Mike Rowbottom: A new dream for youngsters everywhere: being Wayne Rooney

One of the best reasons for sport is that it produces joy. Watching an Under-8s football match in Welwyn last weekend, I saw two goals scored in quick succession by one of the home players. After the first, he ran deliberately back to the halfway line before sliding forward on his knees with arms upraised. After the second, he wheeled away, Shearer-like, with one forefinger raised.

Some thought, clearly, had gone into these celebrations, which took place untrammelled by team-mates. (Once the ball had hit the net, they simply skipped or ran back to their positions, pleased as Punch.) It was as if the goals were merely precursors to the main business of the day.

Had our scorer planned it all as he cleaned his boots the previous night? Would there have been a Robbie Keane-style cartwheel for a third goal?

The latter celebration, by the by, maintains a compulsive hold upon onlookers. When Keane completed his hat-trick against Everton earlier this year, the people sitting in front of the White Hart Lane press-box all stood up so they could get a proper view of his gymnastics by the corner flag. And even though they knew what was about to happen, and even though they had already seen it twice that afternoon, a good number of the Press also stood up and craned their necks in order not to miss the spectacle. Childish? Maybe. Child-like? Perhaps that's a better way of putting it.

The Welwyn club can claim one of England's outstanding performers in the midweek game against Turkey as their own. David James – he of the sublime instincts and ridiculous decisions – played for them before being spotted by the local League side, Watford.

But if our free-scoring Under-8 was allowed to stay up and watch Wednesday night's glorious victory, and even if he wasn't, the chances are it will not be James who is foremost in his mind as he lines up for today's match in the Mid Herts Rural Minors League. Indeed, all over the country, young footballers will now be imagining themselves in an exciting new scenario. Being Wayne Rooney.

Watching the 17-year-old's fabulously assured contributions to the national cause on the occasion when he became the youngest player ever to start for England carried with it the same kind of charge as witnessing Michael Owen announce his own prodigious talent as an 18-year-old at the 1998 World Cup finals.

When Owen produced his irresistible slalom run through the Argentinian defence to score the goal which gave England a tantalising glimpse of the last eight, it took a couple of slow-motion replays before you could comprehend the beauty of what he had just so insouciantly accomplished. Seeing, eventually, was believing. The same held true for Rooney's ball-juggling moment in the second half on Wednesday as he manoeuvred himself away from the irritations of the Turkish defence before switching play with a pass into Steven Gerrard's stride on the right wing.

By chance, I saw Owen's first goal for Liverpool, scored after he came on as a late substitute during an undistinguished defeat by Wimbledon at Selhurst Park. It looked a smart enough effort at the time, but it gained in worth as the scorer emerged in subsequent weeks as a player of special ability. I had seen it, and more importantly, I could say I had seen it.

In retrospect, last month's hotchpotch of a match between England and Australia is likely to be significant for similar reasons. All present can say they saw Rooney's first appearance for his country.

That said, it was his first full 90 minutes – all right, 89 – in an England shirt that defined his international potential. Rooney and Turkey are now linked in the same way as Geoff Hurst and West Germany, or John Barnes and Brazil.

As Gary Lineker observed with patent excitement afterwards to his fellow BBC match analysts: "I think we might have found one.'' A diamond. A genuine gem. Oh you followers of England, bow your heads and put your hands together as we pray now for deliverance from agents, injury and nightclub altercations. When you witness a display of sheer, blinding talent such as Rooney produced at the Stadium of Light, it is something that stays with you. He looks like a squaddie. He plays like a field marshal.

Next month in Monte Carlo there will be a glitzy ceremony to announce winners of the 2003 World Sports Awards. Even before his midweek efforts, Rooney had been nominated by the world's Press as one of the five contenders for World Newcomer of the Year. He probably won't be making the trip. But if he does, it would be as well if he remembers to do his tie up.