Magic moments

Peter Calder:

It was, when it happened, a promise rather than an achievement but it was a promise Sydney kept. The opening ceremony, which now seems an impossibly distant memory, was a closely choreographed extravaganza in which grandness of vision sometimes teetered on the edge of kitsch (some northern hemisphere journos are still trying to work out the lawnmower sequence).

But for me the Games' finest moment was when a 150m square expanse of fabric unfurled and poured down the stand at the other end of the stadium. Tugged by well-rehearsed teams, and helped along by the thousands of athletes and officials who had assembled in the middle, it billowed onwards until it covered them all, a protective, inclusive mantle which bespoke the unifying internationalism of the greatest sporting contest on earth.

For a long magic moment, the ceremony stopped being simply a show and its spectacle rhymed perfectly with the Olympic ideal: that it is possible for the most deadly rivalry to co-exist with something approaching love.

Peter Jessup

The best way to silence sledgers is to beat them in competition, and seldom will you see a better exhibition of that than what Australia did to the United States in the men's 4x100m relay on Day 1 of the swimming.

The Australian team's air guitars were the perfect two-fingered gesture back to the United States after Ian Thorpe hauled in Gary Hall jnr, the big-mouth who started the war of words.

It was sensational stuff, a first-leg world record 100m by Michael Klim in 48.18s, then middle-distance specialist Thorpe Australian-crawling his way past Hall. Seldom do you see one swimmer take a lead and another take it back in the space of 50m.

The animosity between the two began a few years ago. Hall's remark that the Americans, who had never lost this race at the Olympics, would "smash the Aussies like guitars," was turned back on him big-time.

But he was gracious in defeat, doffing his swim cap to Thorpe and saying he was pleased that the tension was off, that no one took things too far. All in all, fantastic sport.

Suzanne McFadden:

New Zealand's only male gymnast, David Phillips, was petrified that he would compete at the Olympics, fall off something - and no one would notice.

But the hero of Onewhero received the loudest cheers when he walked out on to the floor at the Superdome for his one and only day in the Olympic limelight. All because he was a Kiwi.

The 16,000-strong crowd clapped and called his name when he stepped up to the high bar and the mat - his reception warmer than for the gold medallists and world champions competing alongside him.

Phillips fell only once, and finished 52nd - second-to-last of the men who completed all four apparatus. But for two hours in his life, he was a crowd favourite.

Afterwards, when he had tucked into burgers and chips, Phillips said: "It was so cool. When I walked out and heard people cheering for me, it was like 'flip, I've made it'."

Chris Rattue:

There is no sporting location like an Olympic track and field venue. At any moment you witness pain and glory, records and defeat, as hammer throwers scream, long jumpers stretch and runners accelerate together.

Your attention on one event is suddenly diverted as a crowd roar announces triumph or tragedy at another.

As Marion Jones was "failing" at the long jump in her effort to win five gold medals, Hicham El Guerrouj was suffering the pain hardly anyone bar a cocky young Kenyan anticipated.

It was a magical moment, although not for El Guerrouj. The 1500m world record holder had lost just once since he fell at the 1996 Olympics. He carried a photo of that Atlanta trip with him, determined to put things right in Sydney.

But as he tried to accelerate in the final 80m at Stadium Australia, Kenyan Noah Ngeny, who predicted El Guerrouj's undoing, floated by.

Eugene Bingham

Paul Tergat must hate the sight of Haile Gebrselassie's back. He didn't see much of it at Sydney, but he saw it at the wrong time.

Tergat, the Kenyan five-time world cross-country champion, was desperate to beat the little Ethiopian master at Sydney.

After 24 1/2 laps of the 10,000m final, nothing separated the top four runners.

Then Tergat took off, catching Gebrselassie with the speed of his strike. The grimace on Tergat's face slowly turned into a smile. Was he going to reverse the Atlanta result? One hundred metres to go, 50, 40, 30, 20, 10, five ... Tergat had it.

To watch Gebrselassie pip Tergat so close to the line was both thrilling and heart-breaking.

Tergat is a great distance runner with terrible timing. Born in another era he would have won gold. Instead he has two silvers and the memory of always following one of the best distance runners of all time.