Brazil lift the World Cup. (Allsport)

By Frank Malley, PA Chief Sports Writer, Tokyo

It ended in a Brazilian conga as magical as it was manic, with the likes of Rivaldo, Roberto Carlos, captain Cafu and co weaving their way through the waiting press throng and on to the team coach.

Some strummed guitars, many threw back bottles of beer, others panned the chaotic scene with video cameras to capture every last glimpse of history in the making.

Thus did a Brazilian team touched with genius and brimming with belief exit a World Cup which should bow, in the tradition of this politest of nations, in deepest gratitude as they fly out of Japan and back to a heroes' reception in Rio.

It will, of course, forever be known as Ronaldo's World Cup after the Brazilian striker scored the two goals in the final which defeated Germany and carried off the Golden Shoe as the tournament's leading scorer with eight goals.

But, in truth, we were spoiled for choice with the men in yellow shirts, four of whom made the FIFA All-Star team, albeit with the legendary Pele helping head the selection process.

None more so than with Ronaldinho, with his deft flicks, bustling style and outrageous free-kick which deceived England goalkeeper David Seaman, sending him back to Highbury mumbling apologises to the nation.

Or Rivaldo, who began the tournament branded a cheat for feigning injury against Turkey and had the quietest of finals, yet still supplied the shot which German goalkeeper Oliver Khan spilled for Ronaldo's first and the flash of vision to step over the ball to allow his striking partner to glide home his second.

Then there was Roberto Carlos' surging penetration, Cafu's inspiration, the solid goalkeeping of Marcos and a defence led by Lucio and Roque Junior which proved to be nowhere near as fragile as predicted.

The whole might not have had the compact rhythm of the 1982 side or the steel of 1994 and as a team it does not come close to the greatest Brazilian side of all - the 1970 vintage of Pele, Rivelino, Tostao, Gerson and Jairzinho.

But it gave South Korea and Japan 2002 a shimmer of brilliance which did much to bring some welcome samba sunshine to a land in the midst of its rainy season.

If we are honest, however, Brazil apart, it was a World Cup more memorable for its shocks than its quality, one which for the most part turned football logic on its head, one which will go down as the most unpredictable of all-time.

Once we had dismissed a sad prima donna and loner in the intense form of Roy Keane it began with the dismantling of an ageing and arrogant French side by a little team from Senegal, a former Gallic colony, in an opening match which supplied romance and wonder.

Football fans forever will be indebted to Papa Bouba Diop, who stripped off his shirt after scoring the winning goal, laid it down by the corner flag and led his team-mates in a dance which had Japanese, Africans, Latvians, Croatians, Dutch, Russians, Brits, security staff, Uncle Tom Cobley and all rising as one to acclaim the African revolution.

As it happened it also confirmed football as the most dramatic, unpredictable, irresistible sport known to man.

A sport which for all its rampant commercialism, political intrigue and whiff of corruption reaches the passions and stirs the blood like no other.

But if Papa got the tournament off to a wondrous start it was nothing compared to what was to come.

How could anyone of sane mind have predicted the United States, the nation which finished dead last four years ago and where more women than men play football, would beat Portugal and go on to contest a quarter-final with Germany?

We knew the Irish would be a handful and they did not disappoint - Robbie Keane and Damien Duff spiriting them into the second round where they were unlucky to lose on penalties to perennial under-achievers Spain.

We expected also that Sven-Goran Eriksson's England would acquit themselves with honour and meticulous planning even, if we are honest, their lack of creativity was not deserving of progress further than the quarter-finals.

A heady night under the Sapporo Dome, however, when Argentina were dismissed with a David Beckham penalty and a rearguard action of Dunkirk dimensions was itself worthy of the trip.

How could anyone have foreseen the force that was Turkey who played football pleasing on the eye and full of invention even if they lacked the ruthlessness to finish off their attractive approach play?

We had been warned of the latent force that lay in wait in Asia with its summer heat and draining humidity in the shape of co-hosts South Korea and Japan.

Neither let us down, even though home hearts sank with the speed of the setting sun when Japan lost to Turkey in the second round.

South Korea, meanwhile, just went on and on, gathering momentum it seemed from the national hysteria which surrounded each victory. No team enlivened what was essentially a defensive tournament quite like the Koreans under the guidance of coach Guus Hiddink.

Not a day goes by even now when another public building in South Korea is not named after the Dutchman or another statue raised in honour of the man who has presided over Asian football's greatest adventure.

Hiddink's philosophy was refreshingly simple - sweep all the old baggage and inhibition aside, encourage youth to mix with experience and smash through the natural hierarchy and reserve of the Korean psyche. The results were dramatic.

No side has shown more passion. No side has demonstrated greater fitness, most notably in their impressive golden goal victory against Italy which saw scorer Ahn Jung Hwan sacked from his club Perugia in a grotesque fit of Italian pique.

"What did you expect me to do? Keep a player who ruined Italian football," said Perugia president Luciano Gaucci.

And you wondered quite what more there was to ruin about a 'football-mad' European country which perfectly lived up to that tag with its ludicrous suggestions that the referee was a cheat, the match was fixed and sent-off Francesco Totti had not dived even though television evidence supported the official?

The truth? Italy were cautious, arrogant, predictable, and not nearly as fit or inventive as Hiddink's heroes.

Inevitably, Spain joined in the whinging when they too were sent packing by Hiddink's men and though this tournament has not been a showcase for refereeing decisions the European giants would do well to look closer to home for the true cause of their demise.

Undoubtedly they were tired after too many matches, too many meaningless domestic tournaments, but don't let that hide the complacency which has settled amid the overpaid, overpampered superstars of Europe.

So there we have it - a tournament full of good players, but short of real heroes, full of fine teams but lacking great ones.

Full of magnificent, state-of-the-art stadiums, though the empty seats which dotted so many arenas were an indictment of the incompetence of some of the ticketing arrangements.

More than that, however, on a domestic note the overriding memory of this World Cup is the affection the Asian population hold for England and, in particular, David Beckham, whose iconic status on this continent is remarkable.

For all we know it might last as long as the next fad in a land where to be in vogue is as important as owning the latest here-today-broken-tomorrow gadget.

But it was heart-warming to behold.

And there was another thing, which isn't always the case, to commend World Cup 2002 - the best team won by winning all its matches.