Over my 40 years I have been feverish with excitement about any number of sporting events. The ones I recall best now - in chronological order - are: West Ham's 1980 FA Cup Final appearance; my first five-for and 50 for my school on the same day at King's College, Taunton just four days before I left after a largely undistinguised cricketing career.
There was my first visit to Foxborough to see the New England Patriots in 1989; England's 1990 World Cup semi-final against Germany; England's 2003 Rugby World Cup Final in Sydney (after which I danced on the press desk I had at the Telstra Stadium - to the horror of my more professional colleague Huw Richards; Wasps' first Heineken Cup triumph in 2004; the first day of the Oval Ashes test in 2005; My maiden century in 2008 at Thy Gumley Top.
But I have never been more excited about a sporting event as I am now about tonight's opening ceremony for the London 2012 Olympic Games - and I have never before watched any opening ceremony for any event, anywere, ever. But this is different.
For most people the Games journey began in July 2005, when London was awarded the Games.
For me, it started two years earlier at the Hilton Hotel in Prague where as the Financial Times' new Sports Correspondent (even now that job seems surreal) I was covering the International Olympic Committee's voting process for the 2010 Winter Olympic Games, as well as catching up on London's nascent bid for 2012.
The general consensus among experienced Olympic watchers in the UK media that week - who were amassed in Prague to meet new bid chief Barbara Cassani - was that London had no chance. For a great many reasons: we were late to the party; our program was incomplete and uninspiring; the IOC is a political organization where we had too little influence. Paris, the favourite, was sure to win.
But then the day after I met Cassani at a short media roundtable (and the Korean prime minister - a bizarre story for another time) the most extraordinary thing happened: the IOC came within six votes of awarding the winter games (with, you know, skiing) to a city that its own experts had warned against on account of it not having alpine facilities (i.e. ski slopes).
In the end sense prevailed although the IOC did send its ski-fest to a city that turned out not to have any snow: Vancouver.
But this IOC bidding process was clearly an unpredictably business. If a city without a mountain could come so close to winning the skiing, surely a city without a reliable trasnport system could win the running?
A year later I was in Lausanne when London was short-listed alongisde New York, Moscow, Madrid and Paris (still the favourite) for 2012. The media attitude had changed somewhat. Yes, London was still behind, its bid was far from convincing, but the noises from "sources" in the IOC, was that London was gaining momentum.
My one regret about relatively short 18-month holiday career as a sports writer was that by the time London was awarded the games in Singapore I was back on the tech and telco beat. But I do remember exactly where I was when London was awared the games: standing outside a bank in Queen Street in the City watching a live news feed through the window. I shed a few tears. (And the following day, 7/7; these two events will always be inter-linked in my memory: the terribly short journey from joy to despair).
I will shed a few more tonight, I daresay, because this is genuinely special. A home Olympic Games (for which I have tickets) and which I believe will be a fortnight of tremendous drama and fun, and those who love sport will surely embrace it.
The build-up has been great. We had the Olympic flame here in the village (although I was in Munich and missed it). But I have been in and out of Heathrow the last couple of weeks ad have seen athletes from Peru, Ukraine, Chile, Russia, Argentina and Guatemala arriving. They all looked delighted to have arrived in London for an event that for most will be the highlight of their sporting careers.
And my kids - and their friends - are beyond excited, talking of little else in recent days.
There is no cynicism from them. They are simply delighted to be able to watch, visit and enjoy a festival of sport.
I understand why there is cynicism out there. That people are fed up with some of the restrictions, the Olympic lanes, the security shambles, the flag screw-up, the naked commercialism of some aspects ofthe Games.
I get all that, but I don't care. Perhaps I should, but to be honest, for me, it's all about the sport and the people watching it. Athletes who have trained for years to reach this sporting pinnacle, and people who will remember their achievements for the rest of their lives.
I remember Allan Wells in 1980, the hockey boys in 1988, Sally Gunnell in 1992 and staying up all night to watch Roger Black finish second to Michael Johnson in 1996. I remember Jason Queally in 2000, starting the cycling revolution. Kelly Holmes (twice!) in 2004.And I remember the Searles, and Redgrave and Holmes, Redgrave and Pinsent; Redgrave and Pinsent and Foster and Cracknell. And Leslie Law, and Ben Ainslie and Denise Lewis, Bradley Wiggins, Shirley Robertson. And Derek Redmond being carried over the line by his father in Barcelona (this one the IOC showed in the Prague Hilton in 2003 exemplifying the Olympic spirit - as it did).
And then there was 2008, which seemed like a miracle at the time. Nicole Cook cycling to road race victory on the first day and setting off an unlikely avalanche of gold medals: Victoria Pendleton, Rebecca Romero, Chris Hoy (thrice!!), Christine Ohurougu, Tim Brabants, James DeGale and a seemingly endless parade of cyclists, sailors and rowers.
I cheered them all hoarse and enjoyed every last medal.
But most of all, there was Rebecca Adlington and her twin gold medals. A girl from Mansfield who lifted us all and seemed genuinely bemused by where she found herself. Adlington is about as far away from sporting cynicism as I can imagine. And those golden moments are what I really remember about those games and captured the spirit perfectly.
So tonight we'll all be parked in front of a TV that suddenly doesn't seem big enough, enjoying the show and anticipating the sport to come. Next Friday night we'll be in the Olympic stadium to cheer on Jessica Ennis and all the other athletes irrespective of their nationality.
And I can't wait.