Depressed that another year has moved on without Paul Flynn, Tony Browne and Tom Feeney lining out in the feature event at Croke Park in September. Depressed, above all, that the losers had no excuses to offer seven days ago. They'd thrown their best punches. They still hadn't come anywhere near flooring Cork.

There were no awful wides, no arrows of outrageous misfortune, no hideous refereeing decisions that went against them (a minute and a half separated the Diarmuid O'Sullivan/John Mullane incident from Cathal Naughton's goal, during which time Waterford regained possession and won a free out). Cork overcame the soft going and greasy ball, a hazard combination far more calculated to act as dirt in the delicate mechanism of their game than in Waterford's, to be the better team by a few points.

Waterford may have been unfortunate to lose a third All Ireland semi-final in the space of five seasons but they weren't unlucky. There's a difference.

The most obvious difference here, aside from the disparity in the scoring return of the two sets of wing-forwards, was sourced in the little things. Cork, being Cork, did them better. Ask yourself:

when Clinton Hennessy overcooked his 68th minute clearance out towards the Cusack Stand and Joe Deane drew the foul from Ken McGrath, what would a Cork defender have done had the roles been reversed? Easy. Stood his ground, stayed on his feet, made himself big, refrained from diving in. Forced the forward to make the decision, instead of making it for him.

Deane pointed the free and Cork were two points ahead instead of one. A game of inches? No. Now it was a game of yards.

In the micro, the issue came down to timing. Waterford, as Justin McCarthy acknowledged, scored their goal too early. Unlike comedians, hurlers cannot consciously delay their punchline; the flow of the game dictates the delivery. If Cork are to be beaten while their petrol tank is still reasonably full, it'll be by opponents who manage to time their run perfectly from behind and catch them at the death, much as Kevin Darley and Observatory deliberately swooped late on Giant's Causeway's blind-side to beat the iron horse at Ascot that time.

Yet in a wider sense, Waterford, through no fault of their own, also got their timing wrong. Revolutions succeed when . . . frequently because . . .

the inhabitants of the neighbourhood Bastille have grown flabby and complacent. The year Wexford won their All Ireland, Cork were losing at home in the Munster championship by 16 points. The year Clare won the first of their two, Kilkenny were losing a Leinster final by 11 points (and it should have been by 17 points). In the macro, Waterford's misfortune has been to produce a very good team just when the counter-revolutionary forces on Leeside and Noreside produced even better ones. Mount your insurgency before the empire has struck back, not after it.

Still, the moment to summon the gravediggers has not yet arrived. After last year's All Ireland quarter-final, this parish took it as read that Waterford had reached the end of the line and that McCarthy's work with them was done. This time around the feeling here is that the latest defeat by Cork amounts more to a comma than to a full stop.

Certainly Waterford have grown as a team, as in truth they ought to have by now.

There were no histrionics or retaliation or displays of conspicuous emotional incontinence last Sunday. Their decision-making was good;

for the second match in succession at Croke Park, McCarthy's side drove only seven wides. Nor did they panic; immediately prior to Deane's free, Waterford, two points down, pieced together a sweeping move involving the two McGraths and Dan Shanahan that culminated in Eoin McGrath rightly settling for his point. The Waterford of old might as easily have gone baldheaded for a goal and ended up with nothing.

The annual audit will show them finishing the season with fewer obvious lacunae than before. Hennessy appears to have solved the goalkeeping problem. Eoin Murphy is the perfect modern corner-back, lean and alert and intelligent. Tony Browne's birth cert is quite clearly a work of fiction; the man cannot be more than 22. Michael Walsh is an athlete who can hurl (at midfield, Justin). John Mullane's offering on Sunday was, his display against Clare in Cusack Park 13 months ago apart, his best since 2003.

They remain two or three players short. They always will. But that's no excuse for Waterford not to stiffen their spine and grit their teeth.

Shortcomings are there not to be accepted but to be raged against. Try again, fail again, fail better.

Stanley Matthews came back. Munster came back.

George O'Connor kept coming back. Thirteen months ago we'd have said Waterford wouldn't. Here and now we say they can.