Slan agus beannacht

"Ladies and gentlemen, for the last time, Paul McGrath," said the Lansdowne Road announcer yesterday afternoon and 39,000 people bit their bottom lips and roared their thanks once more as McGrath left the pitch at the end of his testimonial. It's hard saying goodbye to a fella who gave us some of the most wonderful moments of our lives.

If the residents of Lansdowne Road found U2 to be a bit on the loud side when they played at the venue last year it was nothing compared to the decibels generated by the tumultuous reception McGrath received when he made his first appearance of the afternoon just before kick-off, walking onto the pitch with his sons Chris, Mitchell, Jordan and Paul junior.

The sight of the four McGrath boys, all donned in Irish kits, gave us hope for the future on a day that should have been a celebration of their father's career, but was tinged with sadness at its conclusion. Fast forward to Lansdowne Road, 2015 . . . ". . . number two Chris McGrath, number three Mitchell McGrath, number four Jordan McGrath, number five Paul McGrath Junior" . . . what a beautiful dream!

But yesterday was for looking back and at half-time the Garda band, looking remarkably well after their recent bout of flu, serenaded the crowd with the football hits of the Charlton decade, when McGrath's star shone brightest of all. They concluded their medley with Those were the Days, and weren't they just . . . Stuttgart '88, Genoa '90, Wembley '91, Giants Stadium '94 . . . we thought they'd never end.

The first 83 minutes of the match were entertaining enough but, in truth, acted merely as a countdown to McGrath's final appearance in an Irish shirt. The crowd grew impatient and howled "We Want Paul" until he reluctantly, because he wanted them to remember him at his best, rose from the bench to replace Ray Houghton.

Even by then the press had voted him "Man of the Match", an announcement he greeted with a giggle, but who else could it have been on the day that was in it. Dean Saunders had the barefaced cheek to score a late winning goal for the International XI, a strike that simultaneously made contact with the ball and McGrath's ankle, leaving him hobbling for the remainder of the game. "That's not how I wanted the crowd to remember me," said McGrath after the match. No fear of that. As Roddy Doyle put it, in this paper on Saturday: "We are blessed, those of us who shared his age and nationality. We saw the best footballer ever to play for Ireland, the best and most courageous. The most honest." Will there ever be another Paul McGrath? Of course not, but we shouldn't complain, we were blessed to have even one.