most of which, as well we know, are polite and platitudinous to the point of stupefaction . . . is measured on a weighing scales, then cattle-prodded through an Xray machine just to be sure to be sure, before being deemed suitable for public consumption.

Cody wasn't being platitudinous on Tuesday week, far from it. He was in full-on Fr John Murphy mode, stirring up the rocks with a warning cry to a somnolent Kilkenny public. Twelve months ago, the boss man asserted, the county had been gripped by a "dread of losing" to Cork. This time around there was no dread, no queasiness and no atmosphere prior to an eighth All Ireland final in 10 seasons. Understandable, of course; Kilkenny have tested and tasted far too much. It is a chink which no longer admits wonder. Or, perhaps, wariness.

Limerick's summer? Unquestionably. Kilkenny's? Not remotely. Last year's McCarthy Cup triumph was Noreside's most satisfying in a generation. Today's would constitute their least satisfying. On the Waterford-headed list of teams who've given most generously of themselves to the 2007 championship they figure below Limerick, Cork, Tipperary and even Dublin. If Kilkenny win we'll be entitled to grumble some more about the manner in which the system has cosseted them. That said, if they lose they'll be entitled to grumble that a system which appeared to cosset them actually did nothing of the sort and that Limerick, their jagged edges planed, were the team tempered by championship fire.

That Kilkenny haven't encountered Munster opposition before today is a perfectly valid observation and, simultaneously, a situation that was obtained without the elevation of an eyebrow prior to the installation of the back door.

That they'll be straight into an All Ireland semi-final next season in the event of yet another provincial cakewalk is a situation that Cork folk would do well to avoid complaining about;

their boys, remember, voted for precisely this scenario at Congress. Never forget that nobody mourned for Kilkenny a decade ago when they couldn't get out of Leinster.

Otherwise it's alive inside, broadly speaking?

It's emphatically and joyously alive inside. We didn't have a summer but we had a hurling summer, a Hallelujah Chorus of a championship scored for trumpets and tuckets and fireworks and cannon. All three Limerick/Tipp games, all three Cork/Waterford games, both Limerick/Waterford encounters, Cork versus Tipp, Kilkenny versus Galway. Symphony piled upon symphony piled upon cascading strings and an avalanche of goals.

Elsewhere the Rackard Cup final was a treat;

Laois produced their best minor and under-21 teams in aeons; Dublin won the Leinster title in the same two grades and will contest the All Ireland under-21 final next weekend. Overtures as opposed to full-blown symphonies, but no less welcome for that.

Then there were the managers. Notwithstanding his county's inheritance of Limerick's place in that bed with the straps in hurling's psychiatric ward, Tony Considine will, a la Bogart and Bergman, always have Ennis. John Meyler can take pride from reaching the semifinals of both league and championship but will know that the attempt on Everest has only reached the foothills. Cork were more human and endearing in trauma than they'd been in triumph, though boo sucks to their county board executive for their snide objection to travelling to Parnell Park. Justin McCarthy gave us the most entertaining team and, gloriously, the generous contention that "the best hurlers are now".

In answer to the popular Limerick accusation that the media have overromanticised Waterford, it's a fair cop, guv. Which doesn't mean it's not a shame that Justin's cavaliers aren't taking on Cody's roundheads today. Which doesn't in turn mean . . . how could it? - that Limerick aren't here on merit. They've earned their passage rather more than their opponents have.

Naturally there has to be a paragraph about Tipperary and their man. In the absence of the Pauls Curran and Kelly, Tipp did about as well as they were entitled to do. Babs was, predictably, a one-man pantomime with his pensees on text messaging and the failings of the Irish educational system and his D'Unbelievables sketch with Richie Bennis in Thurles.

(Sorry, you mean it wasn't a sketch? Janey. ) As the season wore on, however, it was a pity someone didn't have a quiet word in his ear to the effect that discretion can be the better part of dignity. In a couple of years' time, the team Babs left behind will be a better proposition for the youngsters he blooded this summer. No prizes for guessing who'll be on the first camel back from Dubai to claim the credit.

