International Friendly. Tom Humphries on a night when the past was laid to rest and the future began to appeal again.

Is there a good time for an introduction to Canadian football? Is your curiosity about the state of the game there insatiable that you would prise your posterior end from an armchair on a quiet Tuesday evening in November? Probably not.

So they laid on some whistles and bells. Duff and Keane. The promise of Andy Reid. The hint that this might be the start of a new era.

It almost worked. Some 23,263 came along. Duff scored a goal which was sublime unless you were a Canadian defender, in which case you it was ridiculous.

Yet it wasn't an evening from which we will be keeping the ticket stubs as proof that we were there.

A twangy hamstring meant that Miller Time, as we have come to think of the ascension to international level of the Celtic midfielder Liam Miller, will actually be some other time.

Andy Reid played well enough, embellishing a good impression with a few touches of genuine grace. He was withdrawn early, the better to enjoy some sustained applause and underline his claims for a Man of the Match award, but perhaps also to dampen down expectations. There's a way to travel between English Division One football and international football. The journey started well, that's all.

And as for Graham Kavanagh? Poor man got two minutes before a clumsy tackle reduced him to a hobble. When doors open so late in a career the hallway shouldn't be tripwired like that.

Did we learn much? Not really. The Canadians came to town carrying the sort of references which suggested that they were well suited to restoring the morale of opposing teams. They'd just been thumped by the Czech Republic and their travelling party, though including notables from sources as diverse as the Dallas Sidekicks and Wigan Athletic, packed as much menace as a mountie on laughing gas.

There's an old joke about the residents of North America's attic. What's the difference between Americans and Canadians? Canadians think there's a difference.

The humour hasn't survived into an era when the answer could just as validly be that the Americans are the ones with the weapons pointed at you, but in soccer terms it poses a valid question. Canada played like the US do: neat passing and a decent grasp of the theory of the game, but not much passion or intuition or creativity.

Where you have those things you have hope, and as such it was fitting that Duff and Keane were the ones adding to their international goal totals last night. Duff had been teasing the Canadians for a little while looking for the tender spots, and then on 20 minutes he appeared to have come to a decision.

He took the ball from Andy Reid in his own half and galloped off into the sort of prairie that Canadians should be used to. He had options to pass but he was never going to use them. He knew. The Canadians knew it. The Canadian back four converged as one, moving with the speed of maple syrup. Duff slipped through them, side-footed home. Glorious.

The first of Keane's second-half goals was a little more prosaic than that but could be viewed as a reward for more creative work elsewhere. Like Duff, he came not just to play but to show off a little. That, after all, is what friendlies against Canada are for.

With seven minutes left Keane got his moment. Delap took a long throw. Keane signed for receipt on the edge of the six-yard box with his back to goal. He swivelled one way, then the other. Turned and put it in the corner.

Eighteen international goals under his belt now. Next time we travel to a major tournament he'll have the Irish record by some margin.

Tournaments. The rest of Europe gets on with it tonight. We watch. Last night, though, Basel went from being a wound to being an old scar. Three goals to nil! There was enough on show and enough kept in the wings to make us look forward to the next time.

Brian Kerr wore a nice suit to mark the occasion, and if we didn't see the saviour we at least saw the ringmaster in his proper attire.