By way of mood music, a scenario that's been mentioned here before. It was the night of last year's All Stars at the Citywest Hotel in Dublin and, a few yards away from the dancefloor, the Waterford hurlers were getting on down as only the Waterford hurlers can, jumping around the place to the hearts' content, with John Mullane demonstrating a particularly nifty line in breakdancing. There may even have been a couple of backflips thrown in for good measure.

Looking on at this exhibition of glorious unselfconsciousness, one Corkman – not a hurler – was moved to remark on the individuality of the Waterford players and on how great it would be to see them reach an All Ireland final at last. Then came the modifier, as swift as it was entirely legitimate. "But they have to earn it," quoth yer man. "They can't expect to have it handed to them." Precisely, which is what makes the Déise's presence at Croke Park today all the more uplifting. It's not so much that they're there, which would have been cheering enough in itself, but rather that they've finally earned it. They didn't have it handed to them. Try again, fail again, fail better, succeed.

This is the day that the Lord hath made and the sonic boom that greets the underdogs will comprise a tribute to everybody who has trained and coached and managed and mentored and supported. Justin. Gerald. Shiner Ahearne. Pat Fanning. Anne Ryan from the Waterford supporters' club in Dublin. Peter Power. Tony Mansfield. The boys and girls on the Fenor bus. Everyone who was at Walsh Park for the Kerry match in 1993. Stakeholders all. Would that Tom Cheasty, John Barron and Larry Fanning had lived to see daybreak.

It has been the longest and most eventful of trips. Near misses, daft wides, badge-kissing, jersey-clutching, mislaid passports, excitable Wags, ubiquitous small children. Waterford have been their own soap opera, with product placement by Burberry. Yet arriving at heaven's gate does not necessarily equate to arriving at journey's end. Whatever the outcome, today must not be allowed become a one-off. Waterford have travelled too far and too hard to content themselves with one September appearance in Croke Park. Unlike 1963, 2008 has to leave a legacy.

Their presence caps the most entertaining and satisfying All Ireland series of modern times, for which read ever. We're gonna build something this summer? So many counties did. Heartening shoots of recovery bloomed in Clare, Offaly and Wexford, where good hurling men did a good honest job. Tipperary were a breath of fresh air. Cork died with a harness on their back. Semple Stadium was magical over successive weekends. The first All Ireland semi-final brought 20 minutes of play the sport's czar was to describe as the best he'd ever seen. The second of them brought a tribe's deliverance. Far too many hurling people moan about what they don't and never will have instead of rejoicing in what they do.

Some little things we liked. Offaly's point-taking at the Gaelic Grounds. Dónal Óg and the McGarrys. The emergence of Jonathan Clancy. The dash of Shane McGrath. Brian Gleeson on The Road to Croker. Conor O'Brien staying on his feet, as you'd expect a Tipp corner-back to, after John Mullane pulled not desperately viciously but desperately late. (Let's hope Aidan O'Mahony resolves to follow suit next time he's assaulted with a featherduster.) John Meyler, who could have dug a trench on his half-back line for the Leinster final and sandbagged it, instead sent his team out to hurl, the spin-off being that Wexford went on to hit both Kilkenny and Waterford with some of the brightest and most imaginative stuff witnessed all season.

And some little things we didn't like. Limerick's self-immolation. Galway's descent into the abyss. (No sniggering, please. The plight of one of the game's few genuine powers is far too grave for the identity of their manager to be apropos.) Too many sliotars dying in too many rucks. Seeing Dublin come out of the hat first to play Cork in the qualifiers, then learning that another draw would take place to decide home advantage. The decision to stick the Kildare footballers – an oxymoron if ever there was one – on the same bill as Cork versus Kilkenny. Worst of all, the appalling treatment of Carlow and Westmeath, the Ring Cup finalists. The chairman of the next HDC is hereby warned that if he doesn't immediately promise that the Ring and Rackard Cup deciders will be restored as the curtainraisers to the McCarthy Cup semi-finals, at least one national newspaper will be calling for his impeachment.

To a more pressing declaration. To wit, Waterford 2008 are not Limerick 2007. They're different in so many ways. They're better in so many ways. More trophies in the cupboard, for one thing. For another thing, more experience and significantly more aerial power than both Limerick and Tipp, who they cleaned out under the dropping ball in the closing 20 minutes of the semi-final. For yet another thing, more scoring forwards, and an infinitely greater capacity to extemporise up front, than Cork.

