By Michael Cockerill
It's a lot more fun witnessing history than reliving it.
Step by painful step, the past 31 years of unfulfilled expectation have defined football in this country. Last night at Homebush Bay, the decades of hurt were finally washed away - soothed by a Socceroos performance as good as it gets.
Australia are into the World Cup finals at long last, and 23 squad members and a coaching and support staff led by Dutch master Guus Hiddink and Graham Arnold are writ forever into folklore.
The Socceroos class of 2005 is going to Germany - and the class of 1974 can finally rest in peace.
There have been many seminal moments in Australian sport, but not many as profound as this.
This was an achievement that will not only change the lives of those who delivered it, but the sport itself.
Football in Australia has been played competitively since 1880, but so much of it has been in the shadows. Going to the World Cup next year, and going as an Asian team, is the past and the future rolled into one. It has taken 125 years, but football has finally stepped into the light.
At the same venue where Cathy Freeman stole our hearts five years ago, the Socceroos produced an Olympian performance to match the big occasion. And what an occasion it was.
More than 80,000 fans inside the stadium, so many of them wearing gold.
Thousands more outside the ground, revelling in the atmosphere.
Some survivors from the first World Cup team, the pioneers of 1965, were there. Many of the players from the 1974 team - until last night the only Australian team to reach the World Cup finals - were also in the stands.
The late, great, Johnny Warren - who played in both teams and cried on national television when we lost to Iran on the Socceroos' darkest night - wasn't there, of course. But we all cried for him.
Woven into the fabric of this victory were the cumulative defeats of two generations. Grief has been the constant theme.
Four years ago, Tony Vidmar had to be helped off the pitch in Montevideo as a torrent of tears rolled down his cheeks. Last night, the oldest player in the squad whooped with unbridled joy, savouring his decision to postpone his retirement.
Vidmar was also there in 1993 and 1997 and, like many of his teammates, he knew this was his final shot at glory.
Robbie Hooker didn't get another chance, but his plaintive cries in the MCG dressing room after the Iranians had driven a dagger into his heart came to mind at the final whistle last night.
Eight years on, he is a coach. Like everyone else involved in the game, at whatever level, Hooker can now turn up to work with a spring in his step.
The celebrations have been a long time coming, but he's one of a multitude who have paid their dues and deserve to enjoy the dividend.
Speaking of celebrations, the hungover Socceroos will be feted when they appear at Martin Place today. The State Government wasn't able to organise a ticker-tape parade - to the eternal shame of so-called football fan Premier Morris Iemma. No doubt Iemma will be scurrying to jump on the bandwagon. It might already be full.
For now, though, cast aside the differences and savour the afterglow of this magnificent achievement.
In a multicultural nation in a fractured world, the Socceroos can bring together the sum of their parts: Muslim, Catholic, Orthodox, Anglican. German, Lebanese, Polynesian, Croatian, Italian, Melanesian, Greek. It is a rich tapestry but last night they - and we - were one thing only. Australian.