Berlin,Tegel Airport July 10th

I am sitting in departures here in Berlin gathering my thoughts on what must be one the most fantastic nights of my life. Last night right here the 2006 World Cup Final took place and Italy beat France on penalties, finally breaking their spot kick hoodoo.

It's not the lack of sleep, croaky voice or flag still draped round my neck that reminds me of what a night we had, all around me there's the evidence. The airport is chaotic and its only 5am!! Every taxi in the queue like all the cars in the streets have German flags proudly waving from their windows. Italians are still singing waiting to check in, as are a handful of French and many from as diverse places as Korea to Guatemala are homeward bound having come to join the party.

I have to say that from the moment I touched down the German people have been exceptionally welcoming and friendly and throughout the day we raised a stein or three with a few of them. They took this team and Klinsi the manager to their hearts, so much so that yesterday over 500,000 locals cheered on their team as they paraded on the Fan Mile near the Brandenburg gate.

I travelled over with Claudio, Aldo and David (you can work out which one is the honorary member of the travelling Tallie Tartan Army), and we made our way to the historic Olympic Stadium where 1 billion people were reputed to be tuning in for the final. Our kilts and Italian tops drew some confused looks from both camps, that was until we bumped into four similarly clad Scots but wearing French tops. Whilst we didn't agree on who we were supporting that night we did come to the conclusion that kilts should definitely not be worn in the 30C heat.

We approached the imposing stadium complete with its 1930's Olympic Tower and began our quest for tickets. We had passes for the big screen next door as our fallback option but were keen to get our hands on the golden tickets. When we began to be quoted prices at 2000 Euro plus we soon realised that the big screen was our only option. I heard later that people were easily paying that and more. With corporate tickets amounting to over 40% of the allocation the ordinary fan loses out yet again.

Bratwursts, beer and the big screen it was then at the Waldbuhne, a natural ampitheatre located in the woods a stones throw from the shadow of the Olympic Stadium Tower.

Our pre match build up consisted of beat the goalie and cheesy europop, not quite Shakira but equally as entertaining nonetheless.

The first pictures come through, the stadium looks fantastic and I laugh when I see a banner exclaiming that Cannavaro should be the next Italian 'Minister for Defence'. The Italians appeared to outnumber the French inside the stadium which was the case here and throughout the rest of the city

It didn't take long for the momentum to build up and the game kicked off with 10,000 spectators all roaring with anticipation. The game was almost immediately controversial with Materrazzi handing the French a soft penalty which Zidane cheekily converted with the help of the underside of the bar. The French fans now made their presence known and went wild. I thought it was going to be heartbreak yet again, that was until Materazzi scored a towering header to level the score. We pounced onto the stage to celebrate with hundreds of others (I've always wanted to stage dive so that one's ticked off the list!)

France came out of the stops in the second half and gave Italy a few scares, none more so than Zidanes header in extra time, textbook, which was magnificently put over by Buffon.

Then in a moment of madness and one which silenced the crowd here on both sides, the Zidane and Materazzi show took a disturbing twist. Zidane headbutted Materazzi in the chest sending him flying to the ground. There are many stories as to what was said and we may or may not find out in time, yet there and then it marked a blemish on one of the greatest players I have ever had the priviledge of seeing. And on one who created one of the greatest goals I had ever witnessed, at Hampden Park in the Champions League Final in 2002.

There was no great joy at Zidane being sent off as you would expect from opposition supporters, just amazement.

The game was heading for penalties and we held our breath once more. I don't remember much to be honest before Grosso (my man of the tournament) scored the decider, but what followed was pure delirium, raw emotion and tears. We screamed and jumped like we could take off. Choruses of Siamo Il Campione Del Mondo ring out and I think I even saw the Italian Manager Lippi (a.k.a. Paul Newman) crack a smile. I remember collapsing on my knees in a heap, drained but relieved, with the Italian flag covering my head, a moment to myself amidst the chaos just to comprehend the enormity of what we had just witnessed.

Finals are always tense affairs often not pretty to watch and penalties are a cruel way to lose. I even believe it somewhat dilutes it for the victor, but the history books will show that Italy are World Champions, no one in Europe has won it more times.

France will get another chance - the young talents of Ribery and Sagnol were outstanding and the legacy of the Old France, Zidane the talisman will inspire the next generation and so Adieu Les Blues.

For us however the party begins and the scars of the 1994 defeat on penalties by Brazil begin to heal. And what a party town Berlin is. Car horns are blasting, megaphones blaring, Italian flags are being waved with a possessed vigour as much as I expect they are by Italians in Italy and other countries. (I've since heard of ecstatic scenes in Montreal. George Square in Glasgow was described by The Herald as Little Italy and of course the Italian Club in Greenock was packed.

We head back into the town centre and crazed Italian fans are even throwing themselves off low level bridges into the river much to the amusement of the crowd below at the riverside bars and cafes. None of us can believe it, the 2006 World Cup Champions.

Despite not having had any proper sleep in two days and losing my voice, I'll be going from the Olympic Stadium last night to Inverclyde Sports Centre tonight to play seven a sides. My girlfirend says I'm mad and maybe she's right. but I've assured her its only temporary and surfaces every four years or so.