And then there was Limerick, with their trek from log cabin to the threshold of the White House, the rebirth of Andrew O'Shaughnessy, the recapitation of Donie Ryan and a tactical sophistication about them that utterly belies their manager's public persona. Richie Bennis asserted 13 months ago that hurling was a simple game to be played simply; lorry the sliotar as early, as long and as hard down the field as is humanly possibly. Oddly, this is the same man whose team employed three midfielders in the third Tipp encounter and who had their wing-forwards as well as their midfielders getting in on the space-closing act in the All Ireland semi-final. Good job Richie ran into his nephew Gary and Dave Moriarty on the road to Damascus.

Whatever the fine print of Limerick's tactical approach, space will be murdered all over the place today. Strangled to death. In the drawing room. With an ash plant. Round up the usual suspects, among them Sean O'Connor, who four weeks ago materialised on his own 14' to swarm John Mullane just as the latter was about to pull the trigger. What Kilkenny did to Cork last year, Limerick will attempt to do to them. Fillean an feall ar an bhfeallaire.

Common sense says the underdogs will withdraw their wing-forwards to midfield, thereby creating an exclusion zone in which Andrew O'Shaughnessy can roam. Kilkenny will presumably counter by keeping JJ Delaney deep, and down the far end of the field will be anxious to prevent their own half-forward and full-forward lines ending up marking one another.

They'd be well advised to try pulling a rabbit from the hat and starting their corner-forwards elsewhere, as on all known form Damien Reale and Seamus Hickey will eat their direct opponents without salt. And will need to, for Limerick won't win the game without winning their own full-back line. In contrast, Kilkenny won't expect another 1-4 from their number 15, won't get it and will cope.

On a bad day for the champions a tally in the order of 216 might do it for Limerick, who in turn ought to take it as read that their opponents will hit upwards of 1-20. For all the talk of Kilkenny's allsinging, all-dancing subs' bench, meanwhile, here's a little stat for your delectation.

Of the 9-113 Bennis's team have compiled en route, 3-18 has been sourced from their subs. For those of you who went to school when Babs was an altar boy, that equates to 4.5 points per match. Staggering.

Some other observations.

Unlike in 1994 and '96, when Limerick had Antrim as semifinal opponents and have believed ever since they weren't the better for it, they're happy to have faced Waterford this time around. Unlike on the last four occasions they won the title, Kilkenny don't have a new golden child giving them propulsion: Noel Hickey in 2000, Martin Comerford in '02, Harry Potter in '03, Cha redux last year . . . right back to PJ Delaney in 1993, come to think of it. Looking in on TV, incidentally, Paul O'Connell has declared Limerick to be formidable, which more or less equates to King Kong tipping a respectful hat to another primate.

To the most important observation. Next month's special hurling congress will have the power to roll back the real Congress's decision to scrap two of the four All Ireland quarter-finals. It should be availed of. It must be availed of, not least because it was the very fact of four quarter-finals that helped bestow on us the most preposterously entertaining championship ever.

Cork and Kilkenny will object, of course. Pity about them.

Certainties today? Innumerable. Be sure of an opening 20 minutes whirling with flying timber. Be sure that Limerick will follow the hare from trap to line. Be sure that, however black the horizon at any given stage, they won't stop believing and that in the words of the Tribune's good friend Shannonsider, who just might have nicked them from the Bard, they'll die with harness on their back if they have to. Be sure that should Kilkenny by the 55th minute have Richie Hogan on the field and Tommy Walsh over on Andrew O'Shaughnessy, it'll be Limerick's trophy to lose. Be particularly sure that Willie O'Dea will manage to get his mug into the picture if it's Damien Reale who lifts the McCarthy Cup. Oh God.

But don't be sure, because one can't possibly be, that most of the above will be enough.

In fact, provided that Kilkenny have calibrated their training to the hour and aren't outhungered it won't be. Is it too lazy to predict that the champions will absorb Limerick's best shots for 60 minutes before pulling away? Probably. Is it too easy to decree that their superior quantities of stardust should swing it their way nonetheless? Probably not.

Kilkenny's title. Limerick's summer.