The World Cup in rugby union was only inaugurated in 1987, when it was jointly staged by its most recent hosts, Australia, in conjunction with New Zealand. It was only in 2003, however, that the tournament began to be watched to any significant degree in countries that have no particular rugby tradition of their own.

The strange thing was that it hadn’t looked likely to be a classic tournament when it started. The smaller nations were mostly blown away in the group stages, with Namibia and Uruguay each suffering the indignity of being on the sticky end of a three-figure scoreline (142-0 in Namibia’s case). That said, it wasn’t all plain sailing for the home nations either: Scotland only just got the drop on Fiji (22-20) after a mighty battle, while England were made to look distinctly ordinary against Samoa, although they eventually prevailed 35-22.

As has too often happened with England teams in major tournaments, the rugby side started slowly. Although widely regarded as the finest 15 in the northern hemisphere, they appeared prosaic, lacking in imagination, much given to kicking for touch, and scoring the most straightforward of tries when they did score any.

The quarter-finals

These produced the line-up that everybody had been expecting before the competition got under way, with England to play Wales. The Welsh had started the tournament very modestly indeed, but had gradually recovered to something like full strength, nearly looking capable of beating New Zealand in the previous round.

A low-scoring and tense first half saw England frankly struggling against awesome Welsh passion. At the resumption, Wales were leading 10-3, and it was only in the second half that England began to draw themselves up to their full height. Although they eventually won the game 28-17, the statistics told their own story. The Welsh had breached the English try-line no fewer than three times, while England’s points tally was made up of one try, courtesy of Will Greenwood, with a conversion, a drop-goal and a string of penalties from the master kicker Jonny Wilkinson.

The question was asked: were England too reliant on one man at set pieces to entertain realistic hopes of lifting the Cup?

The semis

After this, the semi-final turned out to be something of a breeze. The contest was by now poised in a state of tantalising symmetry, with the Australasian teams pitted against each other, and England confronting France in the northern hemisphere clash. England had the satisfaction of seeing the outcome of the first semi before they played, the result being a shock defeat for the All-Blacks (22-10).

In their own match, France offered very little in the way of a test. Once again, however, England’s entire points haul of 24 came from the boot of Wilkinson, while the beaten side did at least get a converted try on the board.

The stage was set for a monumental final. Would the superior firepower of the Aussies prevail over the positional play that had carried England through to the final stage?

The final

It was a remarkably close-run thing. Lote Tuqiri opened the scoring for the hosts with an enterprising try, but then England at last produced the try the supporters had been waiting for, through Jason Robinson. By half-time, England had cruised through another couple of gears, and enjoyed a deceptively comfortable-looking 14-5 lead.

Australia came back at them in the second half, eroding that lead penalty by penalty, without reply from England, until the scores were level, and extra time was forced. It had been a spirited fightback under pressure, a magisterially level-headed performance that contributed towards a truly thrilling final – for everybody except the England supporters, that is.

In extra time, England again took the lead with a penalty, only to see the lead dismissively wafted away with another Australian reply. It was 17-17, with sudden death (when they keep playing until a team scores) looming. Memories of the kind of last-ditch brinkmanship that serves England so consistently badly in international soccer tournaments arose. But this wasn’t soccer. And for once, England supporters – whether in the cauldron of the Sydney arena, or in that Saturday morning living-room back at home – were to be treated to the heroic finale we are so seldom gifted with.

With a wafer-thin 26 seconds left on the watch, and with England charging forward in attack once more, Wilkinson suddenly found himself in space and square on to goal. We could all instinctively see there was the ghost of a chance of the drop, and also instinctively knew that he would take it. Unlike his previous three efforts in the match, the kick was strong and true, one of those whose destination was clear as soon as it left his foot. You wouldn’t want to be on the wrong end of a World Cup final that ended like that, but for once in our eternally hopeful sporting lives, we weren’t.

So it was that on November 22, 2003, Martin Johnson became the first captain of a northern hemisphere team to lift rugby’s supreme prize. We’ll find out in 2007 whether we can mount a successful defence of it, but whatever the outcome of 2007, rather like Humphrey Bogart and Ingrid Bergman in Casablanca will always have Paris, England will always have Sydney.