Reach for the stars: Declan Kidney has utilised the old virtues of intelligence and and pragmatism to craft a winning team

And so it's here at last. The day that the Lord hath made (or maybe hathn't made – we'll just have to wait and see, won't we?). Cue footage of Irish tries from the earlier games, the sweep of the Randy Edelman/Trevor Jones theme music from The Last of the Mohicans and a suitably portentous voiceover from Daniel Day-McGurk. "The day of destiny dawns."


The day of destiny and the longest day since 6 June 1944. This is 12.45; the action in Cardiff will not begin until 5.30pm. How will we cope? Better, one trusts, than a nervous George Hook, who Tom reveals to have been up at five o'clock this morning, walking the house in his pyjamas. (Please, Tom! TMI! There are children, ladies and reviewers of a nervous disposition watching.) But the tension doesn't prevent George putting the boot in on Warren Gatland's "harebrained" attempt at psych-ops during the week. "It's not the tone of the Six Nations," Tom agrees. "We don't behave like that." Is this the first time in recent history a Tyroneman has been sighted atop the moral high ground? We can't be totally sure.


Over to Cardiff, where the sun is shining and a selection of Irish supporters are vox-popped on the street. Two of them are wearing the red of Munster, this for a game versus Wales. Colour-blind or merely thick? Next comes a pre-recorded item with George wining and dining four of the survivors of 1948 – "at no great expense", Tom adds reassuringly for the benefit of the straitened taxpayer looking in. This particular straitened taxpayer doesn't care if they had caviar and champagne; Gerry Ryan's paycut will have covered it either way.


With proceedings at Twickenham running late, there's barely time for a word with the panel before it's back to Cardiff. Conor O'Shea predicts an Irish victory through sheer force of will. George, now a nerves-free zone, has to overegg the pudding and blithely declares that it'll be "by more than 10 points". Ah come on, George, the bit about you in your pyjamas was distressing enough. Don't go and tempt fate altogether.


For 40 minutes it looks as though he has. The first half is a desperate struggle; watching it is even more of a struggle. Despite Paul O'Connell crucifying Wales in the lineout, the visitors are six points down at the break. The panel take comfort from the fact that Ireland have been a better second-half team throughout the championship but stress that they must get the first score on the restart.


They do better than that. The game is turned on its head within five minutes via tries from Brian O'Driscoll – unseen by all but about three people in the Millennium Stadium, one of them thankfully the video referee – and Tommy Bowe. Yet the hand of history hangs heavily on Ireland's shoulders; a slew of unforced errors that George attributes to the "intolerable pressure" on them as immortality beckons allow the hosts back into it before Ronan O'Gara drops a 77th-minute goal and Stephen Jones is short with the last kick of the game.


Back in studio the panel are being picked up off the floor. Brent Pope announces he's in tears. Conor, a grandson of the Kingdom, confesses he thought it was going to be "another Seamus Darby moment". Paul O'Connell is presented with the Triple Crown, which is actually an oversized fruit dish. Mary McAleese is typically touchy-feely and gets her comeuppance when Donncha O'Callaghan kisses her. (Eurgh!) It's all over bar Tracy Piggott importuning the players with banal questions and Declan Kidney, the diplomat's diplomat, giving thanks to all and sundry.


The day that the Lord hath made alright.