My Commonwealth Games experience started in late July last year, standing in Victoria Square, Bolton, with a few hundred shoppers writes David Crookes

We were huddled together to celebrate the one year countdown to a multi-sporting event that we had heard mentioned a couple of times but, to be honest, never took much interest in.

After all, weren't these supposed to be the poor man's Olympics, Manchester's consolation prize for missing out on the biggie?

Wasn't it the case that no one would care, that taxpayers would have to foot an enormous bill and that when it did eventually come, we'd only be a target for any old terrorist with a grudge anyway?

The statistics were wheeled out in their droves: 17 sports, 72 nations, 5,000 athletes, a billion people expected to watch on television.

And we were bombarded with the hype: exciting new sport facilities and a wonderful new stadium would be built.

But how the costs racked up and how the national press smiled with glee when the Government was asked to chip in a few extra quid.

These Games, they said, could never be put on by those silly, backward Northerners. Why, they would only want to introduce us to their satanic mills, flat caps and ferrets. But by Sunday's closing ceremony it was clear that the job had been very well done. Tears welled up in the eyes of the 38,000-strong crowd, many of whom had experienced so much human emotion.

And that's what the Commonwealth Games have been all about. Right from the opening ceremony, there were extremes of human emotion all round. Many of us will wave a sad farewell to the people of the tiny nation of Lesotho who entertained us so well amid the grit and sweat of the Forum Centre in Wythenshawe.

They danced, they sang and they stomped their feet even if none of us had much of a clue who the boxer they were cheering was.

Who could forget seeing the beaming face of Canadian cyclist Clara Hughes, Bolton's first gold medal winner?

There was joy and there was heartache. We saw England runners Dwain Chambers and Mark Lewis-Francis as they fell to the ground in pain, taking any hopes of a medal with them.

But we stood and cheered with pride as England bagged six Gold track and field medals on Wednesday night. Never has Land of Hope and Glory been so passionately sung.

The Manchester Games amounted to a statement of how much the city and the region has changed over the past decade and it was a declaration of where it would like it to go.

There have been many occasions when the nation has watched as one in nervous anticipation as an English team or individual has attempted to make sporting history.

But few have generated the kind of collective knot in the stomach that accompanied the triumphs of our sportsmen and women battling for supremacy on home turf.

Now we can forget all the talk of the Commonwealth Games being the poor-man's Olympics, all the accusations of Manchester opting for second best and all the nonsense about Britain being unable to put on a successful event.

The Commonwealth Games is an important part of the athletics calendar, allowing the world's smaller nations a chance to compete on a global stage. And Manchester and indeed Bolton has placed the Games freshly on that world stage.

The unpaid workers who were unafraid of hard work however menial, always wore a smile.

I asked for directions to the National Cycling Centre, where I wanted to see Friday's exciting Men's Olympic Sprint Final, and a volunteer did everything he could, short of hailing a taxi and asking the driver to take me there.

For these were the Friendly Games, a cliche mentioned so many times during the past 11 days but one which rang, so, so true.

This was an event which made people in Greater Manchester proud of living in Greater Manchester.

We did not really see how enriching the event would be as we stood in Victoria Square one year ago, on July 25, 2001.

But today, as we hand over the potential of excitement to Melbourne, host of the event in 2006, we see it as clear as day.