THERE are moments in sport when anyone who is watching can count themselves hugely privileged to have borne witness.

Ian Botham's annihilation of the Aussies at Headingley in 1981; Bjorn Borg's fifth consecutive Wimbledon triumph in 1980; Muhammad Ali's rope-a-dope destruction of George Foreman in the rumble in the jungle in 1974; Paula Radcliffe's 10,000 metres world championship gold triumph last summer.

All epic episodes in the world of sport. All history-making beacons of endeavour.

Now to such a litany of achievement can be added England rugby union's 15-13 win over New Zealand in their own Wellington fortress.

So often a graveyard for visiting teams, the stadium was silenced but not by the impending last rites about to be read for the England team.

The tourists had lost not one, but two key players to the sin-bin with the All-Blacks' mountainous pack ready to pounce from almost under the England posts.

Neil Back and Lawrence Dallaglio were not just critical to the strength of the tourists, they also occupied two of the three back-row positions. In their absence it seemed that an already heavier pack - even when the numbers were evenly matched - would now roll its inexorable way to an unassailable lead during the enforced ten-minute absence of the duo.

But that was to discount the character, the conviction and the courage of a squad that has been honed to near perfection by coach Clive Woodward.

The white-shirted response was immense.

Rather than buckle in the face of the storm as a virtual siege swirled around their cauliflowered ears, this England defied the odds, tweaked adversity by its swishing tail, and then had the audacity to pin back the New Zealand side. They even increased their lead before Back and Dallaglio made their return to swell the numbers back to parity.

It was a daring defiance which had yours truly in thrall to the action unfolding on the other side of the world.

That England went on to win owes much to those ten minutes when their particular world looked to be caving in. It was an outstanding sporting feat that will live long in the memory and reinforces the feel-good factor that such a display of sporting bravery can engender.

Grimacing at Grimbledon

SOMEHOW it remains doubtful that such an inspirational state of the union will be transferred to the upcoming fortnight of grunt and groan in SW1 London.

No it's not wrestling, but the annual two weeks of national angst that accompanies this nation's curious pre-occupation with lawn tennis.

Wimbledon serves up its yearly dose of court duty next Monday when, unbelievably, what appears to be the entire nation gives its way over to an event in which home chances of success are about as likely as Elvis Presley riding Shergar to victory in the Grand National.

Given the emotional interest invested in the two-week tennis fest, it's amazing how a tournament played at the All-England club is anything but in terms of outright triumph. Glory instead will go to a well-heeled crew of Australians, Americans, Germans, Swedes, even for Pete Sampras' sake, the Swiss.

A nation's hopes will be pinned - again - on Tim Henman's vulnerable shoulder, while any Brit who has a racquet and somehow gets a wild card entry will be feted for 15 minutes of fleeting fame until inevitable failure. Wimbledon should be renamed Grimbledon.

Updated: 10:22 Tuesday, June 17, 2003