It was a perfect day for Sky Television and there was, of course, only one place to be yesterday if you wanted to catch one of the most astutely marketed soap operas in the world and to rub shoulders with that sociological phenomenon, the long distance Man United fan.

The local hostelry has, of course, been the favoured worshiping ground of such creatures since Sky began re-inventing the English game and Manchester United quickly established themselves as standard bearers for the new age. It was therefore, only appropriate that we should all watch the last twists of the championship unfurl from a similar viewpoint.

Once again in their championship-clinching match against Tottenham Hotspur at Old Trafford, the players underlined the fact that as a team, they produce sweeping, often spellbinding football, albeit frequently against mediocre opposition.

That trait, though, has little to do with the clones who don those red shirts with the dumb-ass silver collars and stand in hordes hurling generally inane bouquets of praise (and the occasional word of reproachful criticism) at the TV.

Yesterday, of course, was a day of heart flutters for the Man U TV fan, as Andy Gray assured them prior to kick-off.

"They are very, very nervous, that's what makes this game different. "They'll be okay so long as it stays 0-0," he said. It was reassuring to hear.

Of course, it was a landmark day and the jitters were understandable.

"Man U are on the verge of true sporting greatness," declared Martin Tyler and in the pub, the masses purred in acknowledgment.

At kick-off the intrigue began in earnest.

Barely had the cameras drifted away from David Ginola's perfectly executed disheveled winger's strut than the Man U players began toying with the very sanity of their TV fans. After five minutes, Dwight Yorke got a boot to Ian Walker's lazily hoofed clearance and the ball spun beyond the goalkeeper, conspiring to curl towards the post and bouncing tantalisingly in front of an untended net for an interminable second.

During that indeterminate time, every pub in Ireland must have played host to yells of near ecstasy which would have done any wedding suite proud. These, of course, were followed by a variety of Jim Careyesque expressions, disbelief mixed with crestfallen awe, followed by a stern shake of the head which made you realise that these fans would follow their boys through the grim times.

And grim the times turned, courtesy of an unlikely Les Ferdinand strike. The Spurs hit-man chose the perfect moment to deliver his one goal for the fist six months of 1999, a delightful lob which prompted Andy Gray to unleash all three of his superlatives - "Tob drough. Eggsquisa. Magnufisa".

But the canny Scot spotted ominous portents on the screen, observing that Walker was looking distinctly shaky (a criticism he partially withdrew after the goalkeeper made good with two consecutive saves which deserved storing in anyone's top drawer.)

Meanwhile, Manchester United created all sorts of golden chances which somehow stayed out, giving Martin Tyler an opportunity to clarify just how gripping this encounter rally was.

"Live sport," he announced with teary gravity, "is so much more stimulating than fiction can ever be."

It was a stunningly bold dismissal of almost all sectors of the arts but no mind, who was arguing?

With five minutes left to the break, Andy Gray began wistfully to elucidate on the positive effects a Manchester United goal would have - for the world as much as the team. Naturally, events on the field followed the TV script.

"Beck-hammmm" screamed Tyler. It was a crisp and pretty strike and in the pubs, the real fans fell over themselves in adoration.

Half time and even then, there was no denying Manchester United.

Alex Ferguson cropped up on a Pepsi ad, delivering a dressing-room pep talk while firing out cans of the soft drink to his players, admonishing them for conceding three goals. Schmeichel, of course, failed to catch his can, incurring the wrath of his team-mates. "I was only joking," he shrugged.

It was a cleverly timed advert by the drinks company, but given Schmeichel's track record, you couldn't help but think it might be an omen for the real-life TV second half.

Andy Cole came in the game and promptly lobbed Walker for the decisive goal. Queue Andy Gray to be begin the Fergie beatification, marvelling at the subtle brilliance of bringing on Cole (a good finisher reaching the peak) for Sheringham (an average striker on the wane).

And even though Kanu put Arsenal ahead at Highbury in the 63rd minute, the result was all but predestined.

The countdown began, with frequent shots of Alex Ferguson anxiously consulting his watch.

When the final whistle finally sounded, the images which those thousands of Irish Man U telly fans have been dreaming about all winter finally materialised. Jubilation on the turf in the good old theatre of dreams. Enough to provoke a fresh wave of hysteria in front of bar counters across the land.

From an Irish point of view, it was heartening to see Roy Keane raise the cup, followed by Dennis Irwin (will they have a day of mourning in Cork?) and it is difficult (though far from impossible) to begrudge honest pro's like Yorke and Scholes their moment.

Still, this Irish TV mania is only going to rocket over the coming days with Man U still to take on the FA Cup final and the European Cup final. And the questions remain; why is it that these TV fans get so much out if it? Is it just fashion? Can anything be done about it?