Well, as they say in football-speak, the fairy tale is over for this year. A well struck, direct, no-messing-at-all free-kick from Mr Ballack (one might even call it efficient in its execution) ruthlessly put an end to Austrian dreams, and afforded sporting journalists the world over the chance of typing 'Goodnight Vi…

Look, just because something is cheesy and basic doesn't mean its not worth using - just ask Al Gore. Yep, Ballack steps up and it's Goodnight Vienna. And, in all fairness, it was a good night. When the tears have dried, the Fanzones have been dismantled, and the newspapers have long since become discarded kartoffel wrappers, the memories of the night will still linger, and they will be good.

The build-up to the Germany match began as soon as the final whistle blew at the end of a remarkable draw with Poland. Remarkable? Of course. It is not every match that a youthful 38 year old Fox Mulder comes off the bench to smash home a penalty two minutes into injury time for his country. Ivica Vastić hit the shot with such aplomb and certainty that it was almost as if he knew he could not miss - a handy bit of knowledge in such nail-biting circumstances.

Once that nicely designed Europass ball hit the back of the net, a fevered shock gripped all who saw and quickly spread throughout the city like a dodgy eighties virus. People dared to believe, dared to dream. What only days before seemed like wistful fancies and poppycock, became things of real hope, and these things of real hope quickly became (with no little thanks to the media) things of fact. Austria WILL beat Germany and progress - a FACT. A thing as certain as the snow in winter, Mozart's genius, or a Vastić penalty.

I witnessed all this hope and I marvelled at it. Having spent most of my life in the streets of England, and then some on the island of Ireland, I am, as you may guess, no stranger to the hype and growing passion of a footballing nation when caught in the spell of a major championships. But to see it happen here in Vienna was something special. The overflow of scarves and banners, the crackling tension, and the deepening sense of a city-community, made me wonder that this majestic old town had not seen such days of excitement since the World Exhibition of 1873 (or the haughty pages of Joseph Roth's The Tale of the 1002nd Night).

I myself was gripped by the fever as much as the next. And what to do about it? Well go to church of course. But not for the cure, but for to feed it! On Sunday evening, after leaving my favourite coffee house in all of Vienna (a place that should remain nameless, lest like a major surf-spot in Bally… [nearly] it becomes a home to the masses), I headed to Wien's Evangelical Church in the Dorotheergasse.

There the local holy-man was putting on a special mass for the new heroes of red & white. Decked in an Austrian scarf, the priest led us through a service of prayers and footballing anthems, whilst throughout a football was perched upon the altar like a sportsman's tabernacle. With dignity almost intact I left the proceedings just as the congregation entered into the chorus of You'll Never Walk Alone. A bizarre service to say the least, up there with any Christmas Eve midnight mass.

The following day, match-day, I left my quarters with an optimism that was beyond optimistic. Without a ticket for the game, I forsook the madness of the bulging fanzone, and instead hopped on the U4 metro line, sped past the magnificent Schoenbruenn, and headed headlong for the Hanappi stadium (home of Rapid Vienna). There I watched the sad exit of our heroes amongst almost 12,000 Austrian fans and about 100 rejoicing Germans. The result was not what we had taught ourselves to expect, but underneath (somewhere deep), below all the hype and the hastily built confidence, we knew (like that aged old boxer) that all we'd really had was hope.

So good luck Germany, well played, and to the Austrian team all I can say is Auf Wiedersehen und Vielen Dank fuer die schoenen Erinnerungen! It is over for now, but I feel this young team is more than capable of writing a new chapter in the annals of Austrian football. Nay, not just capable - they are ready.