It was Juan Antonio Samaranch, the long-time Spanish IOC ringmaster, who would end each Olympic Games by declaring them the best ever — even when they patently weren’t.
The only exception was Atlanta 1996, so wretched that even dear old Juan Antonio dared not summon up the chutzpah to make them sound great.
But wouldn’t he have adored Paris 2024? Because he’d have known that time-honoured declaration would this time be met by acclamation.
For in dark times, these Games felt more than just an illuminating distraction. They were uplifting, daring, different, vibrant, thoroughly modern. They were fun. They felt like just what we needed.
A century on from its Chariots of Fire Games, it all began as the Boats of Rain Olympics, with a parade floating soggily - and according to some, sacrilegiously - down the Seine.
Unbelievably ambitious, unbelievably unlucky with the weather, and yet ultimately triumphant. Chapeau, Celine!
Then the sun came out, the scale and ambition of the beautiful venues took the breath, and the sport lived up to the matchless settings.
Thousands savouring the equestrian cross country at the Chateau de Versailles ... a Brazilian beach volleyball party beneath the Eiffel Tower ... BMX freestylers flying seemingly as high as La Concorde obelisk.
What wasn’t to like about this grandiose vision of Paris as a sporting playground for all, “Games Wide Open” as the slogan put it? These makeshift stadia built on iconic sites, made it feel that way.
If you didn’t fancy the sport, then how about just joining the throng at the Tuileries to marvel at the Olympic cauldron’s nightly rise? And if you did, why not join the 20,000 runners in the night-time marathon for all?
Then there was the early-morning attraction around the gilded Pont Alexandre III. Who wants to see marathon swimming? Thousands, apparently.
For a century, the river had been no-go. And probably still is. But Aussie Moesha Johnson, for one, was prepared to brave an in-Seine gobful, happy to celebrate her silver medal with a dose of antibiotics.
The show had to go on and its biggest superstars seemed inspired. Steph Curry’s miraculous three-pointers, Simone Biles’ gymnastic impossibilities, Novak Djokovic completing his golden slam … the GOATs came out to play.
And the breaking news? The Games had never felt so modern. At their urban heartland, Snoop Dogg flocked with the celebs to the skateboarding - Snoop was everywhere, actually - as La Concorde became party central.
We all know the crusty IOC are desperate to get down with the kids. So much so, the kids are now getting the golds, like 14-year-old skateboard queen Arisa Trew. At 21, repeating men’s champ Keegan Palmer, must have felt like Methuselah.
But even fish-out-of-water sports suddenly belonged at an Olympics. The golf at Le National was sensational, reducing even robotic Scottie Scheffler to tears, while the tennis at Roland Garros was more of a carnival than the French Open.
Old stereotypes about haughty Parisians flew out the fenetre as the warmest of hosts embraced all the barminess with unbridled enthusiasm.
Home-grown heroes always help; how they went overboard for rugby genius Antoine Dupont and swimmer supreme Leon Marchand, whose exploits brought other venues to a standstill.
Of course, as a visitor seeing swarms of armed police milling around cheerily at venues with nothing to do, you couldn’t forget the thought that only a hideously expensive security operation was making this all possible.
They're so gargantuan, so mind-blowingly costly now, do we really need a Games at all during a time of climate crisis?
Hell, yes.
Let's hail this towering triumph from a city that’s had to live through extremist terror attacks in the last 10 years and has now emerged, fully re-illuminated, as the City of Light, to embrace this fantastic occasion with such elan and sheer delight.
Through green-and-gold spectacles, from Jess Fox to Kaylee McKeown to, yes, even you mighty Raygun, it has all looked kaleidoscopically wonderful, Australia’s greatest Games.
But more than that, it's felt like a Games for the whole world to savour, a joyous celebration - not just of sport, but of life itself.
Merci beaucoup, Paris! Senor Samaranch would have known what to say…
