The Mag's Anne Marie Cruz sent us an e-mail from Sydney at 5:30 a.m. local time, just hours after the lighting of the Olympic flame.

I hate ceremonies. So I admit I was bracing myself for four hours of Super Bowl-type silliness as I took my seat half an hour before the Opening Ceremony. The emcee tried to keep us primed with audience participation exercises -- "Everyone, wave your flashlights!" -- and inspirational Olympic tunes with lyrics like "We're going to go the distance/Embrace the resistance." Huh? I wasn't having it. I just wanted to see the flags and the athletes.

Overheard

"Georgia? That was four years ago."

-- An American spectator at the Opening Ceremony, showing off her knowledge of Eastern Europe when the Georgian team was announced

But the moment the Aussie cavalry came storming in, hundreds strong, I realized my jaded New Yorker schtick was not going to play here. Lines of horses trampled the makeshift Outback (the track had been covered in lumpy sand) as if responding to a battle cry. Minutes later, the stadium was transformed into a stunning vision of ocean life, bathed in aquamarine light. A little girl -- complete with blonde ringlets and a flouncy pink dress -- "swam" around, suspended 50 feet off the ground by a cable. As she flipped and dove, my first thought was, "Oh no, not the little-kids-and-puppies routine." Then: "Her parents are insane." Finally, after what seemed like 20 minutes, I was just plain envious -- especially once the oversized jellyfish, stingrays and sea dragons began to float through the air alongside her.

Wrong. The sound of more than 110,000 fans roaring at the sight of the first flag -- Greece's, natch -- was moving enough. When North and South Korea marched into the stadium under one flag (an outline of unified Korea in light blue against a white background), the awed hush of the crowd was broken by rapturous applause. I, staunch ceremony-hater, welled up.

Of course, many of the Americans in the crowd got antsy with the onslaught of post-Soviet "-stans" and other countries not in their vocabulary. So when the U.S. flag peeked in through the entrance, the announcements for Ukraine and United Arab Emirates were drowned out. The Yanks waved their flags, chanting "U-S-A! U-S-A!" over and over. I hoped aloud that when the home flag ended the procession, the Aussie ranks would out-cheer us. Thankfully, they did.

And then: The Olympic flame's final trip around the track. As Oz's female Olympians passed the torch, literally and figuratively, their emotions were palpable. Finally, Cathy Freeman's name was announced. As she choked up, so did I. Then, something I will never forget: Water cascaded down behind the stage as Cathy ran up the steps. Once she reached the platform (only 20 feet in front of where I was standing!), she held the torch high, then bent down to light a ring of fire around her. The flames rose up as Cathy sank beneath them, as if being swallowed up by the cauldron.

Wow.

You know, I probably will keep hating ceremonies. But now, it'll be because nothing will compare to this.

Read John Gustafson's profile of Cathy Freeman in the latest issue of ESPN The Magazine.