JOHN Bruton's first ardfheis as Taoiseach ended with what sounded like machinegun fire, but it was only Fine Gael activists stamping on balloons as if they were the heads of Fianna Fail canvassers.
The chairman of the parliamentary party, Phil Hogan, had whipped up the normally placid grass roots in the RDS Main Hall into a frenzy of anti Opposition rage with his warm up for the peacemaking Taoiseach.
Hogan had them roaring as he described Albert Reynolds "wandering around Government Buildings like a latter day demented King Lear" on the night of the beef tribunal report. Fianna Fail's "devious plotting" then was a "sorry sight but Fianna Fail in opposition was even sorrier".
Even Fianna Fail's "political Rottweiler", Brian Cowen, had "mysteriously lost his bark and become house trained by Bertie's handlers". As for Bertie, he was an example of "how not to do the job in Opposition". The Fianna Fail "dream team was still dreaming".
Charlie Haughey had once said that if Fine Gael could fill the RDS, then it was time for Fianna Fail to move to Croke Park. Now it was Fine Gael's turn to move to Croke Park, Hogan prophesied, as he surveyed the thousands of happy faces.
Chief Whip, Jim Higgins, put them into founders of the nation mood as he recalled how the party had "founded the Army, the Navy, the Garda and the Civil Service" and tossed off the names of the founding fathers - Cosgrave, Mulcahy, O'Higgins, Dillon - to reverential applause.
Today, Jim reminded us, "Nora Owen can get into a helicopter and land at Stormont as of right", thanks to Fine Gael. There were those in the media who had called Fine Gael dead, but they were merely sleeping until the Bruton era.
John Bruton and Finola appeared in the hall to an ecstatic welcome as scenes of the Taoiseach's triumphs flashed on giant screens. There was to be a lot of matinee idol touches during the leader's speech.
He had told readers of the Star that morning that he knew that "people get bored by long political speeches". He promised not to bore anyone this year thanks to "video inserts and contributions from my ministerial colleagues".
So halfway through the speech, the Taoiseach sat down and the Ministers performed, having been rehearsed earlier by PR guru, Bill O'Herlihy, pacing around the empty hall and pleading for more of the Michael Collins spirit.
He needn't have worried. This was an ard fheis where nothing could go wrong. Fine Gael had not had one like it since the heady days of Garret the Good back in the distant 1980s. The troops were there to enjoy it and the bars did roaring business, but it was announced that no drink or small children would be allowed in for the Taoiseach's speech.
In the outer halls, giant beef sandwiches were consumed as if Phil Hogan had not promised that "Fine Gael will never be bought by big business and the beef barons".
The compassionate side of the party that won the Civil War was shown by the array of stalls for good causes such as Amnesty International, the kidney and cancer associations, refugees, landmines, ISPCC and Rehabcare. There was also an Aware stall "to help defeat depression", but Fine Gael was definitely not depressed.
The party even baked a cake with an icing microphone for RTE's Political Editor, Donal Kelly, who had to spend his birthday reporting on the ard fheis. He emerged with impartiality intact from the goodwishes embraces of Nora Owen and Madeleine Taylor Quinn under the watchful eye of his Head of News, Joe Mulholland, and the cheers of the press room quaffing the Fine Gael champagne.
Meanwhile, John Bruton was celebrating at the VIP reception for ambassadors, and asking Wilfrid Martens, nine times Prime Minister of Belgium, what's the secret? Thank God we're not Belgium.