Love and money - an irresistible combination. The heart and the head. It delivered this election for Fianna Fáil. Miriam Lordat the RDS in Dublin
Bertie Ahern strengthened his hold on the nation's affections yesterday, sealing his place in the history books and cementing his reputation as a remarkable political phenomenon.
He's up there with Dev now.
Short of the nirvana of an overall majority, he's done it all.
Throughout the white-knuckle ride of an often bruising campaign, the Taoiseach held his nerve. The voters, he gambled, always come through.
And in the end, they rallied to him - the bloke they've always liked, who was there when they got the second car and plasma TV and who they now hope will steer them through the economic turbulence ahead.
Above all, when it came to making a critical choice between the man they know and newcomer Enda Kenny, the voters were unambiguous: it's still Bertie.
Fine Gael had a great election. Fianna Fáil's was better. The dream return with Enda died. As one observer put it: "Fianna Fáil and Fine Gael are like Bing Crosby and Frank Sinatra. Bing is a lovely man, but you can't help liking Frank more."
In the main Dublin count centre at the RDS yesterday, even the Soldiers of Destiny seemed shell-shocked by the extent of their leader's popularity. As the results came in from around the country, they grew in confidence.
If they were too excited for lunch, and their Opposition too despondent to eat, the pundits were already sprinkling on the salt and pepper and preparing to dine on their hats.
"We knew this would happen all along, but you wouldn't listen," smiled the Fianna Fáilers, wagging chastising fingers at the media.
In private though, some of the beneficiaries of this spectacular Bertie bounce were heaving enormous sighs of relief. There was little of the buck-lepping and hooting that normally accompanies a sure-thing return to power. The atmosphere was strangely muted. These were Fianna Fáil people who had gone to the brink, seen a glowing white light at the end of the tunnel, and returned to live and fight another day.
By midday, the implosion of the Progressive Democrats was already apparent, while the lack of tricolour-waving Sinn Féin supporters told a similar story.
In contrast, Fine Gael support was well up. Party handlers put on a brave face, consoled with the knowledge that their party had pulled off a marvellous recovery after the devastating losses of 2002.
As the twists and turns of a gripping count reached final seat territory, Fine Gael held to the slim hope that they might still muster the numbers to fall across the line. As night fell, Labour leader Pat Rabbitte arrived at the RDS and all but conceded his party would not be needed by Fianna Fáil.
"I expect people were concerned about the fragilities of the economy," he mused philosophically. Thoughts of coalition were not uppermost.
"So where does this leave you?" he was asked. "Outside the RDS."
Then the Fianna Fáil train hit the buffers. Martin Brady, who had seemed a certainty in Dublin North East, lost out to Fine Gael first-timer Terence Flanagan. Next door, Ivor Callely's expensive love-bombing of Dublin North Central was losing out to Independent Finian McGrath's shoestring campaign. Key seats were in the balance.
A couple of hours later, and Pat Rabbitte was on RTÉ, talking about "the hand of history" and "the national interest".
As the afternoon progressed, Fianna Fáil candidates, confident of victory, began entering the RDS in managed bursts of mayhem. Stacked like aircraft in the sky, they waited outside until they got clearance to land. Pat Carey - his seat said to be in mortal danger - was the first to taxi up to the waiting cameras, followed by Seán Haughey and Chris Andrews.
Carey's supporters were jubilant. The quiet and courteous Pat modestly thanked the voters of Dublin North West, while a campaign worker shouted from the sidelines. "Is it time for a ministry, Pat?" Junior Minister Seán Haughey was similarly modest. "I'm willing to serve," he said, realising this maybe wasn't the best time to do a repeat of last year's "make me a minister" performance.
As for Chris Andrews, a first-time deputy from a family steeped in FF tradition, all he could do was smile and hold up his children. Then he found his mother and smiled some more for the cameras.
But as the Fianna Fáil seat tally climbed, the PDs saw their chances evaporate. Party leader Michael McDowell was in dire trouble from early on. He braved the RDS and conceded defeat in a generous and dignified manner. As his campaign workers wiped away the tears, he announced he was leaving public life.
Love him or hate him, Michael McDowell is a formidable political performer, and he will be missed. His leave-taking, as one would have expected, was not without incident.
Unfortunately, he was not allowed his moment without heckling from a number of men, who also held up hastily written signs celebrating his demise. "Bye-Bye Michael 'Paris' McDowell", read one. "Michael McDole", read another.
A PD supporter asked them to take down the signs. "Show the man some respect," he said, as the media crush around the former tánaiste reached hysterical proportions. The supporter then tried to pull down one sign.
A slight scuffle took place. "No need to assault him. This is a democracy," bellowed a political opponent. "You're not in the special branch now." Then he joined in a gleeful chorus of "cheerio, cheerio, cheerio". The jeers came mainly from People Before Profit activists, with a smattering of Sinn Féin supporters among them. The electorate, rejecting Sinn Féin, chose a more gracious method to wave cheerio.
Apart from this unsavoury incident, Sinn Féin's performance was a world away from the intimidating, triumphal performance of five years ago, when they swaggered into the RDS behind Gerry Adams, holding tricolours in the air in a show of smug superiority.
Yesterday, Mr Adams still got the frantic media treatment. A female supporter had to be dragged from the throng, shouting she was going to faint if she wasn't given some air.
Both Adams and Mary Lou McDonald, who failed to get a seat in Dublin North, said the election had come down in the end to "who the people wanted as taoiseach". In the war between Enda Kenny and Bertie Ahern, they argued, Sinn Féin ended up as collateral damage.
"Tiocfaidh Fianna Fáil" shouted a Solider of Destiny, coming to terms with the extent of his party's success.
Bertie Ahern, meanwhile, was at home, watching the results unfold on television with his mobile phone turned off. Such was the extent of his vote, pulling in nearly two quotas, his favoured running mate, Cyprian Brady remained in the race despite polling a derisory 939 votes.
"Bertie Ahern could have Lassie as a running mate and it wouldn't matter," snorted a disgruntled opponent, disgusted that somebody who provoked such resounding indifference might end up in the Dáil.
Dublin Central may still be in love with their electoral phenomenon, Bertie, but first-timer Cyprian turned out to be no infant phenomenon.
As midnight approached, there was still no sign of the Taoiseach at the count centre. Some said he was in one of his locals, Beaumont House, having a pint.