Antonio Tarver, a light heavyweight, may think about the 3-year-old boy who shadowboxed with him during a trip to University Hospital.

Head coach Al Mitchell may grow weepy with thoughts of the sweet potato pie he sampled at Morrison's. Failing that, he'll think about Wednesday night, when he got the news that his fourth child, a girl named Mikayla, was born safely back home in Philadelphia.

Fernando Vargas will remember his James Brown sighting during a dinner outing at the King George Pub.

Super heavyweight Lawrence Clay-Bey, 245 pounds of sinew and resolve, will recall the half-dozen peaceful strolls he took along Riverwalk.

``An excellent place for thinking,'' Clay-Bey raved. ``Whatever's on your mind, you just go there and let it all out.''

David Diaz, a light welterweight, may reflect further on the strange incident from Monday in which his morning run was interrupted by a stranger on a mountain bike.

The dozen representatives of USA Boxing spent 16 days training at the Augusta Boxing Club and preparing for the Olympic Games. They were here for the Fourth of July fireworks, an evening made even more memorable by chants of ``USA, USA'' which echoed through the Jessye Norman Amphitheater.

And even if Terrance Cauthen mistakenly thanked the ``city of Georgia'' at Thursday's goodbye press conference, even if none of the boxers or coaches could correctly pronounce the name of Augusta Boxing Club director Tom Moraetes (it's Mo-RYE-tis), you can rest assured Augusta made an impression.

``What I'll always remember about Augusta is the good training facility and how nice the people were,'' said Mitchell, who probably won't get back home to see his new daughter until after the Olympics end on Aug. 4. ``The people here greeted us with open arms. The Diaz incident is just a blip in my mind. I don't even think about it.''

Diaz himself vowed not to hold a grudge against the Garden City. He'd rather reminisce about the tasty fare at Dizzy Chicken, where he ``finished all the chicken and then tried the barbecue sauce by itself and it was good, too.''

But the best story of all likely took place on July 2, when dinner at the King George yielded a brief audience with the man for whom they renamed Ninth Street.

Warned by a waitress that a James Brown sighting was possible, Vargas shook his head and laughed. ``Ah, James Brown doesn't come in here.''

Thirty minutes later, the boxers looked up from their meals and saw a very familiar face.

``Hey, Fernando, who's that?'' Clay-Bey teased his teammate.

Said a stunned Vargas: ``Oh, my God! It's James Brown.''

Later the singer, who did some boxing in his younger days, came over to meet the Olympians and treated them to a few dance steps and a verse or two from Living in America .

``He just reminded us who we are, where we are and said keep the gold here,'' Clay-Bey said. ``I was upset, though.''

What for?

``I didn't have my camcorder with me.''

A day later, Tarver was walking down Broad Street with his video recorder when a sleek black Mercedes-Benz rolled up to a stoplight. The window went down and a man said hello. Camera rolling, Tarver exchanged pleasantries with - you guessed it - the godfather of soul.

``I couldn't shake James,'' Tarver said with a laugh. ``I was the only one to get him on tape.''