Loud rock music suppresses atmosphere. The buzz and hum of expectation can dissipate, but not on this occasion . . .all the piped pre-match music was swamped, you could hardly hear it. It was like Mount Merapi, a sea of molten red lava . . . unstoppable. The pre-match entertainment was drowned too; Scottish pipers, welsh choirs etc. There were eight curvy can-can dancers from the Folies Bergeres doing their stuff on a stage in the middle of the pitch . . . ostrich feathers, garters, suspenders, stockings and lacy knickers, kicking their legs high into the air . . . it was heart-warming that the Leinster pack had shown up to give their Munster brethren some support. It was a bit like the old chestnut, a comparison between Leinster and an old bra . . . no cups and very little support.

Years ago Richard Harris joined up with the Irish squad unannounced and uninvited. He just turned up out of the blue and entertained us for a week. It was a privilege. His old mucker Peter O'Toole was in the press centre before the game and he was directly behind me in the press box.

"What do you think, " I ventured.

"Munster, " he replied.

"I'm not so sure, " I countered.

"I have never been more sure, " he said.

"Margin?"

"Doesn't matter they'll do enough."

If he had to get back up on that camel and put on those flowing robes again to lead them through the desert he'd have done it. I've never seen someone so up for it before. He wasn't acting.

Munster brought the bacon home but they were seconds away from the unmentionable . . . a truly galling fate. To lose in the last seconds would have floored the whole country. There are two times when grown men are allowed cry. One is when your team have already lost two previous finals and you lose a third in the dying seconds. The other is one hour, 12 minutes and 37 seconds into The Crying Game.

Coming into the last 10 minutes of the game, Biarritz had sprung their bench . . . Olibeau for Couzinet and Dusautoir for the strangely muted and ineffective Lievremont. They added a bit more steel to the Biarritz eight. Munster at that stage had lost their spiritual and physical leaders as O'Connell, Foley and Horan were sitting in the stands. The effort was still there, it's innate that they don't give up. But they were running up a hill of pillows as Biarritz cranked it up. Quinlan and O'Driscoll played their parts though.

Munster were in the happy position that Biarritz needed a try to win so they knew what they could get away with.

Some commentators have stated that Chris White had given Munster an advantage when it came to calling infringements but the penalty count went against Biarritz by 11 to seven which is not huge by any manner of means. Munster could point to the call for Bobo's try in the first couple of minutes. I called it in touch on the day but the video replay makes it less certain. Bobo ran on the balls of his feet and the decisive third step didn't conclusively show that he had broken the plain . . . his heel was in the air. The camera never captured it. Either way, no favours from Mr White.

But in the 72nd minute he gave Munster a free penalty . . . it was very harsh to the French. Munster ran it left to right and Halstead put his head down and bullocked through. He made more ground than he expected and got isolated in the tackle. He held on to it for a good while and when the pill came into sight again it had moved a good bit away from him. With no obvious support he should have been pinged. At this stage Census Johnson had made his way to the breakdown, he sized up where he was going to apply his considerable bulk and then hit the ruck. From the press box, I was certain that he had come in from the side.

On review, I don't think so. The Samoan prop most certainly came in from behind