How fricking good?

I watched the Football Ferns on my phone last night as I drove from Auckland to Rotorua. Streaming it from the passenger seat as we zipped along the Waikato expressway. I can’t think of a time when I’ve been more anxious for the 4G reception to hold out.

And talk about adding new meaning to ‘Are We There Yet’? Those last nine minutes of additional time felt like ninety.

We needed that result last night. In every respect. For the tournament. For the sport. And after the events of yesterday morning, for the country.  

From a football perspective, the thing I loved most was the hunger.

From the word go, the Football Ferns were rabid on defence. Every time a Norwegian midfielder found the ball at her feet and lifted her head to assess the options forward, a Football Ferns’ defender was rushing up, in her face, busying or badgering her for the ball and shutting down her options. It was the kind of relentless, exhaustive, extraordinary effort that makes the last twenty minutes of a game very difficult indeed.

The style of New Zealand international football has historically been defined by a heavy line of brutish defenders heaving the ball up the field and hoping for the best, but on attack, the Ferns were creative, technical, skilful and fluid. It was such a joy to watch.

For the second time in as many years, a women’s team has stepped up in a World Cup under the pressure and hopes of the nation. The Black Ferns last year, the Football Ferns now.

Isn’t it amazing how sport can lift us?

Two more pool games. And having recorded our first ever win at a Football World Cup, and in such glorious style, it's surely not too soon to suggest the Football Ferns of last night have the talent and desire to become the first New Zealand team to make the World Cup knockout rounds, too.