Nerves may not prove to be any millstone, moreover. It is no slur on them to aver that some of the Waterford players do not inhabit quite the same universe as the rest of us; look, they'd be the first to say that themselves. Far from being cowed by the occasion, consequently, they may be more up for it than Bristol Palin. And whatever the outcome, never let it be said that their sacking of Justin was the work of a bunch of ingrates. On the contrary, it was the most grown-up deed this group have ever carried out.

Talking of burgeoning maturity, we're guessing you didn't realise that John Mullane has hit 1-19 in his five championship outings to date. More and more the 2007 National League final, where he redeemed a constipated opening 50 minutes by landing two late points, is coming to resemble a pivot of his career. Sometimes the only way to be a hero is not by being a hero but by simply doing one's bit. Rattle over two or three points today and Mullane will have both done his bit and been a quiet hero. Similar sentiments about the subordination of the individual to the commonweal apply to Ken McGrath, who cannot allow himself to fall into the trap of hitting three balls for every one his opponent hits, not least because that latter one will be short, sharp and fanged. Liam Dunne's performance in the 1996 All Ireland final remains the gold standard in this respect. Wonder has Davy shown Ken the video.

About the favourites, little remains to be said other than that a three-in-a-row would constitute slightly less remarkable an achievement than would a sixth All Ireland in the same decade. Win here and Brian Cody's Kilkenny will be either the greatest team of all time (to the lazyminded) or the winningest team of all time (to the statisticians). The first thesis will be arguable; the second will not. Nor will a putative three-in-a-row come hedged with the asterisks that a Kerry equivalent would or Cork's four-timer did.

Either way, in winning their semi-final the champions finally put to bed that dreary chestnut about how well or otherwise they'd cope down south. With a Cody-era championship record against Munster teams that reads Played 15 Won 12 Drew 1 Lost 2, and an average winning margin of 5.83 points, the answer should be obvious.

That's not the end of it. Lose one or both of today's finals and you just know Kilkenny will come back next year itching to atone. Win both of today's finals and you just know they'll come back next year itching to win them again. The primary quality of modern Kilkenny is unstrained, unmerciful remorselessness.

Were the manager as inflexible as his caricature of a few years ago suggested, his team would be hurling's equivalent of the Rolling Stones, still cranking out the same tired old chords and tired old hits. Because he isn't, they're more like Led Zeppelin crossed with Wagner. The identity of the lead guitarist may vary from game to game. The thunder that emanates from the bassline, the source of their power, does not. Valkyries from 1 to 15.

One of their greatest strengths is the ability to retune their setting to the enemy's desired frequency. Wanna get physical? Kilkenny will give it back in spades. Want to try outhurling them? Be their guest. There's only one team in the country big enough, bold enough and experienced enough to live with the champions on any terrain. Waterford. With one difference. Can Kilkenny play indifferently today and win? Yes. Can their opponents? Not a hope. Besides, the various factors that contributed to the county's previous championship defeats on Cody's watch – lack of focus, self-induced fatigue, injuries – do not arise.

Martin Comerford's slow decline will have given the manager his one and only significant headache. On the basis that he keeps the opposition busy even when he's playing badly – the other crowd rarely know what Comerford will do next largely because he rarely knows it himself – and that Michael Rice constitutes a better impact sub, his retention makes sense.

To the ponderable imponderables. What if, unable to improve on their semi-final display, Cork's conquerors go backwards rather than forwards? What if Declan Prendergast hurls the game of his life? What if Clinton Hennessy stops hailstones? What if PJ Ryan, discombobulated by the novel experience of actually being required to save a shot, makes a balls of it? What kind of carnage ensues in midfield when two teams who employed similar space-clearing tactics up front in their semi-finals collide? How quickly can Brick Walsh and Seamus Prendergast move the sliotar? Who's going to be the day's Fergie Tuohy? And is it being harsh on Waterford to hold that for all they'll have come on, maybe substantially so, for the run on 17 August, one cannot ignore the tiresome fact they still conceded 1-18 to a team containing four forwards who barely showed up for work?

Four last words. Kilkenny. Perhaps ultimately comfortably.

emcevoy@tribune.ie