MOSTLY HURLING:For Brian Cody, it's a place in the pantheon of the greats; for Davy Fitz, it's misery writ large

LAST SUNDAY, Kilkenny gave the most complete hurling performance I've ever seen. It was almost flawless. James McGarry's unfortunate error at least shows that, maybe, this wonder team is human after all. Such one-sided games usually lack entertainment value, but much of the Kilkenny play was so mesmerising and faultless the entertainment value was hardly diminished.

As added time is being announced, I look down to the sideline where both managers stand metres apart physically but light years apart mentally. The photographers wait for Brian Cody to do his, now trademark, fists-in-the-air, yearly salute.

Davy Fitzgerald has been wishing since the 20th minute of the first half the ground would subsume him or Superman would arrive by air to whisk him off to Lahinch or Liscannor. What a difference eight goals make.

Barry Kelly brings the slaughter to an end officially with the final whistle, but it has been over for well on an hour. It's a release for all concerned.

It was a case of damage limitation for Waterford - or it should have been.

I would have gone for shoring up the defence instead of taking the central player out of it, but I can understand that admitting defeat at half-time would have been seen as throwing in the towel very early.

But the dream is well over for the Déise as the party begins for the Cats.

The crowd on the field at presentation time is an indication of the appreciation of the show they have just witnessed and acknowledgement of the history just completed. Cha delivers an oration worthy of the occasion. Then it's back to the dressing area.

With the many media demands attended to, Kilkenny are under pressure, for the first time today. The players' lounge has to be visited, but they need to leave the scene of the crime as soon as possible as the RTÉ schedule dictates the next few hours.

A short while ago the teams were equals; now only one team is centre stage.

At last the Cats' buses pull out. The rush is on. The Garda outriders, sirens blaring and lights flashing, signal the journey of the champions. Rival fans applaud the heroes. The Citywest hotel is awash with black and amber. The rooms are reallocated. Wives, girlfriends or partners replace the room-mate of the previous night. The girls have to apply the colour. The men have to don the official garb. It's a race against time.

The pre-buffet reception is as soon as possible. Everybody has to be sitting by nine-ish. Brian and Cha are in demand. The man-of-the-match speculation is ongoing. It's probably between Eoin Larkin and Eddie Brennan. It's smiles all round, though.

There's no rush on Waterford. They left centre stage about four o'clock. Not too many cameras now. Not much more media interest now the post-match interviews are over.

This is a special night for any winning hurler or manager. There might be only one, if you're lucky. For Brian, it's number six and a well deserved place in the pantheon of greats. For Davy, there's an empty feeling that is worse than any other sporting blow he's ever had.

Sometimes the post-match banquet of the losing team can be a pleasant-enough occasion, depending on the manner of defeat or the stage of development of the team. But the Waterford banquet was probably more like a wake.

If Brian is answering his phone in the morning there are the requests for interviews from RTÉ radio morning sport and maybe from the Today with Pat Kenny show. Kilkenny radio, of course, will want the inside track. The Premier legend Paul Collins for Today FM would love a few words. Dara Ó Cinnéide or Micheál Ó Sé would appreciate the cúpla focal for Raidió na Gaeltachta.

As soon as breakfast is over the print media are back to gauge the morning-after feeling. A gaggle of freelance photographers want a few shots for the next day's dailies and posterity.

TV3 and TG4 would also like some footage for their first news bulletins. RTÉ 1 is there to see the bus departing the hotel and, of course, talk to Brian and Cha. The manager and captain are pulled right left and centre. That gentleman Brian Carthy is back for a few words for the evening sports bulletin.

Waterford's hotel is a much quieter place. Only a few loyal hacks make an appearance. The post-mortems have begun in earnest. The morning after is usually made worse by the self-inflicted pain in the head from the previous night's anaesthetics

The Kilkenny team have the silverware, though, so no post-mortems here, only picking through by the media to try and find the secret formula.

As evening arrives so do the teams to their homes and loyal fan bases.

The Kilkenny people pay homage to their history-making conquerors.

The Waterford people turn out in huge numbers to greet their heroes but there's no silverware and, believe me, it's all about the silverware. The players don't want to be there but with honour comes responsibility.

So where do they go from here?

There will be talk of soul-searching and drawing boards and regrouping and retirements and finding new forwards for Waterford and Tipperary and Galway and Cork and Clare and Galway and . . .

But for Kilkenny, the years BC (before Cody) are now history and the Brian Cody years are even more historic, with, I fear, more to come.