Ahhh. Thurles on Munster hurling final day. Cork and Tipp. Travelling through Liberty Square, we savour the delicious fragrances of traditional cooking and admire the disciplined self-denial of the supporters who are making sure they don't drink so much the finer points of the game escape them.

Where sporting culture meets high art. Here's Umberto Eco, researching his new novel on the interplay between semiotics and hurling. There's Toscanini's crubeen parlour. Stephen Hawking is in town for the Thurles launch of his updated edition of A Brief History of Time - featuring a new preface by Jimmy Cooney.

The buzz of merry banter and native song ("Hurling's coming home, it's coming . . .,") fills the air, vying with the soaring sounds of those sophisticated air horns to delight the crowds. A mime company performs by the railway station and threatens hundreds with missing the throw-in as rapt supporters pause spellbound.

The match itself is naturally a classic. It throbs with Wagnerian intensity until half-dead heroes are carried from the fray on their shields. It has to be the best Munster final since Cork and Tipp were last in one - although obviously not quite as good as those of 50 years ago. Some might say that it was a poor and error-ridden first half, but an orchestra must tune up. Others might wonder why it's alright to ride poor Paul Shelley like a donkey, but sure we'll be talking and laughing about that in years to come.

True, Ringy wouldn't have missed two penalties - "Aim at the head of the most cowardly player on the line," was the maestro's advice concerning penalties - but that was Ringy. Ah, now!

I think Clare have been great for hurling - don't get me wrong - and Limerick as well, and Waterford. But it's just more reassuring to see Cork and Tipperary back in the big time. It's their turn now. Sure Clare and the others wouldn't appreciate it if they were in the final every year. They're not bred to it.

Offaly and Kilkenny are bred to it. We're all getting bred to Offaly and Kilkenny. Three Leinster finals in a row between the same teams. It's over 20 years since that last happened. Still, it's great. You'd have to fancy Kilkenny, the black and amber. Apparently, they've won every under-age title in the province since the game went 15-a-side.

Throw in all the injuries Offaly have. They've no luck with injuries ever - at least in the build-up to big matches. It's a tall order for them, but you know what? They love it. The taller the order, the better. One of the things about Offaly is that they're never beaten. Apparently not.

I heard there was an All-Ireland years ago. Mustn't have been senior, but anyway some other crowd were leading Offaly by eight points with time nearly up. Then time was up. But the following day at the lunch, Offaly slipped in for three quick goals. Jeez, the other boys weren't the better of it.

Did you know how Bram Stoker got the idea for Dracula? He was a theatre manager and picked up the idea when travelling in the midlands, scouting out good venues. He was told Offaly teams are never dead, undead if you like, and the name Dracula is a derivation of the Irish droch cul, in English a jammy goal - the county's traditional means of cheating death.

And the name vampires comes from umpires, fellas who can't function at all in the daylight.

A wooden stake through the heart is supposed to be the best way of dealing with Offaly. But sometimes people get confused about that and slap their heads with a stick of ash instead. Then again, you probably wouldn't get away with impaling players - unless of course the ref just booked you for it and then the GAC would have to say: "Well, the referee took his own action, we're staying out of this".

NOW, Leinster finals are great as well. You'd often see better hurling than at a Munster final but it wouldn't be the same. The atmosphere wouldn't be there - even before it was played on a building site. That's just because Offaly and Kilkenny are such small counties and haven't the people to fill Croke Park. Not like Cork and Tipp which are the biggest counties in the world.

Anyway, you'd wonder does it matter these days with the back door. Sure Tipp were just laughing on Sunday after losing. It wouldn't take a feather out of those fellas to let on they were taking it seriously. They've a handy enough route now to the All-Ireland, maybe Galway and Kilkenny. That'd suit Tipp. They wouldn't mind having their full back line, centrefield and half their forwards shown up for a deal like that.

Offaly now are another matter. They're never beaten, was I telling you that? Sure the back door was introduced just to regularise the situation with Offaly because they'd be turning up for the All-Ireland anyway, even if they lost the Leinster final; they're never beaten.

A funny thing has happened though since the back door came in. Offaly used hate losing to Kilkenny, but over the last three years - I mean, I'm not saying they enjoy it now, but it's just curious. They've started playing far better after they lose (or whatever you call it when they've fewer scores than Kilkenny) the Leinster final than they do in it.

Some people will tell you that the whole provincial thing is a bit daft. (I know, how must the Leinster Council feel about that in their centenary year.) But it makes sense to have more than half the teams who can win the All-Ireland flaking away at each in Munster, one of the two others dawdling through Leinster and the last one with no competition at all until the All-Ireland starts.

It makes sense because that's how it was organised in Ringy's time and sure hurling was a game for the gods in those days. There was no need for back doors (except to bring in the milk churns full of water!) back then. Cork and Tipp in the Munster final every year. Yahooo! Then the winners played Kilkenny in the All-Ireland. Only Galway made it complicated by looking for semi-finals they weren't going to win anyway.

That was the golden age. Down in Thurles Sportsfield or the Athletic Grounds. We'd walk home afterwards because no one could afford cars and petrol was rationed. You'd get home knackered at all hours but you were happy. Sure no one had a job to get up for back then.

Celtic Tiger my arse! Give me great hurling any day.