Sepp Blatter, the voluble little FIFA boss, announced on Saturday that he is thinking of demolishing the creaky edifice that is the third place play-off game in the World Cup. Doubtless the fixture looming as a superfluous duty on the eve of the final itself interferes with Mr Blatter's banqueting arrangements towards the end of a very busy social month. And apparently it isn't a production which makes TV executives salivate either.

Yet, on Saturday night in the Parc des Princes, the Croatians looked as happy as blessed schoolchildren at the prospect of the bronze medal with which they engraved their nation's name on the history of this tournament. They enjoyed themselves, and the game, if not frenzied and overwhelming, produced three fine goals and an end-of-term party atmosphere.

It also gave us the chance to say goodbye to the Dutch. With the pressure off they didn't perform with their customary precision in front of goal, but they splashed about enough moments of orange genius to paint a pretty picture.

It was a game of three goals, the two from Croatia coming against the run of general play but being such perfect parcels of counter-attacking intuition that they deserved to win any game.

Croatia took the lead after 12 minutes through the graces of one of their royals. Prosinecki, on the sharp end of a move dreamed up by no less a creative team than Jarni and Suker, danced several yards through the penalty area leaving three Dutch defenders reeling on the deck. Ping! The ball was nestling in the net.

Just eight minutes later, Zenden replied with a goal which he deserved just for the mere quality of his cameo appearances here. He fastened onto a ball outside the Croatian area, held off the challenge of Jarni without losing the presence of mind required to chip a perfectly weighted shot over Ladic and into the net. The Dutch brass bands swelled up one more time.

And then, just 10 minutes before half time a goal of stunning impudence. Asanovic, Boban and Suker rolled the ball in turns across the face of the Dutch area before the last named scored his sixth of the tournament by slipping a clever shot through the legs of poor old Jaap Stam and into the far corner of the net. Another cruel moment for Stam, who has become slightly accident prone with all that money floating in the shape of a question mark over his head.

He will do well for Manchester United, though, and looks equipped for the Premiership.

He might have noted the fate of a colleague with a rival firm, however. They whistled Slaven Bilic all night, of course, with prissy disapproval for the consequences of his act rather than for the act itself. Bilic, a qualified lawyer, knew the distinction and played on regardless, more irked apparently by some of the hypocritical cant being flung his way by those within the game in England.

Had he merely dived for a penalty, thus possibly depriving 22 professionals of a place in the final instead of just the one, he might have been forgiven, even feted, his celebrity attracting a worshipful throng to the Everton side of Stanley Park in Liverpool matching that which has gathered beneath the levitated feet of Michael Owen, the winged but diving cherub of Anfield.

And Alex Ferguson, whose paternalistic indulgence of his players is such that he could not bring himself to gently chide Eric Cantona when he kung-fu kicked a supporter, might have found his cheap, self-promoting anger over professional gamesmanship a little diminished.

Back in the Parc des Princes, however, a full house enjoyed the night's diversion. The Dutch displayed a healthy interest in the possibility of an equaliser after the break, and if it never came it was due to some stunning misses, principally from Kluivert and Seedorf.

The whistle went on the second last game of the tournament, a last curtain call for two of the more attractive participants. The Croatians celebrated, the Dutch wrung a few bows out of it.

It was traditional and it was football, so just sit down and shut up Mr Blatter.