THE nation will be divided tomorrow morning, not by the preference for roses, shamrock, red dragons or flowers of Scotland, but by history.

It will be composed of those who remember the last time a major sporting team from these shores ruled the world and those who don't.

Only those lucky ones who know the tidal wave of joy triggered by Alf's Wingless Wonders, in 1966, will recognise the feeling and the contrast with what went before.

Only they will know what's in store if Clive Woodward's Band of Brothers defeat Australia in Sydney and lift the Rugby World Cup. How the nation needs a lift like it.

It might seem trite to say this, but a couple of thoughts occur to us going into the match.

First, our politicians must resist trying to bask in the reflected glory of a win, for successive governments' records on backing sport from the grassroots up has been abysmal.

Second, the media, who've fed off the trials, tribulations and triumphs of Woodward's men, must resist knee-jerk, damning headlines if the game is dour, and lost.

Clive Woodward accepts the chances are that, if England win, it will not be the prettiest of sights.

Ultimately, it could come down to skipper Martin Johnson and a mighty red rose pack providing fly-half superstar Jonny Wilkinson with the platform for another masterclass.

"They have to make the right decision and walk off the pitch with a win," the coach says. "How we do it, I don't really care, as long as we win it."

Should we care? Of course we shouldn't. Come on, England!