Contrasting emotions at the final whistle. (Getty Images)

By Frank Malley, PA Chief Sports Writer, Sydney

It was 1966 all over again - down to the late equaliser in normal time, the nerve-shreddingly tense extra-time and the gloriously compelling finale.

And in the end, just like 1966, England, the rugby version this time, were crowned world champions. At the final whistle, after the mercurial Jonny Wilkinson had dropped the winning goal with 20 seconds remaining, white shirts all over the Telstra stadium hugged each other in relief as much as joy and all of Sydney seemed to reverberate to 'Swing Low Sweet Chariot'.

Yes, it was close, too damned close at 20-17 for those with faint hearts and nervous dispositions. But, while you had to be middle-aged to remember it, you just couldn't help making those comparisons with that similarly rain-washed day back in July 1966. Back to the memory of Bobby Moore holding that famous footballing trophy aloft at Wembley in front of a positively girlish Queen Elizabeth.

Back to Jack Charlton's tears and Nobby Stiles' toothless grin and juvenile jig at a time when the Beatles were in their pomp.

Who would have thought then, when England ruled the world at its most popular sport, that the nation which gave the planet most of its games would have to wait another 37 years to clinch the ultimate prize in a major sport?

One football World Cup semi-final in 1990 and three losing cricket world finals is all England had to show since then.

When many doubted and some ridiculed, Woodward repeatedly insisted this team, with its blend of Dad's Army forwards and thrusting young guns, was on the verge of something special.

It was not so much a hope as a promise. And today they delivered - only just but for all that gloriously, bravely and at times with a style which made a nonsense of those who had labelled them boring.

We should concede that the weather gods again had been kind to England delivering, just as against France in the semi-final, a cool and wet evening with sodden pitch and surface ideally suited to a kicking game.

But, for all Wilkinson's four penalties and that incredible drop goal - and he was predictably booed at every turn - this wasn't a turgid, kick-and-chase affair. It was absorbing from kick-off to final whistle - a match of fluctuating fortunes, huge hits and almost unbearable tension.

To a lesser side Australia's first score after six minutes would have been a devastating blow - Stephen Larkham's high kick to the wing exposing the short stature of Jason Robinson against his huge fellow-rugby league convert Lote Tuqiri, who plucked the ball from the air with ease to fall over the line.

Psychologically it said so much that England, after switching Robinson to full-back and giving Josh Lewsey the task of shackling the big man, rode that early storm to provide a match with heroes in white shirts all over the Telstra stadium.

Lawrence Dallaglio saved his best game for the last two years for the one that mattered, persistently punching holes in the Australian defence.

Richard Hill and Neil Back were everywhere and England's front five were simply immense as they drove back a spirited and increasingly desperate Australia.

But it didn't end there. Mike Tindall, dropped for the semi against France, returned to have the game of his life and fellow centre Will Greenwood, he of the swift hands and even quicker mind, wasn't far behind.

Then there was Robinson, all dancing feet and chirpy demeanour, scampering in for a first-half sliding try wonderfully manufactured by the loose-running of Dallaglio.

And, of course, there was Wilkinson. At 24 the youngest member of England's side has suffered some slings and arrows these past two months. David Campese reckoned he "choked" under pressure, others portrayed him as the epitome of England's boring machine. The Aussies wore their 'Stop Jonny' tee-shirts, cut out their voodoo dolls and stuck in their pins.

Wilkinson simply kept quiet, practised and then practised some more and then came out to marshal England to triumph after triumph - seven of them in all and this undoubtedly was his finest hour.

Brave as a lion in the tackle, the crack from one hit on Aussie replacement Matt Giteau in the first-half might have been heard back at the Opera House.

Cool as you like under pressure from Australia's rampaging back row, his kicking from hand kept his forwards going forward - and in a final as tight they can ask for no more than that.

His precise part in Robinson's try simply unveiled the full repertoire - great vision, swift hands - of the best rugby player in the world.

But it was his composure, and his penalty and that late, late drop goal, as the tension of extra-time tugged at mind and muscle, which was most impressive. Yet it wasn't a day to dwell on individuals because, despite the handling errors and missed opportunities, this was as near a total team effort as is possible in sport. And for that England can thank Woodward - the man hounded in some quarters after England's quarter-final failure four years ago in Paris.

Today all the meticulous planning, all the millions spent on specialist coaches, all the hard work at their Bagshot base brought the prize Woodward deserved. Sure, England can play better, but who cares?

England are world champions. How wonderful that sounds.