OKAY. Let's get one thing straight from the very start - I like Australians.

I mean, who could not fail to be knocked out by the delectable Kylie, the dissolute Sir Les Patterson, the devoted Skippy, the daredevil Ned Kelly (no relation - I think), or even the ubiquitous presence that is Rolf Harris.

Somewhat more seriously, in more than two decades as a sports reporter I have never come across a more media-savvy race than the Australians.

Whether ultra-professional like the great Dennis Lillee or less esteemed like the bat-packing brigade of cricketers who swap sunnier climes for an unforgiving English summer, those from Down Under - and across a spectrum of sport also encompassing football, rugby league and boxing - have always been a joy to report on and interview.

It's as if they have been schooled in knowing that newspapers need not be their enemy, indeed that they and their sport can benefit from exposure on the printed page.

Then, when they do compete, they almost invariably possess to a man, and woman, an unquenchable desire to excel matched only by a ruthless and relentless instinct to win. And there's nowt wrong with that.

When compiling a list of sporting winners there's little need to stray too far from the Antipodes.

Cricket has been dominated for nigh on a decade by Australia. In the Test arena or one-day game - the green baggy-capped battalion reduce Test tussles to barely beyond a day - it matters not. Aussies rule.

Swimming and athletics are also the province of those wild colonial boys and girls. Think of the phenomenon that is Thorpedo, otherwise Ian Thorpe, who carves through any Olympic-sized pool like a missile on a mission.

On the track, the totemic Kathy Freeman, clad in fetching one-piece running suit, epitomises the get up and go, gung-ho grit which courses through those who wear the green and gold.

And the wizards of Oz spell glows wider than a Harry Potter marketing frenzy. Those Australians are more than fair dinkum in the world of Rugby League as evidenced by the current Think! Road Safety Test series. Once again, ad nauseam, they have proved to Great Britain that when the going gets tough, they not only tough it out but keep on going to ensure victory is theirs.

Streuth. Even the Socceroos put one over England last season. Advance Australia fair, more like hurtle forward on a trophy-grabbing charge.

But enough is enough. One nation cannot hold several world of sports in their perma-tanned grip for ever.

Now Australian supremacy is on the brink of being loosened. With delicious irony it could be by a team from the mother country that is so much bashed that Britannia's ears resemble those of a hapless hooker.

The final of rugby union's World Cup pitches Australia (the holders, natch) against England.

It is a Saturday showdown yearned for by all England and Australian aficionados, plus all neutrals of the game. They have got what they desired, now it's down to national coach Clive Woodward, his back-up staff and his single-minded squad to deliver what England wants.

If any incentive were needed, it is a reprise of the 1991 final when Australia won the first of their three World Cup conquests by beating England 12-6 at Twickenham. What a happy and glorious opportunity to avenge those 12 years of hurt and inflict a Wallabies-walloping weekend in the Aussies' own Sydney backyard.

Australia's customary Pom-bashing has been elevated to Pom-baiting suggesting the hosts and holders are genuinely fearful of their white-shirted foes. Not that they will admit it. That's not the Aussie way.

But Woodward's warriors, while not touching the heights of performance that so graced a shining summer, undoubtedly have the potential, the power, and the precision of a certain J Wilkinson to boot, that an Australian defeat is likely.

So come on, let's stuff those all-conquering Aussies - at last.

Updated: 11:02 Tuesday, November 18, 2003