`OFFICIAL' SCOOP ON THE GAMES.

Byline: Ed Grisamore Macon Telegraph

I'm not sure when it became official that there had to be an official Olympic everything.

But, with just two weeks remaining in the official Olympic countdown, it occurred to me there still are some unofficial loose ends in this official Olympic business.

I had this revelation while reading my ``official'' Sports Illustrated souvenir program and sipping some Crystal Springs ``official'' Olympic bottled water.

About the time I was getting ready to check the time on my ``official'' Olympic Swatch watch, my BellSouth Mobility ``official'' cellular telephone rang.

After the obligatory five Olympic rings, I picked up. I should have known someone would be calling.

After all, it was supper time.

So, what officially remains to be declared official? Glad you asked. I happen to have a list.

The Official Olympic Color: Red. It's the primary color of sunburned faces, politically correct rednecks, the tail lights in front of you in bumper-to-bumper Olympic traffic and the state's No. 1 religion, the Georgia Bulldawgs.

Still millions in the hole, it's also the official color of ACOG's checkbook.

The Official Olympic Coffee Table Book: ``It Takes an (Olympic) Village'' by Hillary Rodham Clinton.

Special ghost-writing appearances by Jesse Owens, Johnny Weissmuller and Wilma Rudolph.

The Official Olympic Smirk: Michael Johnson will own all rights to it. Not only will he make history when he wins the gold in the 200 and 400, he's going to make tons of money. Hey, if you can sprint the sprint, you can dent the mint.

The Official Olympic Street: You probably guessed Peachtree, but that's too obvious. My vote goes to Martin Luther ``I Have a Dream Team'' King Boulevard.

The Official Olympic Prayer: Slow me down, Lord. It will be the most fast-paced Olympics in history, only those poor gridlocked souls out on I-285 won't know it. Rumor has it all roads will be annexed into the suburb of Snellville and collectively known as ``Snailville.''

The Official Response to Price-Gouging Complaints: As a famous decathlon champ named Rhett once told a synchronized swimmer named Scarlett, ``Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn.''

The Official Second-String Olympic Mascot: At least part of the reason why Izzy appears to have a permanent case of vertigo is because he's had to do all the work. For a backup, may we suggest an affable, Speedo-clad Mark Gritz, first cousin of famed Olympian Mark Spitz?

The Official Olympic Atlas: The company that designs the official road map to Atlanta needs to send Dennis Mitchell a large copy. After winning the 100-meter final at the Trials two weeks ago, Mitchell grabbed the microphone and yelled: ``I'm Barcelona-Bound, Baby.''

After the mandatory drug test, perhaps the IOC should implement a geography quiz.

The Official Olympic Vice-Presidential Candidate: Bob Dole needs Mary Decker Slaney as his ``running'' mate. He trails Clinton. She's the comeback kid. They're compatible because he's 72 and she's 37, half his age but roughly equal to 72 in track years.

Dole needs more women's votes, and she's a poll-vaulter. She'll finish the 5,000 meter race in time to make the transition from the medal platform in Atlanta to the GOP platform in San Diego. A political gamble? Hey, the race isn't over until Zola zaps you on the heel.

The Official Olympic Video Rental: Here's a vote for ``Some Like It Hot-Lanta,'' starring Billy ``Solarcaine Pain'' Payne.

The Official Olympic Stereotype: Stupid Southerners. Face it, half the state probably bought tickets to the football finals at Sanford Stadium in Athens thinking the Dogs were in the Kickoff Classic.

But give us credit, world. We are smart enough to know you can't sit on the pole in rowing or that fencing is the best way to keep the dog in the yard or that some guy named Sergei Bubba is the favorite to jump over that goal post way down yonder at the other end of the stadium.