Locker Room: With Germany calling we'd a mind to fill our allotted inches here with musings on the beautiful game and how she might unfold over the next few weeks. The usual guff and lots of it. How we fancy Italy because adversity suits them as well as expensive shoes do. How after years of us feeling inferior because we used rudimentary lanks like Quinny and Cas this could turn out to be the World Cup of the beanpole with Peter Crouch not even being the tallest striker at the party. Wait till you see the string of misery who plays up front for Serbia and their old friends Montenegro.

You were going to get some of this and then some more but we went to Longford yesterday and it went out the window. There'll be plenty of time yet for Ronaldinho and the chaps but yesterday the Dubs burst forth into the innocent midlands countryside and Longford basked in the atmosphere of carnival.

In retrospect, the Longford County Board were right to insist on playing this game at home. It's good for The Dub to get out and about and to survey like among the rustics. And it is a fine thing for young people growing up in a town like Longford to see The Dub in all his plumage, disporting himself happily in their midst. And Longford did a splendid job hosting the gig. The town looked lovely, the pitch was perfect, the maors were about the place like worker bees but were friendly with it.

The Dub, of course, comes bearing gifts. Not just his bonhomie and his spending money which are considerable contributions. No, he brings the bit of weather with him when he travels.

The sun beat down on Pearse Park yesterday and as the lads basked like jaded seals on the terraces it occurred to us it was probably the warmest day recorded since The Dub went to Páirc Uí Chaoimh 23 years ago.

The Dub isn't just good for the economy he helps the crops grow too (indeed on the way on to Longford long lines of Dubs could be seen standing on the edge of the road crop spraying the fields. Soon there will be a little of The Dub in all of us).

The sense of occasion in Longford was summery and wonderful yesterday and the only cloud on a good day was Longford's decision to spoil things by playing decent football. Dublin were of the view in the run up to the game that it wouldn't be as handy as last year's 19-point romp. How right can a team be? In the event as Longford cut through the middle of the Dublin defence time and time again they raised more questions about Dublin's long-term viability in the championship than the sky blues were comfortable with.

One good save from Stephen Cluxton and a few bad Longford wides were all that stood between Dublin and the oblivion of the qualifiers. For The Dub, wearing the factor 80 and in town to see goals scored it was a frustrating afternoon. In front of the press box there was a desultory outbreak of Hill 16, La La La when Longford made a gift of a goal to Mark Vaughan but it was half-hearted and strangely cognisant of the fact Dublin were unlikely to be getting any more gifts like that this summer.

Generally the most enthusiastic imprecation to be heard from the terrace was the anguished cry of,"'Ah Jaysus, Dublin, come on".

Longford exposed so many problems for Dublin yesterday Arnotts must dread losing their sponsorship to the suppliers of the drawing boards to which Paul Caffrey and his selectors will be returning this week.

Vaughan, whose bleached but leonine mane makes him look ever more like a refugee from Adam And the Ants, symbolised the problem (though he was by no means one of the biggest problems). We still don't know whether Vaughan is exactly what Dublin need or exactly what Dublin don't need.

On a roll in the height of summer with the Dubs scoring goals and sucking the nourishment from the faithful on Hill 16 you can imagine Vaughan becoming a poster boy, an overnight sensation. Inside of him he seems to have pent up all that swagger and confidence and arrogance which might make Dublin different.

On days like yesterday, though, when he was clearly working hard and was clearly worth getting ball to, Dublin never seemed to know where to find him. He cropped up everywhere while the ball cropped up elsewhere. Sometimes forwards get days like that.

Yesterday Dublin had a day like that.

Dublin were poor yesterday which is forgiveable in June but they were poor in areas where they never expected to be poor. In the end Bryan Cullen was back playing a sweeper role in the half-back line while Barry Cahill was sitting on the bench with Mossy Quinn and most of the cohesive football had been played by Longford.

It's June, though, and every Sunday brings a complete reassessment of the football championship. Armagh trip up against Monaghan? Written off. Tyrone mugged by Derry? They're goners. Dublin scraping out of Longford with a two-point margin? Micko must be grinning to himself.

It's June and the hard days are yet to come. Everything is different when the summer is in full swing and the qualifiers don't look like a Grand National field anymore and there is a little discernible pattern to the championship.

Whoever wins the All-Ireland championship this year could end up playing a whole pile of games to do so. Nobody will remember or care about the bad day in June. One suspects managers are beginning to realise that.

Back in the '70s when the The Dub set off in happy caravan to exotic places like Dr Cullen Park in Carlow or to Portlaoise he confidently expected to see a spectacle redolent of ancient Rome. Local Christians devoured by visiting lions. Job done. Quick gargle. Home.

Back then Dublin teams seemed to reach a level of performance early in the year and be able to maintain it through the summer. Now everybody builds incrementally. Now the game is to play Deal Or No Deal all summer until it comes down to the last 10 minutes of a game played in September and who has enough to stay at the table.

This is a big, big year for The Dub. Eleven years since an All-Ireland is scarcely credible, the same gap which Heffo closed off when the team won in 1974.

The Dub is aware of the history, aware too that yesterday's performance either presages something very bad in the context of the Laois game or suggests that Dublin have their heads on other stuff later in the summer.

Yesterday was an inelegant bit of business, nothing life changing or life enhancing about it just the mildly pleasant feeling when three cherries arrive together on the slot machine when you pull the handle after putting in rather a lot of money.

Enough to encourage more play, enough to keep hope alive.

And The Dub is nothing if not hopeful. Back to the The Hill with us, hope in our hearts.