Golden girl: Sonia O'Sullivan brought Irish people on a journey that reached its destination in Sydney

The biggest sporting occasions offer no hiding places. Victories are celebrated in bright lights and those same bright lights show every defeat in glorious technicolour. It's a fact Sonia O'Sullivan was all too aware of as she ran in the 5,000m final at the Sydney Olympics.

The decade was only a brat when the world's finest athletes congregated at the far side of the planet and there were some ghosts hanging over Ireland's great hope. Four years previously in Atlanta, Sonia's world collapsed before our eyes. She cantered into the 5,000m final back then as the reigning world champion. It seemed her time had come. Not just a medal, but a gold medal was hers to claim. However, it didn't take long before the cracks started to show.

With a mixture of pain and embarrassment etched on her face she fell back through the field and dropped out of the race. The tears came as she retreated to the tunnel. She was still in turmoil when the 1,500m heats rolled around a few days later and she failed to qualify for the final. That was it, another Olympics over. All that preparation and nothing to show for it but a head full of confusion. It was always the deal with Sonia. If she felt pain so too did the nation. There was something about the fragility in defeat and the unabashed joy in victory that made her easy to appreciate. No hidden agendas, just honesty.

That's why early in the 5,000m final on a sparkling Monday night in Sydney we wondered if history was about to repeat itself. Just a few laps into the race those ghosts gathered around her shoulders. The pace was modest but Sonia's legs were heavy and she started to slip back. Detached from the leading pack she fell to 11th as the galloping Ethiopian Gete Wami lifted the tempo.

At times like these you wonder what goes through the head of an athlete. In a team sport, sometimes you can afford to drift and not get caught. But when you're running for yourself all the expectation rests on you alone and if your mind or your body drifts you get stung. You wonder if Atlanta came to her mind.

"I was nearly gone," she told the press afterwards. "But somehow I got myself back into it again. It's a hard race to describe and definitely there were points in which I don't remember much."

Whatever it was that clouded her focus, it cleared and at the halfway stage she kicked back into life again. It seemed as if the quickening pace made the decision for her. It was now or never and so she dragged her way back towards the front of the field. The race was on and Romania's Gabriela Szabo was in her sights.

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It remains arguably the greatest single night of athletics of the decade. Every event brought another star into focus. Jonathan Edwards was there, skipping to a triple-jump victory, Maria Mutola bossed her way to 800m gold with a muscled arrogance. There was the glamorous sideshow of the Russian-born Australian Tatiana Grigorieva making the crowd swoon on her way to silver in the pole vault. Michael Johnson chopped his way to another 400m gold. But all of that was overshadowed by three outstanding races.

It may sound strange at this remove but Haile Gebrselassie and Paul Tergat held 112,000 people in the palms of their hands for every step of their 10,000m final. For 27 minutes and 18 seconds they moved like thoroughbreds around the track. To see two guys sustain such a phenomenal pace and then sprint like greyhounds for the final two laps when surely every muscle is telling them to slow down, not speed up, was astounding to see. At the line, after 25 laps, Gebrselassie won by .09 of a second.

Then there was the defining Australian moment of the Games; Cathy Freeman's gold medal-winning run in the 400m final. The lead-up was soap opera mixed with historical drama. Freeman's main rival was Marie-José Pérec, the reigning Olympic 400m champion. But the French woman left Australia almost as soon as she had arrived, spooked by the pressure of taking on the local hero. Freeman had enough to deal with on her own. Australia was in the middle of a very public reconciliation with its past. There were calls for the Prime Minister John Howard to officially apologise on behalf of the nation for their treatment of the Aboriginal population over the course of two centuries. But he played politics and refused to say the word sorry.

In another political move, Freeman was chosen to light the Olympic flame at the opening ceremony and after a week of dominance in the pool, Australia desperately wanted the Aboriginal girl to deliver on the track. With Perec gone, Freeman was racing not so much against the field as against her history. She glided to victory in the loudest 49 seconds of the Games. Once across the line she simply collapsed and sat on the track. The hood of her iconic bodysuit pulled down, she held her head in her hands. That's what you do when, even for a brief moment, you've united a nation.

Then there was Sonia.

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With a couple of laps to go the din was starting to rise. There were so many Irish in the stadium cheering on their girl that a local nearby was heard to ask in an elongated drawl, "Is the woman in green Australian?" It did sound like a home venue and the Irish flags draped over the stands and over shoulders pin-pointed the travelling support. With a lap to go there was the familiar sight of Sonia in contention. Graceful strides took her past Wami and her compatriot Worku Ayelech. Now just the bustling figure in bright yellow separated her from the gold. With 250 metres to go Szabo kicked and opened a gap of a couple of yards. Sonia responded in kind and at the top of the final bend she was on the shoulder of the Romanian. How many times had we seen this race? Now it was time for Sonia to kick again and power home. Except this time Szabo responded and held her off. With 50 metres to go they looked neck and neck. The big screen gave a better angle and revealed a gap of closer to a yard but nobody wanted to take their eyes off the track. The Irish didn't arrive to watch it on television so they screamed her home step by exhilarating step. At the line, just a stride separated them.

Gold went to Szabo in Sydney. But victory went to Sonia. Victory over Atlanta and those tears. Victory over those ghosts in the early laps. An Olympic medal finally secured to add to a sideboard full of European and world titles. To see it in the flesh was a dream.

That's the thing about great sportspeople . They pull you in to their journey. You're not some unmoved observer. You're taking every stride, passing every ball, dodging every blow. That was Sonia's gift.

She brought you in. On that night in Sydney a decade ago, she let us share in her glory. Her light shone and we all basked in the glow.