That was Holland. Coal black numbers on satsuma orange threads. The slender backs of their vivid shirts the last thing we saw as they left us, walking elegantly out the door.

Ronald de Boer shaking his head and stepping back to the microphone with an undertaker's face. His hesitant, shuffling penalty kick had finished the night, a slapdash punctuation mark ending something which aspired to poetry.

"It should have gone in. But penalties are a lottery. It is a very dreadful feeling. That's all I can say. We played less well than against Argentina. We did our best. We could have won. The dream is over. Thank you."

Guus Hiddink, all suit and moustache was down and out but proud.

"I'm happy at the performance of our team in this World Cup, happy with the performance of our team against one of the best teams in the world. I think we can't hide behind injuries.

"That would be cheap. I don't want to look for excuses. We must not search for excuses, life injuries or less rest."

And this is Brazil. Yellow daffodils dancing in Marseille.

De Boer's final adversary Taffarel, the tall Brazilian net-minder who stopped the last two Dutch kicks of the night, was speaking in tongues. His team had the force. He had God on his side. At least the hand of God. Sepp Blatter should act.

"The strength that this team has got from a tough match is important because we have another match to play.

"Two penalty saves? This wasn't me. This was God that has been helping me. He saved them. I am very happy to say to Brazil to enjoy this. Brazil deserves a moment of joy. The country can be very proud of the team. We are ready for the final now."

Rivaldo, who has overshadowed more expensive, more bucktoothed Brazilians all tournament, was exultant after a night of bump and grind, hustle and bustle.

"It was a very hard match. But we were confident throughout that we would reach the final," he said. "There were times when we were afraid and Holland were afraid also. That's why the match went to penalties."

This was a Brazilian team which defied its own maker, a Brazilian team chemically altered by the industrial strength conservatism of Mario Zagallo, moulded into 4-42 by the man who said over and over again that he would rather win an ugly game than win a beautiful one.

Last night bared the poverty of that philosophy, but Zagallo's Brazilian team knew it before he did. They sprung back into the shape nature had given them whenever the temperature rose. Soccer isn't a game where you can win ugly in the high places where the air is rare. Brazil defended badly and attacked beautifully and in the end for their sense of derring-do in extra time they merited their win.

The grandfather of the soccer nation Mario Zagallo came and spoke to us.

"During extra time we played on instinct, this was sudden death. Both teams played on instinct. It was balanced in extra time. Fortunately we repeated what happened in 1994 and won again.

"We have power, flair and tactics. It is for Brazil. At home people are celebrating. We have to wait to celebrate. We will only celebrate after the final."