THERE IS steam billowing from the shower room. The smack, smack of hands slapping shirtless backs. Some roaring. Meath are back on the road, just taking in their favourite bit of scenery. Dublin through the rear view mirror.

Trevor Giles is holding court. He's kind of distracted, kind of dazed. He shakes out his boot, looking for traces of clay perhaps. His missed penalty is the first evidence in over a year that Trevor might be, fallible.

"We were going great for a while and then they put us under so much pressure," he says shaking his head. He looks like a man who has just survived a bad accident. Looked around and noticed that all his friends have also survived. The only casualties are in the other vehicle.

"We didn't score for a half an hour I'd say in the second half. There was a little bit of a breeze but not that much. I don't know what to say. It's great to win it but we were very lucky."

It will be forgotten in the folklore of the game of course that Trevor Giles ever missed a penalty.

"I thought I hit it well. I couldn't believe it when it went wide, but what can you do?"

What can you do? Most of the reporters he was speaking to are of Dublin extraction, the last race on earth who would know the answer to that question.

It is put to Trevor that he missed a free soon after missing the penalty.

"It just doesn't happen sometimes. You do the same things but sometimes it just doesn't happen. Midfield were great today, defence were great today. Overall we were lucky."

When Dublin got their last minute penalty Trevor Giles reacted like a mere mortal. No shame.

"I just thought referee, replay, few more pounds to the GAA. I couldn't believe it. I was in there. I didn't block it with my foot. He said Darren Fay blocked it with his foot. I don't know, I couldn't see. He hit it well. I feel bad for him."

There is no doubt that Meath feel genuinely bad for Dublin. They know enough of each other to accommodate sympathy in their triumphs. Keith Barr enters the room to give his customarily gracious congratulations and they fall to respectful silence.

"I know you all," he tells the Meathmen, "and I wish you the best for the rest of the summer.

He leaves with the last applause of the day ringing in his ears. Sean Boylan takes up the theme of mutual' admiration.

"Their three half backs scored in the last few minutes of the first half and a midfielder too. That's how they come back at you. We were in big, big trouble. We were glad that halftime came and we got a chance to get our breath. That was a welcome break. There was nearly a cardiac unit needed."

In defeat or triumph Boylan is always a pleasure to speak with. The aftermath of last year's astonishing All Ireland win was fogged by bitterness and controversy. He looks like a man who is about to earn his overdue reward.

"It's such a very, very great and healthy rivalry," he says smiling. "It's a shame that either of us have to go out. That's championship. You get one chance, and if you are lucky and it goes your way you survive. We were very lucky today. We played some wonderful football early on. Then Dublin took over and they played wonderful football. At the end of the day we hung in there and eventually the break came for us.

He leans on the physio couch as about 10 journalists crowd around him. He holds his little son's hand, stroking the back of it absentmindedly. Sometimes you wonder why Sean Boylan keeps going on. Days like this you don't wonder.

"It's a question of fellas having faith in each other," he says "and believing in each other. That's what happens. The new lads, Donal and Nigel had great games.

He is gracious too about the penalty which might have granted Dublin salvation.

"I think it was definitely a foul for a foot in. It was definitely a penalty. I thought that at least with a bit of luck we'd have the chance to go a second time."

And the glory of the day fills him with enthusiasm for the game again. He recharges in front of our eyes.

"Lads, that was a classic game of Gaelic football. That game had" everything. Only the kick of a ball between us. Dublin will be back. We have to start the next day against a team that won with 13 men (Kildare). There's nothing between us".

That had everything. All we were short of today was Garth Brooks out there. And a recount."

Tommy Dowd's brow is still furrowed. His head is bent. Tommy doesn't look like a man who queues up for rollercoaster rides.

"It was shaping up like a draw for a while," he says. "I suppose it was justice that they got the chance of a penalty but I thought the decision itself was a little bit harsh. Maybe the ref was in a better position than I was.

The game had developed in the strangest fashion, starting without the fire and brimstone which normally marks the throwin but developing towards the traditional cliffhanging finale.

"We are normally slow starters," mused Tommy, "Dublin had their tails up after a while and we knew we'd have to go some. We got some great scores, then some of the best I have seen us get in a long time. That stood us well."

Any strange feelings in the pit of his stomach as the game lurched over the hill and into the final quarter?

"Well, I didn't feel we'd get beaten. It's very hard to kill Dublin off. They are a good team. We only scored three points in the second half. We were lucky that it was enough. I thought we'd hang in there."

Tommy is called away by RTE to address the nation. His teammates are slipping into the casual gear and hauling their kitbags over their shoulders. They make their way down the tunnel and left past the morgue that is the Dublin dressingroom.

Ten paces and out the doorway into the afternoon sunshine and the deafening cheers of their countyfolk.

Familiar steps, familiar sounds.