The shocking aftermath of plucky England's defeat at the hands of those heinous Argies reverberated well beyond the parameters of sport and through to the inner sanctum of BBC's news establishment. On Newsnight, a distinctly addled Jeremy Paxman attempted to assess the wisdom of Tony Blair's decision to share his thoughts on the match with the nation.
"He could have said something short and dignified without inviting a TV crew in for his analysis of the game," he barked at Labour MP Kate Hoey, there to defend her beleaguered boss.
Peter Hitchens from The Express was on the offensive. "This is creepy and bizarre, it's as though he is trying to feel our emotions for us," he rapped, before wondering if Tony might also offer his opinion on the virtues of drum `n' bass over techno. Jeremy chortled heartily at this as Kate strenuously defended her man, asserting that he was, after all, a human being.
`I'll concede that," growled Hitchens, warning his adversary that if Mr Blair didn't wise up, he would quickly become known as `Phony Tony'. Jeremy Paxman's patience, on a tight rein at the best of times, finally gave out and he dismissed the squabblers with a regal wave of his hand.
With football going home, empty handed again, the English quickly switched their attentions to Wimbledon to see if Tim Henman could revive their flagging spirits by dismissing Pistol Pete. The tempo was, to say the least, less frenetic than in St Etienne.
David Mercer was evidently perturbed at his failure to hear the net bleeper. Difficult enough trying to spark a bit of life into the men's game without going through a hearing crisis as well. "Ah, I did here the bleep that time at the net," he said after a Pete Sampras serve, delighted that the oul' lugs were still in decent nick.
Tim, who believes in playing his tennis with a humourless scowl, almost delivered what Pat Cash repeatedly described as "the goods". He hit some terrific shots, found time to inform the umpire that he had been "screwing up for the whole two weeks" and almost forced Pete Sampras to change his expression.
But ultimately the Pistol saw him off by dispatching a few shuddering serves and progressed to a final which possessed all the potential appeal of a crash course in advanced knitting.
With `the last British survivor' dispensed of, the focus switched to the women's final and the continuing saga of Jana Navotna. She endeared herself to the Wimbledon set by losing two successive finals and gave the Royals an astonishing amount of positive PR by weeping on the shoulder of the Duchess of Kent.
Everyone at Centre Court - with the possible exception of Natalie Tauziat - was rooting for Navotna. Naturally, Jana claimed the first set and played herself into a position from where only she could, to borrow from Tim Henman, screw things up. And she almost did. After her serve was broken in a crucial game, she visibly paled and for a moment it looked as if she was about to pack the bags and walk out on the spot.
But after all the heartbreaks, this was a happy tale. Tauziat forced her to a tie break but Navotna held her nerve and then fell to her knees after claiming the title. Tears weren't far away and, sensing her moment, the Duchess hastily made her way to courtside. There she and Jan happily chewed the fat while the Duke fumbled awkwardly in the background, uncertain of what to do with his hands and seemingly only vaguely aware of precisely where he was.
He would possibly have a better time hanging out with male star Goran Ivanisevic, who announced that if he won Wimbledon and Croatia beat the Germans in the World Cup, he would set about getting "drunk for a couple of months".
Back in the more sober environs of gaelic games, the RTE crew gladly headed off to Birr and Druids Glen to chat to the Offaly and Kilkenny teams in the build-up to the Leinster final. They found Babs Keating in game old form, waltzing along the fairway and celebrating a downed put with such panache that you feared he was about the yell `Who the man?'.
It was put to Babs that D J Carey, out enjoying a relaxing game of golf with Colin Montgomerie, would find himself in a much more tense situation in Croke Park. "No, I don't think he will," said Babs craftily, inviting us to think that his defenders might afford D J the same sort of space as he has on the fairways.
Back in studio, Des Cahill was giving Offaly defender Joe Dooley the once over. Joe's mind was clearly on the game ahead and he suffered the occasional lapse during the gentle interrogation. At one point, Des quizzed him on his sporting heroes. "Well, Muhammad Ali," said Joe after some deliberation, "yeah, he was always a great fan of mine."
Des did a double take at the thought of Ali knocking around in a Cats jersey and Joe, instantly realising his gaffe, threw his head back, uttered a silent oath and laughed graciously. Life is a lot simpler when you are standing on a pitch, 40,000 people cheering you on (Ali perhaps amongst them) and you're whipping over points in the heat of a Leinster final.
