIFA head Sepp Blatter wrote on X. “They are overturned on rules, evidence and independent bodies. If a U.S. president intervenes with the FIFA president — and a player is suddenly cleared before a World Cup knockout game — the question is unavoidable: Quo vadis, FIFA?”

It is the first time since 1962 that a World Cup red card has not resulted in a suspension, according to aljazeera.com. And that’s only because a red card at that time did not lead to an automatic one-game suspension.

So Balogun played in the game against Belgium but was pretty much silenced. Malik Tillman scored the lone goal in the 4-1 loss that sent the Americans packing.

I’m so sick of the Trump stench that I could scream. The man has his fingers in everything, from tearing down historical buildings to denying food to starving children. He always has to be at the center of things; always has to be firmly highlighted in the spotlight of life. He’s the expert on everything, knows more about anything than anyone else and is always the “only one” who can get anything done.

We will never know the extent of the corruption, bribery and grift that makes these things happen, and I will never understand — nor forgive — the collective bowing down and looking the other way as he bulldozes his way across the world.

But I am ashamed for our nation, ashamed for our national men’s soccer team, ashamed at FIFA’s rolling over and ashamed that sport in general has been stained by the Trump mafioso style of business. It was not Trump’s place to make that phone call and it certainly was not Infantino’s place to entertain it.

The only thing left to clean up this administrative and political mess would be a Belgian victory on the field of play, against the star player wrongly allowed to play.

The Americans had to be on the losing end of the score and the 4-1 drubbing left no doubt as to how athletes would handle a bureaucratic ruling.

Ro!