By Grant Wahl

	In England, DeMerit can measure his skills against those of powerful forwards such as Man United?s Louis Saha. Bob Martin/SI

"Jay DeMerit came from nothing and made a decision to be something," says Aidy Boothroyd, the Watford manager. "He's the Rocky Balboa of English football."

For five months the good folks of Wisconsin have had a hard time grasping the magnitude of DeMerit's finest hour: scoring the goal that clinched Watford's promotion to the Premier League. "Some do, some don't," DeMerit says over coffee in Camden Town, the hip North London neighborhood where he recently bought the flat he shares with his girlfriend, Katherine Carter. "I had some friends in Green Bay go, 'I heard you played in a game?' Yeah. I did. 'I heard you scored?' Yeah. I did. They don't really get the implications, and that's O.K. It's hard for people to understand sometimes."

Not that hard, though. The beauty of the Premiership -- indeed, of most overseas leagues -- is its meritocracy. Not only can players rise (and fall) through the ranks, but so can teams. After each season the worst three Premier League sides drop down a level, to be replaced by the three big winners of the second tier. Promotion and relegation, as the process is known, is a staple of England's four-division professional pyramid, and the stakes are enormous. These days each team that makes the jump to the Premiership is rewarded with television and sponsorship riches of up to $45 million.

In England the second tier's top two finishers receive automatic promotions, but the third Golden Ticket goes to the winner of a playoff among the next four teams. Which brings us to the scene of DeMerit moving upfield at Millennium Stadium in Cardiff, Wales, to receive the corner kick that would change his life. His Hornets, defying forecasts of relegation to England's third tier, had soared to third and had already upset Crystal Palace in the playoffs. Now, with promotion on the line, they were facing favored Leeds United, winner take all, in a sold-out, three-tiered stadium so large that Boothroyd, channeling Norman Dale in Hoosiers, had taken his lads to see the field earlier that week -- just to show that it was the same size as any other. "We came in with our mouths open," says DeMerit, "but everyone would tell you we weren't as intimidated when we walked out the tunnel for the game."

In the Watford fan shop you can still buy the DVD of the nationally televised broadcast, including the goose-bump moment in the first half when Ashley Young sent a corner kick into the box and DeMerit crashed through for the game's first goal. Young delivers ... [deafening roar] ... and JAY DEMERIT! ... puts WATFORD in front! ... The AMERICAN! ... makes his MARK! ... in the playoff FINAL!

"A miracle," says Jay's mother, Karen, who was in the stands that day with his father, John, and brother, Todd. A wall of Watford fans rose as one, danced little jigs and unleashed their chant: Yel-low Ar-MY! Yel-low Ar-MY! At sports bars in Milwaukee and Chicago, friends of DeMerit watching on satellite TV roared. By day's end, the Hornets had won 3-0 and DeMerit had been interviewed on TV as the Man of the Match. Up in the stadium's Watford section, Keiren Keane turned to his mates and let out a war whoop. For two years DeMerit's dream had been Keane's dream. They wore the same ratty clothes, played on the same crappy pub-league fields, attended the same fruitless tryouts with bottom-feeder clubs such as Oxford United and Bristol Rovers.