The climax of the GAA season is meant to be September, yet the best stuff now seems to come in August, with onepoint All Ireland semi-"nals. Last year, it was Armagh-Tyrone and Cork-Clare.

This year, Mayo-Dublin and CorkWaterford took us on their rollercoaster.

If anything, the games of '06 were more glorious. Cork-Clare was wonderful but a game of two spells:

Clare's bold insurgence, followed and eclipsed by Cork's resurgence; never really were both teams simultaneously at the height of their game. Cork and Waterford each had spurts but then there were rounds where they just went toe-to-toe, punch for punch, like Hearns and Hagler.

One moment, Tony Browne would sweep up a ball, and then the next, it would be in the other half-back line with that other peaceful warrior, Sean Og.

Then it would be with Ken McGrath, the next, with that other central colossus, Ronan Curran.

There were the quiet men. Eoin Murphy in one corner of the field, Brian Murphy in another at the far end. Brick Walsh putting his body on the line to win a free, Timmy McCarthy likewise with another run and a point.

And then there were the supporters and the sound they made. As the players paraded and their tensed faces and the 'Immortality Beckons' ad appeared on the big screen; as Brian Corcoran scored points under either stand; as Paul Flynn hobbled on; as Cathal Naughton buried that goal and leapt and roared into the air. As Ken's free seemed to be going over, as Donal Og somehow swept it down, as Corcoran latched onto the loose ball, as Seamus Prendergast hooked him.

That passage in the corner will stay with everyone who was there. After Cusack's courage and brilliance had somehow de"ed McGrath's, that should have been the end of it. But Waterford couldn't leave it at that, which meant neither could Cork. For all the magic their encounters have conjured up this past five years, that tussle was the rivalry in essence . . . the meeting of an irresistible force and an unmovable object. Because Waterford refused to go away. Dan had his quietest game of the year yet made some of the most intelligent plays of his career . . . the delightful ground pass that set Eoin Kelly's goal in motion, the crossfield ball for John Mullane's late point instead of frantically looking for a goal like Waterford had after Corcoran's 12 months earlier. And Dan was there inside the 21, vying, dying, killing for that ball. He didn't get it. The "nal whistle went and Cork men jumped in the air as Waterford men collapsed to the ground. The unmovable object had resisted the irresistible force. For now. Because that's the beauty of this rivalry. Waterford keep coming back and Cork keep coming back to stop them. They never disappear, never disappoint. The Dublin-Kerry football rivalry is rightly celebrated but the '77 classic apart, the fun was in the anticipation and the aftermath, the relationship, all foreplay and postcoital. Too often, the act itself was onesided, anti-climatic. Not with Waterford and Cork. GAA doesn't get better than when these two tribes make love and go to war. Actually, neither does sport.