Matt Holland: I felt I had let them down. But they thought I was a hero for taking the kick

"I'll take the first one," said Robbie Keane, confident after his equalising penalty for the Republic of Ireland in the final minutes of our World Cup round- of-16 match against Spain in Suwon last Sunday. We needed five people to volunteer for the penalty shoot-out. It was very much a question of who fancied them on the night.

I looked around. David Connolly wanted one, and then I realised that I was one of the most experienced players. "I'll take the second," I said. From that moment I concentrated on the kick and made up my mind to hit the ball hard, give it a bit of a smack.

Mick McCarthy, the manager, rallied the players as we gathered into a huddle and told us that whatever happened, we should not worry, even if we lost the shoot-out. It could not ruin a great World Cup. And then he finished with a plea. "Just do me one thing," he said. "Pick a spot and stick with it. Don't change your mind."

Keane scored, then so did Fernando Hierro, and I started walking from the centre circle to the penalty box. I wanted the penalty, I had felt confident when I volunteered and I was still confident as I made that lonely walk towards the goal. Trust me, it is lonely and very, very long. Noise? There must have been, but I couldn't hear a thing. Nervous? What do you think? I was walking and staring, concentrating and hoping. The penalty spot was my focal point, and when I reached it I placed the ball on the spot, turned away and took a deep breath.

I can still see it now, soaring above the goalkeeper Iker Casillas's dive towards the roof of the net and in. Except it didn't go in. It clipped the bar, continued into the stand and in a split second my stomach was twisted and nauseous, as if two people were wringing it like a wet towel.

My cocoon of concentration shattered, allowing the noise to swamp me like an irresistible avalanche. I held my head, almost disbelieving, and started the walk back. The even longer and lonelier walk back. Until I reached the rest of the players, that is. Their response was absolutely magnificent. I felt I had let them down, they thought I was a hero for stepping up and taking one.

"You proved yourself a world-class player, how low can that be?" Comforting words from Niall Quinn, and I thank him for them. McCarthy engulfed me in a hug and said: " You are one of the players of the tournament. I'm proud of you so don't worry about it."

These words mean so much to me but even then I knew that the only person who could deal with it was me. And I have started to. Of course, like an inoperable wart, it will always be there, but it won't ruin me. When I think of the penalty I make sure to think of my goal against Cameroon. And when I think of the goal, the penalty invades my thoughts to remind me of the low that must surely follow a high. However, if you see me on a street or in a shop gazing into space with a pained look on my face, allow me my memories in peace. We all have private pain and disappointment that we have to accept and relive in our own minds. The penalty miss is one of mine and that thousand-yard stare will be me watching the ball bounce off the bar.

No doubt England's David Seaman will have his own reflections. He and Germany's Oliver Kahn have been the outstanding keepers but a freak moment, or bad error – it can be argued as either – reduced the normally phlegmatic Yorkshireman to tears. And yet he was the catalyst for so much of what England had done right. Hard-working defence was their modus operandi and the back four took many plaudits which Seaman should share in. He exuded composure, settled nerves, particularly those of the less experienced full-backs, and organised the positioning. Only two goals were scored in open play against them. A Danny Mills error gifted the first against Sweden and Brazilian genius scored the second on Friday. That equaliser must be one of the goals of the tournament, one that no defence could have prevented. And yet I fear David will be haunted by that free-kick, replayed on TV many, many times.

The first rerun of my traumatic experience was straight after leaving the pitch. Fernando Morientes and Richard Dunne were giving samples for the drug tests and I entered the room, took a drink, slumped in a chair and saw myself running up to the ball on the television in the corner. It took 90 minutes, the length of a match, for me to give the urine sample and I left with the assistant manager. Previously, the two players selected for the drug test had returned to the hotel by car, the team bus having left earlier. Not this time. We walked into the car park and the bus was waiting for me. Everyone was on it and although no one has said anything, I think they were determined to wait however long it took and all go back together. It was subdued and quiet on the coach but waiting for me was a lovely and much-appreciated gesture.

Back in the hotel I phoned Paula, my wife, and cried for about 15 minutes. Damien Duff and Kevin Kilbane came in the room to check how I was. Kilbane had missed his penalty as well. A hug, support, and the healing process could start. I was despondent, distraught and absolutely knackered, so there was nothing else to do but "get on it", and I did non-stop for two days.

The first night I ended up with Clinton Morrison, Steven Reid and Duff in Michael Flatley's penthouse suite. The star of Riverdance had been in Nice on Saturday when he made the snap decision that he "just had to watch the boys". One private jet to Paris, one flight to Seoul and one match later he was helping us drown our sorrows. He even had to endure Gary Kelly's Riverdance on the limousine.

Dublin provided a wonderful welcome home, particularly on the concert stage at Phoenix Park. The Taoiseach and President congratulated us, the crowds cheered and applauded and my mind turned from the disappointment to home and my family. Five-and-a-half weeks training and playing in Japan and South Korea certainly gave me an advantage in Friday's school sports day. I could tell the other fathers were nervous as we lined up for the egg-and-spoon race but a twinge in the hamstring forced me to pull out.

I do know that I need a holiday and as I chase my children around a beach, the bustle of Seoul, the tranquillity and gentility of Japan and the excitement of playing in the world's biggest tournament will seem like a once-watched film.

I have learned plenty, naturally about football but also about the differing cultures we experienced. Part of the success of this World Cup has been the unbridled joy the Japanese and Koreans have shown in welcoming hundreds of thousands of foreign "guests" to their countries. The hosts have proved exceptional in organisation and enthusiasm, and the Koreans might even win the thing.

Six years ago I was playing for Bournemouth and now I have learned the subtle courtesies that are honoured in everyday greetings in Japan, been congratulated on a goal by young Japanese boys and girls dressed in green Ireland shirts and watched 200,000 South Koreans party after their team defeated Italy. All of them and many more valuable experiences, as in time the missed penalty will prove. Will I volunteer to take one next time? Probably. Got to, haven't you.

Matt Holland was talking to Iain Fletcher