Joe Kernan finds a corner in the damp, concrete maze which forms the underworld of the New Stand at Croke Park and takes a breath before delivering one of the most sombre valedictions of modern times.

"I know what it's like to get out of jail now and I've never even been in it. I just told the Ballina boys in there I was embarrassed to go into their dressing room because we didn't deserve to win that match.

"As an Armagh man, I've seen days where we've come down to Croke Park and played the shirt off our backs and got nothin'. That's what the Ballina lads got out there. I feel for them," he says with a shrug.

Big Joe has always favoured sentences which cut to the quick, right back to when he started blowing vanities around the pitch in Crossmaglen at the start of the '90s. His talk of All-Irelands was met with benign hoots of ridicule, yet now the Armagh club have two and their manager might well have preached his last gospel. There is no elation though.

"I dunno. We were just dead on our feet, we did everything wrong. That wasn't a true Crossmaglen team you saw today. Ballina probably stopped us playing and deserve credit for that. But everything we practised we did wrong. It's like Istabraq yesterday - when you have quality, you have to turn it on. We never did that. But you know, when you play bad and win, you can't ask for more. We're delighted, but Ballina played the football and we got the spoils. That's it."

So, Joe, will we see you again?

"All I'll say is that this Crossmaglen team have another All-Ireland in them."

Inside, the Ulster boys are grinning, but there is precious little rebel yelling. It was different two years ago. Oisin McConville, imperious in dead ball situations, sits in his shorts nursing a broken finger.

"Bust it near the sideline, got a kick," he explains.

"Aye, we're relieved all right and I hope that we'll be remembered as a great team after this, having won two. But to be honest, there's boys here feel as though this should be three in a row. We slipped up against Errigal Ciaran and that still haunts us. Maybe it'll spur us on to come back for more next year."

In the corridor, Ballina manager Noel O'Dowd crosses shadows with Kernan. They embrace briefly.

"I don't know what to say to you," mutters Kernan apologetically. O'Dowd knows. He stands himself against a wall for the firing squad of questions.

"Look, we are devastated. But I am proud of those boys, it was a magnificent effort. The shooting let us down but I'll tell you, we'll stick our chests out. David Brady played through that game with a broken hand. That reflects the spirit of this team. We deserved a draw. Ah, sport is cruel. But, sure, life is cruel."

Ask Liam McHale. The broad-shouldered westerner is the last to leave the Ballina dressing room, looking a million dollars, feeling like death. On green fields and hardwood courts, the guy has cut his name into history yet there remains this asterix marking those big-day losses.

"Yeah, that's six All-Ireland I've played in now and won none, so it gets harder every time," he says softly, allowing himself a rueful trace of a smile.

"I mean, losing an All-Ireland with your county is a huge thing but this is different. Brian McStay has flown back from the States seven times for this and when you see him sit there crying, stuff like that, it's difficult. It seems to be a Mayo failing over the past few years and, I don't know, I can't explain it."

He says thanks and lopes through the door, up to the bar to smile it off, graceful and hurting.