For the firebreathing faithful of Ulster football this was the day of days. Tyrone and Armagh hoisted their long neighbourly squabble on to the national stage without betraying the essential spirit of their relationship.
For the agnostics there was the problem. This was a sour match, the winning of which Tyrone celebrated with sufficient abandon as to make all analysis seem churlish. The flavour was uniquely Northern, the day full of sights and sounds imported from venues like Clones and Casement Park.
Everyone in the stands seemed to know the person beside them. The teams on the pitch were familiar with each other to the point of contempt.
Other quirks too. There was a huge appetite for the excitement of the Mexican wave at half time. Little wonder given that the teams played with 13 defenders each for most of the match. Afterwards Tyrone locked themselves in their dressingroom and the whole squad sang Amhrán na BhFiann while the media waited outside. The Soldiers Song seemed apt.
Yes, Northern trees bear a hardy fruit. Tyrone's first All Ireland title was never going to be a triumph of style. Hunger more like.
More than most Northern sides, Tyrone have known the horror of playing sprightly football in September and going home with nothing. Yesterday they played defensively and occasionally they played cynically. Having watched Derry, Donegal and last year Armagh break through to All Ireland titles, they had decided that the end justified the means.
And when the great stands in Croke Park emptied at the final whistle and seemingly all of the 79,391 attendance barrelled on to the pitch, it was easy to believe in Tyrone's philosophy. They hoisted Peter Canavan, the god of small forwards, on to their shoulders and bore him across the turf.
Canavan was the story. In Tyrone they refer to him simply as God. At 31, after 14 seasons of trying, Canavan had erased his name from the head of that list of great players never to have won All Ireland medals. From that alone Tyrone could draw justification.
"A long, long wait," said Canavan afterwards. "To say Tyrone people have been hungry for this would be an understatement. We've waited a long time. We did it eventually."
In his victory speech, Canavan joked that Tyrone's footballers had often been compared to the British army, feared up North but powerless down south.
As Tyrone prepare to head home via Canavan's home town of Ballygawley tonight, it will be forgotten quickly that eight bookings and a dismissal were the principle punctuation of the game. And even that amount of punishment seemed lenient.
Football has evolved to the extent that unless there is the wanton use of firearms, referees seem prepared to smile indulgently.
Ulster teams rule the neighbourhood. God smiles down. Little wonder. Just three points separated him from hell yesterday.