Ger Loughnane smiles wistfully as the microphones and recorders are again thrust into his face. "So we assemble one more time," he murmurs, like the old-time matinee hero who knew this hour would come. He looks at us through eyes that suggest a man at peace with the world and we wonder if there is some poignancy at the heart of all of this, some farewell words to end his association with the wonder years.

And then comes the devilment: "Were ye waiting for the word `last', were ye?" he inquires, breaking into a grin. Suddenly it's like any other Sunday, Loughnane spinning it as he recalls it, gushing and thoughtful.

"Better team on the day. We've played as badly as that on other days and escaped, but we just met a team today that didn't let us escape, so what can you do?

"We has a few chances in the first half but, ah, we were never rolling as we should have been and when you aren't playing with that sharpness, you miss such chances and that cost us dearly in the second half."

This time last summer, Clare were felled by a bewildering combination of forces and although there was gallantry in their words then as well, there remained the unspoken sense that they had felt betrayed. Yesterday's loss, though, was much easier to explain away and thus, perhaps, less difficult to stomach.

"Brian Cody is someone I soldiered with many moons ago and he was a fantastically skilful player himself and we knew he'd give them the drive and competitiveness and unity that they maybe lacked a small bit last year. I knew when he was appointed that it spelled trouble for everyone else.

"So we've no regrets, I mean that's the whole thing, we leave with no regrets. It's our ninth time in here and our first time leaving in defeat. The more you win, the more you want, you want to get greedy. It's inevitable that some day you will lose but we were hoping we wouldn't lose 'til September. Kilkenny were better today and they really deserved it in the end."

As for Clare, well, Loughnane is reluctant to commemorate them as being emblematic of the decade in which they so often excelled. The passing of the millennium does not herald any end to their influence as he sees it.

"Why wouldn't they be back? They have a great break now until next spring. They're only young, why shouldn't they come back and do it next year. We've only one player over 30, so . . . and the same is true of Offaly. People were saying after last Sunday that that was the end of an era. I don't know. I can't see it being the end," he says and lets his words hang in the air as he departs.

Davy Fitzgerald lingers by the door and offers his take on events, glum and accepting. "Before the match we reckoned that if we'd hit 1-13 or 1-14 we'd probably win it, you know. Like, I'd be very happy with our backs today, I thought they played very well. It was just in the second half we totally lost our routine.

"Early on, well, we were 1-1 down before we knew what had even happened but we came back from that and were well in the game in the first half. But we hit a lot of stupid ball in to their goalie and you just can't afford to do that.

"They should be either wide or over the bar," he says with finality and leaves us in his wake, a batch of hurleys under his arm.