Mary Hannigan TV View

As that great Irish poet, Miley, oft put it: "well holy God". Fantastic, wonderful, crazy, magnificent stuff. Alive, dead, dead, alive. The story of England's night. At the end? Portugal: Alive, alive-O.

Penalties. Beckham. Oh God. Deco. Goal. Owen. Goal. Simao. Goal. Lampard. Goal. Rui Costa. Over the bar.

"The penalty spot looks ragged," says Joe (Royle). A bit like ourselves, by now.

Terry. Goal. Ronaldo. Goal. Hargreaves. Goal. Nuno Ricardo Oliveira Ribeiro - a.k.a. Maniche. Goal. 4-4. Cole. Goal. Postiga. Cheeky divil: goal. 5-5. Motty'll be taking one soon. Vassell. Saved. Ricardo (the goalie!). Goal.

Earlier that evening. Anthems. Portugal away, in Lisbon. John Motty Motson spots that one of the officials is a grocer from Zurich. "No jokes, please, about turnips and tomatoes," he says. It's gonna be a long, long night.

Never mind the pundits, our pre-match analysis went like this: "One of England's great weaknesses tonight is Michael Owen, a player so low in confidence that it would be kinder on him to leave him on the bench. His pace is clearly gone, his eye for goal has deserted him, he's yesterday's . . . Jesus, he's scored."

Yep, two minutes, 24 seconds and Liverpool supporters were entitled to ask: Wayne Who-ney?

"The last time England played in Lisbon they took the lead in 17 seconds through Tommy Lawton," says Motty, whose obsession with that 1947 game is beginning to frighten us.

"Maniche isn't his real name you know," Motty says to Joe.

"Really," says Joe, repositioning the matchsticks keeping his lids apart.

"No, his real name is actually Nuno Ricardo Oliveira Ribeiro, but he was nicknamed after Benfica's Danish forward Michel Manniche, who spells and pronounces his name differently but he's still named after him, even though . . ."

"Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz," says Joe. Motty? Enough.

Twenty-second minute. Sol Campbell nearly scores from a corner. "There are centre-halves, there are giants, and there is Sol Campbell," swoons Motty. Does this mean Sol is neither a centre-half nor a giant?

Thirteen minutes later. Steven Gerrard is booked. "If he were booked again in the semi-finals he would miss the final," says Motty, before he cops himself on. "But we are, perhaps, jumping ahead ourselves."

Nearly half-time. A Portugal free at the edge of the box. Figo does a mighty fine Johnny Wilkinson impression, through the invisible rugby posts for three points.

Motty's half-time summary: Rooney's "removal" was more significant than Owen's goal. Riiiight.

"I'm sure you and the whole of England were celebrating that goal," Bill says to Trevor Steven, which suggested to us that Bill, Gilesie and Eamo fell sombrely silent when Trev danced around the studio after two minutes, 24 seconds.

Over on the BBC, Peter Reid thought Sven should have brought "'Eskey on" for Rooney. A nation gasped.

Second Half. "Portuguese poise has replaced English energy," sighs Motty, by now a worried man.

Not so Joe. "The good news at this stage is that Portugal don't look to have that great a goal threat," he says, nanoseconds before Motty says: "NUNO GOMEEEESSS . . ."

Nuno's effort was saved, but Joe's shins will be black and blue tomorrow after the kick they got from Motty's right boot.

A none-too-happy Figo is substituted. "It's tempting fate to say it's the last we'll see of him in this tournament because Portugal are by no means out of it," says Motty, tempting fate.

The player Spurs fans forgot they had signed, Helder Postiga, scores. Spurs' fans wipe their eyes, like their Man United counterparts did when Diego Forlan scored (repeat: scored) in the World Cup. In the words of Victor Meldrew: "I don't belieeeeeve it."

Then Sol Campbell scores the winner. But doesn't. "What was wrong with it," says Motty, impartially, "WHAT WAS WRONG WITH IT?"

While we watch a replay of John Terry's left arm planted on the goalie's shoulder, Joe Royle declares: "I didn't see ANYTHING wrong with it. A hometown decision!"

"Totally robbed, ref bottled it. It's a disgrace, an absolute disgrace," says Alan Hansen.

"This referee is a HOMER," says Wrightie.

"We feel like England have been cheated tonight," says Peter Reid. The BBC pundits are hesitant, then, in coming to a verdict on the "goal".

One-hundred-and-tenth minute. Rui Costa. Goal. Motty sounds like a pin has been inserted in his middle, all his dreams scooting around the room, smashing against the ceiling before resting forlornly on the floor.

One-hundred-and-fifteen minutes. Motty re-inflates. A bit like England. "Obrigado Frankie Lampard," says an entire nation.

Penalties. England. Out. But: hats off. A merciless game.