HAVE you ever had it?
You know what I'm talking about: that feeling of sheer exhilaration; that knowledge that you've just experienced something very few others have.
I still remember the first time I had that feeling. Ok, so I shared it with a few million other people, but how can any born-and-bred Queenslander forget where they were when big Carl Rackemann took the catch that finally won Queensland their first Sheffield Shield?!? Granted, it was the first time Queensland had actually hosted a Shield final, but given the previous 60-odd years of heartbreak, who could blame a whole state going into a mass state of ecstasy when we finally won the bloody thing?
Likewise that fateful night in 2005 when the Australian men's soccer team (the Socceroos) took on Uruguay in the final match of the World Cup qualifiers. Australia hadn't appeared in a men's World Cup since 1974 and had a mountain to climb, being down 1-0 after the first leg in Montevideo.
Living in the tourist town of Port Douglas didn't necessarily mean there were any spare seats in the pubs that night; I ended up heading out to the last pub on Macrossan Street, parking my beer at a table where an English gent told me the last time he'd been to Australia was when they last qualified.
Omens, right?
I don't remember much of when John Aloisi scored the winning penalty, other than to say I was radiating love and affection in every direction - and I certainly wasn't the only one!
Which brings me nicely to an average suburban house north of Brisbane on February 19. A mate had texted through a message of support (surprising because I actually cannot remember the last time said mate had ever supported an Australian athlete) for Cooma's own Torah Bright.
When I first moved to Cooma the talk was of this girl who had the potential to be a world and/or Olympic champion. This was naturally a big thing for a town of around 8000 people.
Having met and interviewed Torah while in Cooma, it was with great interest I tuned into the women's snowboarding. That, and the text message had woken me up.
After sitting through the semi-finals, it was onto the final, where Torah's first-placed qualification meant she could watch what everyone else had done and lay down a good initial run.
That was the plan: two missed landings later and Torah was sitting 11th rather than 1st.
This meant she was the first out on the second run, knowing that any mistake would literally wipe out any plans she had for an Olympic medal.
Now I don't profess to know much about winter sports (I'm from Queensland, not very well known for snow or cold or anything like that really), but at the end of Torah's second run I - and many, many others around the country - were doing fist pumps and hoping like hell the judge's trained eyes saw what our untrained ones did.
They did.
Now it was the simple matter of watching 10 of the world's best snowboarders try beat 45/50. While the other 21 million Australians scattered around the world turned fingernails into chewing gum, Torah was at ease, knowing she had done her best.
Every rider that crashed out brought a big sigh of relief; every clean run was analysed for any faults that may drop the score below 45.0.
When Hannah Teter finished the final run, all looked to the scoreboard to confirm Torah's - and Cooma's - first ever Olympic gold medal.
In a sport most knew little about before February 19, 2010, millions had it.
You know what I'm talking about: that feeling of sheer exhilaration; that knowledge that you've just experienced something very few others have.
I know I did.
