It wasn't a thing of beauty but it was as chunky and as riveting as an airport novel. The Dutch swept Yugoslavia out of the World Cup with the last line of the piece. Edgar Davids, the most charismatic presence of the evening, did the honours and his worshippers went out into the night and painted Toulouse orange.

"We always had the feeling that we could do it, right until the end," said Dennis Bergkamp in neat summation afterwards. "We should have won - and we did."

Correct. The Dutch weren't irresistible but they were persistent. They suffered their setbacks stoically and grasped their reprieves hungrily.

Nobody went away thinking that they had seen the future and it was orange, but there was a sense of a settled team having come through a significant stage of their own development. Argentina and England, who play today for the right to meet the Dutch, must regard it as a dubious prize.

The Yugoslavs, whose curriculum vitae has the words "class act" stamped on it, were disappointingly timid through the opening half, permitting the Dutch to dictate the tempo.

The Yugoslavs have been packing their mood with their kit during this World Cup. Last night they went for white shirts and all-round conservatism.

The Dutch had prepared better. Their half-hour of yawning ennui at the end of the Mexico game in St Etienne worried them like a chest pain. They were taking better care of themselves last night, replacing Wim Jonk with the more cavalier Clarence Seedorf and permitting Philip Cocu to develop his blossoming relationship with Bergkamp while Patrick Kluivert sat on the bench.

Cocu, bound for Barcelona next season, has been showcasing his talent to an extent that will be pleasing the Nou Camp. On 29 minutes, he had a pivotal part in Holland's best move to that stage. Ronald de Boer scurried down the right flank, cut the ball back to Cocu, whose deft, no-look pass blindsided the Yugoslav and set Davids up for a shot which demanded a good save.

The sense was that the Dutch were merely ratcheting up the pressure.

The Yugoslavs, having qualified from most of the same schools as the Dutch, didn't appear interested in making full use of their education. The Dutch didn't wear mortar boards but they looked the part. The difference lay in the quality of the delivery from defence.

Arthur Numan found Marc Over mars and it merited the exclamation mark of a goal. Frank de Boer delivered to the spaces where Bergkamp and Cocu were ghosting. All this and the live current of Davids, too.

The sense of inevitability grew. On 37 minutes Jaap Stam, a centre half but the most expensive of that range, passed to Seedorf with the sort of contemplative work a good midfielder might write home about. Seedorf whipped in a perfect cross. Coco levitated and headed downwards producing a fine save from Ivica Kralj.

The reprieve was momentary. Yugoslavia's attempt to clear their lines broke down and Frank de Boer launched a free kick to Bergkamp. Good call. Bergkamp, fresh from a manhandling by Slavisa Jokanovic minutes earlier, braced himself and shouldered Zoran Mirkovic aside before posting the ball past the slightly surprised Kralj.

A goal up and the rinky-dink Stadium Municipal in Toulouse swayed to the brass band and beerkeller boisterousness of the Dutch. The roistering got the game to half-time but we were disgruntled.

We'd come for operatic grandeur. We'd been given lounge lizard cabaret, the Dutch singing throatily, the Yugoslavs coasting.

It livened up after the intermission. From the recesses of their memory the Yugoslavs found the way to goal. Three minutes in and a Dragan Stojkovic free from the right sailed as sedately as an air balloon to the head of Slobodan Komljenovic. The Dutch were captivated but not alert. One all.

Two minutes later the joint was jumping. Stam got himself a handful of Vladimir Jugovic's jersey. He didn't tear the stitches but he sampled the quality. In the area too. Penalty! Predrag Mijatovic stepped up and thundered it off the crossbar with Edwin Van Der Sar committed elsewhere.

Whooh. The play swept downfield. Bergkamp, with a taste for action now, stamped on Sinisa Mihajlovic, having first planted him on the turf. Bergkamp flirted with a red card, tempers frayed and a few bottles flew from the stands.

So, danders up and game on. It flowed now and the Yugoslavs were expressive. Yet despite misses from Overmars and Cocu (and a half-heartedly protested disallowed goal from the latter) the game lurched uncontrollably towards golden goal gimmick territory.

Into injury-time first and Overmars chanced his arm with a shot. Krajl had to be quick to turn it away for the corner. Ronald de Boer began the set play, knocking a diagonal to Davids, who arrived with locks flowing. Thump. A slight deflection, a rippling net, a forlorn keeper and Davids dancing in front of the Dutch crowd. That all finales could be like this.

A better end than the game deserved perhaps, but fitting that Davids should have been the one to decide its destiny.