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Princess Anne moved to place the gold medal around the neck of Steven Geoffrey Redgrave.

The National Anthem struck up and a raucous voice from the back of the stand screamed 'Arise Sir Steven'.

It wasn't the official knighting of the world's greatest Olympian, just the heady euphoria which swept the stands at Penrith Lakes early this morning as Redgrave led his coxless fours crew to golden glory in one of the most thrilling and spectacular races in rowing history.

But 'Sir Steven Redgrave' never sounded more right and fitting and surely he will need only to wait until the New Year to receive the ultimate accolade after winning his fifth consecutive gold medal at the grand old age of 38 in the most brutal of disciplines.

As it was the feat was commemorated with a second special presentation with Redgrave receiving an Olympic gold pin from Olympic president Juan Antonio Samaranch.

Those were the fineries of the day - but they don't tell the story of raw courage and fierce commitment which saw Britain take victory by a shade less than four tenths of a second from Italy, their biggest rivals and the team which ignited their Olympic drive by beating them in Lucerne two months ago, with Australia taking the bronze.

Four tenths of a second - that's about the blink of an eye and that was all that stood between Redgrave and immortality.

But before we come to the details of a race which was as tense and as dramatic in its denouement as sport gets let's salute the three other heroes who made Redgrave's feat possible and who stood shoulder-to-shoulder on the victory podium.

Matthew Pinsent - Redgrave's lieutenant in the last three Olympics, and the steadiest of rocks in a decade of savage endeavour chasing the most sought-after prize in sport.

Tim Foster - the man who fought back from two career-threatening back operations and who epitomises the never-say-die attitude which personifies this unique sporting unit.

And James Cracknell, full of jolly japes and silly quips but whose rowing, once in a boat, is approached with the intense demeanour of a brain surgeon.

For four years they have lived and worked together more closely than most husbands and wives.

And today they reaped their reward for the weeks of tension, the months of gruelling training and the years of sacrifice which had cost relationships and pain.

The strategy was plain as they lined up against their main rivals - Italy, who had beaten them two months ago in Lucerne, Australia, who contested their right to be called the 'Oarsome Foursome' and New Zealand, who had also been seeded above them.

They were to go out as fast as possible to utilise the immense strength of the most physically imposing unit in Olympic rowing.

That they did, surging clear from the start, easing into that regular, rhythmic style which eats up the water.

By 500m of the 2000m course they had built a lead of half a boat's length over Australia prompting the PA announcer to yell: "They look like a runaway train."

By 1000 metres they had upped their rate to 37 strokes a minute and looked in complete control.

Then came the Azzurri of Italy - first slowly and then at a pace which held gathering menace and we noted the British boat had upped its rate to 40 strokes a minute.

"It was very painful," Pinsent was later to admit. "But you expect that. You don't try to avoid it. It's right that it should hurt when you dig deep. You can't win an Olympic final without it hurting.

"It was hurting in the legs, the arms and in the lungs. But you put it in the background."

"You don't row along thinking 'this hurts a bit'. You row along saying, 'I wish the Italians weren't there', and, 'if we don't do something we might lose this."'

And so they raced on, down that last 250 metres with the Italians closing at every stroke and the thousands of Britons who had made the trek to this outermost part of Sydney's suburbs willing them on to the trail of bubbles which denote the finishing line.

The roars grew louder, the margin grew closer and still the line would not come.

But while the edge-of-the-seat anxiety in the crowd was tangible Redgrave reckoned that even in that myriad of colours and maelstrom of emotions he was the coolest man on the continent.

"Yeah, I thought we were further in front of Italy," he joked. "I think they must have got the timing wrong. I was looking under my armpit and I could see the bubbles of the finish line and I knew we were going to get there first.

"But it doesn't matter how much we won by. People forget that, they just remember whether you won.

"If we had to we would have raised it even more. It was never in doubt after about 250m."

And at the end when they had clung on in the face of that Italian charge which was as thrilling as it was remorseless the emotion and the relief simply poured out in waves of ecstasy which washed across the Penrith Lakes like the wake from an ocean liner.

Redgrave clasped the arm of Cracknell behind him, Pinsent threw both arms to the heavens and then turned to clamber ungainly over his breathless compatriots and they all embraced in a loving tangle of aching limbs as their boat rocked and swayed as if nodding its own approval.

Pinsent, drunk with delight, attempted to rise and for the first time his balance deserted him and he plunged with an ungainly splash into the lake.

A great uplifting roar of laughter went around the sun-drenched arena and we wondered whether the images of this remarkable day could get any better.

As it happened they did when Redgrave had received his medal and pin and all four had hugged once more under a Union Jack draped over Cracknell's shoulders.

That's when Redgrave clambered up the grassy slope in front of the grandstand and climbed into the crowd - in Pat Cash-Wimbledon style - to kiss his wife Ann and hug his three small children Zak, Natalie and Sophie.

Sports Minister Kate Hoey looked on, red-faced from the burning sun but beaming a smile which said that here was the very best of British sport.

And that's what it was - the blend of power and technique together with lashings of Bulldog spirit.

If only we could bottle that and dispense it to our 320 other competitors we would lead the medal table by a country mile.

But then there is only one Steve Redgrave.

Only Hungarian Aladar Gerevich, who won six consecutive golds as a member of the Hungarian sabre team the best part of a century ago, now stands in front of him in Olympic history.

But that was not in a sport of endurance, a sport which makes demands on the body and mind of quite debilitating dimensions.

Whether he will go for one more in 2004 is as yet uncertain.

"I'm not thinking of that, I want to enjoy this one first," he said.

No-one could blame him for that. No-one has deserved their place in the golden sun more than Redgrave.

'Sir Steven' - yes, it has a certain ring to it - five Olympic rings to be exact.