Staggering, swaggering and beyond our wildest dreams

Eriksson erases the doubts on an extraordinary night in Munich

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Magnificent Michael does the trick

Owen does a Hurst as hat-trick puts England back on route 66

Don't mention the score!

Munich rain helps to keep hooligans at bay

It was riches beyond compare, not just a victory over the staunchest of footballing foes, but a win which turned history on its head. Germany, hitherto impregnable on home territory in World Cup qualifying games, were left as ragged and dispirited as England have so often been since the boys of '66 strutted round Wembley in the sunshine. What marked out the night was the swiftness and finality of fortune's shift when, as Germany took an early lead, the game seemed certain to drain away to disappointment, like so many others.

The implications of the 5-1 victory, the largest margin in the history of Anglo-German rivalry, the thrilling possibilities of this young and undeveloped team, could wait for another day, Sven Goran Eriksson, the England coach, said. "If you know that it's a big thing to take part in a Germany-England game, then to win in Germany is great," he said. Asked about the dangers of thinking that qualification for 2002 had already been secured, the ever-phlegmatic Swede agreed, but added: "We can talk about that tomorrow, not tonight."

Last night, the talk was all of one man, a boy almost, with a cherubic face which will haunt the German players – and most of a capacity crowd – long into the winter. The clock had barely chimed nine in this ageing but grand arena and the stunned silence of the Bavarian night was stirred only by the cacophony of delirium at one end of the ground and the momentary sound of whistling from the darkness. It was almost exclusively the mischief of Michael Owen.

Not since Holland were trounced 4-1 on a tingling Wembley night have England been able to hold their heads so high in company as august as this. This was as comprehensive righting of past perceived injustices as could be fashioned in the scriptwriter's room in Hollywood. And if there were, in the end, 11 heroes in white and dark blue, there was one true son of English triumph.

In scoring a hat-trick of varying difficulty but universally sublime quality, Owen lifted himself into a rare category of icon. Move over, Sir Geoff Hurst. Hat-tricks against Germany tend to come accompanied by the sound of marching bands, medals of honour and invitations from now until the rocking chair. Owen's hat-trick was completed inside an hour and six minutes, and when Emile Heskey ran on to Paul Scholes' neat pass with a quarter of an hour still remaining to add some ornamental stitching to his Liverpool colleague's work, there was nothing for it but to cast aside all pretence at objectivity and wallow in the sheer delight of England's – or should that be Liverpool's – exhibition.

Eriksson can scarcely have enjoyed a more satisfying finale to a match in a career that has traversed a few miles and spanned a few highs. But even he was stunned. "I don't know what words you can use about Michael Owen," he said. "Let's hope he goes on playing like that." Amen to that.

Eriksson had demanded perfection from his team, but not even he could have anticipated quite how fluently his request would be answered. Patience was surely an equally valid virtue against a German side who, under Rudi Völler, have rediscovered their considerable sense of self-belief. For Eriksson this was a real baptism, with defeat chronicled in the mind of a nation, the cause of introspection and, as Kevin Keegan found, the trigger for anal-ysis of the management's true credentials.

But, pure as it was, the night was not without its blemishes. After seven minutes, Eriksson must have wondered if he had delivered his final team talk in Swedish for all the tactical coherence England showed in the preliminary sparring. Steven Gerrard's job description, carefully scripted by Eriksson through the week, was left woefully unfulfilled by the young Liverpool midfielder, whose priority was to remind the talented but untried Sebastian Deisler of his inexperience playing in the free role normally occupied by Mehmet Schöll. Deisler was allowed to roam free and settle into a neat rhythm.

Equally culpable was England's central defensive pairing of Sol Campbell and Rio Ferdinand, neither of whom took responsibility when Oliver Neuville drifted clear to create the opening goal for Carsten Jancker. Quite how Neuville, one of several German players who have benefited from Völler's sure management touch, but – with the possible exception of Owen – the smallest player on the field, managed to fashion some authority in the air over two six-footers is a question for a future inquest. But England's early insecurity was symbolised when Ashley Cole let a simple pass slip under his left foot into touch.

That, in days of yore, when Beckenbauer, Breitner and Brehme were in their pomp, would have been goodnight, England. But this is not the Germany of old, nor is this an England short of spirit. Yet the immediacy of England's recovery was a surprise to students of recent Anglo-German footballing rivalry, though the source of it was not. The beauty of great strikers is that they pose a threat while standing still. Rarely has one man so conspicuously taken a game to the centre of the enemy's fortress. Time and again, Owen pulled Germany's central defenders into areas occupied only by their nightmares, and when he latched on to Barmby's neat square ball to bring England level after 12 minutes it was no less an individual effort than his waltz through the Argentine defence all those waning moons ago.

From a rabble, England miraculously turned into a team of swagger and skill. No England-Germany game can be distilled into a moment, just as no Shakespeare play can be précised into a sentence, but when David Seaman – a less than inspiring presence in the England goal for much of the first half – flung himself low to his right to save brilliantly from Jorg Böhme and Gerrard more than atoned for his early lapses with a rasping drive past Kahn seconds later, you sensed the thundering change of history's beat.

A goal which gave us mental strength, said Eriksson, but a mere preface to the virtuosity of Owen, who has not just matched his own promise, but rekindled a dream which has for so long been obscured by mediocrity.