TV VIEW:WELL, THAT was very, very lovely, all the more so because it was a whole 20 years in the making. The only downside, really, is that we'll be singing "Jimmy's winning matches, Jimmy's winning games" in our sleep, kind of the "Give it a lash Jack" of our time.

And try crooning “he’s not from Senegal, he comes from Donegal,” while you’re waiting for your battered cod and onion rings to be carbonised and you’ll understand the true meaning of “discombobulated looks”.

The sentiments weren’t exactly the same, it has to be conceded, but you couldn’t help but think of the Norwegian fella all those years ago . . . “Lord Nelson, Lord Beaverbrook, Sir Winston Churchill, Sir Anthony Eden, Clement Attlee, Henry Cooper, Lady Diana, Maggie Thatcher, can you hear me? Your boys took a hell of a beating!” . . . when Martin Carney let loose: “It MUST be said, after the Dublin defeat last year, Donegal were regarded as pariahs! They were regarded as the group who had cannibalised the code! They were looked on as the apostles of anti-football!

“Joe Brolly, Pat Spillane, Colm O’Rourke, can you hear me? You boys took a hell of a beating.”

No, to be accurate about it, he didn’t say that last bit about the RTÉ panel, just the bit before, but you half sensed he was close to it, Ger Canning, maybe, inserting a sock in his mouth before he got there.

Mind you, it should be said in their defence, the trio had all tipped Donegal to prevail and admitted they were almost excited about watching a game involving the county.

As Will put it: “All is changed, changed utterly”.

The build-up was marvellous, apart from that Mayo butcher’s green and red sausages on the RTÉ news (some of us will never be able to eat sausages again) and the obligatory painted sheep. Why always sheep, by the way? Why not donkeys, cows, goats or, say, cats?

Match day. Abseilers clung to the roof before beginning their descent, match ball in hand. “I hope they won’t be stuck like Robbie Williams,” said Michael Lyster, “the ball might never arrive.”

“Or like Boris Johnson,” said Joe.

“Or like the parachutist at the Aussie Rules in Adelaide or somewhere like that – the poor man got caught at the top and got killed.”

The panel fell silent. Pat had put the mother of all dampeners on the festivities.

Predictions? Yep, Donegal. “The question is, whose defensive system is better,” asked Joe. “I think that Donegal’s system remains virginal in the sense that it’s never been penetrated.”

The camera was on the crowd at the time, which was probably just as well, the sight of Pat turning puce before collapsing in a heap wouldn’t have been good. Enda Kenny. Green and red tie. And to think Fine Gael thought they might retain their Donegal seats next time.

Goal. Goal. Donegal. Mayo? All over? “Somebody behind me said Mayo collapsed during the parade, but there’s no collapse on at all,” said Joe at half-time after Mayo recovered from the mother of all nightmarish starts to make a game of it.

“Heroic,” said Colm of their fightback, “they’re in with a damn good chance,” said Pat.

Full-time. “It’s true – Jimmy’s winning matches,” said Joe, after Jimmy won THE mother of all matches.

Pat tried to explain how Donegal had done it, but when he attempted to make mention of the desatascador (Spanish football’s “plunger or unblocker”), he almost lost his teeth, an unimpressed Joe asking: “Is this a product of the Free State education system?”

Michael moved along swiftly, while Pat tried to get his breath back, Colm too busy recovering from Pat’s earlier suggestion that he would become the panel’s “senior analyst” if Colm got the Meath job. In that moment you sensed Colm had decided to withdraw his alleged application, unwilling to leave Joe and Michael and Ireland at the mercy of the newly crowned senior desatascador.

Back outside, the celebrations were a very delightful joy to behold. “An emotional tsunami is about to sweep over Donegal,” said Ger, but it already had.

“This group of guys have stitched together seven displays of power, teamwork, athleticism, skill, belief courage, character,” said Martin, and you know, he wasn’t wrong.

“From the tip of Malin,” he added, “to the southerly point of the Drowes river, to the hills, the valleys and the towns along the majestic coastline, through the wild wilderness of the Blue Stacks – this will be celebrated like no other.” Twenty years in the making. And worth the wait.

Altogether now: “Jimmy’s winning matches, Jimmy’s winning games, Jimmy’s bringing Sam back to Donegal again. . .”

Tír Chonaill Abú.