Who could accuse Pat Spillane of being a self-appointed expert? Certainly, he could never be accused of being a hurler on the ditch. With the bold Pat, what you see is what you get. No grey areas, just black and white. Which is why few television pundits, especially in the sporting field, tend to end up with as much egg on the face as the undisputed mischief maker of Montrose.

It happened again on Saturday afternoon. Some form of hocuspocus was performed across the city in Croke Park, where the only real explanation for what happened to the poor Dubs is that Kildare's players were treated to a half-time brew of witch's sago, made from frogspawn, followed by a second course of dawn-gathered toadstools on toast and a finishing touch of sloe jam with acorn bread and steaming hot dandelion coffee.

Spillane, meanwhile, had to settle for egg, more egg and, well, even more egg. All doused liberally on his face, we can only assume, in some sort of post-match ceremony with Michael Lyster as the chief druid and Colm O'Rourke as the guardian of all that is pure and sacred. You could almost hear that "neutral Kildareman" Seamus Aldridge in the background shouting, "and wash out his mouth with soap and water!"

For someone who had actually touted a Kildare win in the prematch build-up on RTE's The Sun- day Game - ahem, on Saturday - Spillane was in particularly moody form during the half-time discussion, or should that be sermon? It was quite obvious he had jumped out of the wrong side of the bed as he lashed Kildare's tactics, Kildare's players and even had the temerity to "beg to differ" with O'Rourke, seated beside him.

Lyster, also seated beside him, had opined at the end of the first-half of the Leinster football final replay that "some of the Kildare supporters arrived late for this match, (they) might also be going home early". But once Spillane got going, Michael could hardly get a word in edgeways.

How's this for some of Spillane's comments on Kildare?

"Good performance by Dublin, they're against a woeful and inept opposition, an inept opposition where a forward line, not one of them could manage to score from play . . . but, of course, what's new with Kildare forwards? A team who continue to short-pass the ball, who take eight passes to get to the 50 yard line, a team who overcarry the ball. Christ, they're a team who are so easy to defend against!"

Deep breath.

Lyster, loving it, stirs the pot.

"What is this about Kildare forwards . . . the sheep down in Connemara know this about them, passing tourists in Kildare can shout out the window at people, `you can't score'. Why is this?"

O'Rourke, the sensible one, gives a sensible answer about cutting your cloth to suit. "Kildare obviously don't have the type of players who can fit into those positions, who are able to go past their players and score."

All of which, on the evidence of the first half, seemed entirely correct.

But Spillane wasn't leaving it at that. On the substitution late on in the half of Karl O'Dwyer, the manager's son, and the imminent springing of Brian Murphy, another import, Pat wasn't convinced that they would make a toss of difference to the outcome.

"If Karl O'Dwyer was in Kerry he wouldn't be making the Kerry senior championship side, if Brian Murphy was in Cork, he wouldn't be making the Cork junior football side."

A few moments later, when a giggling Lyster confirmed that Murphy would be starting the second-half, Spillane rubbed it in. "The Cork junior footballers are safe!"

There was more. Even Ronan Quinn, the Kildare defender, failed to escape Spillane's tongue. "If I had Ronan Quinn marking me, I think that I'd beat him for pace . . . he's like a fish out of water at corner back. He's slow and ponderous at full back, he's even slower and more ponderous at corner back."

No one was safe from Spillane's vitriol and, to be fair, who would have given the Lilywhites a ghost of a chance at that juncture? Outplayed was an understatement. As match commentator Ger Canning had observed at the half-time whistle, "it's amazing that they're only six points behind".

Meanwhile, his side-kick, Tony Davis, had observed that Mick O'Dwyer would be telling a few home truths in the Kildare dressing-room. "But where does he start?" asked Tony.

Well, the truth of the matter is that he probably had the portable television set on . . . and simply used Mr Spillane's comments to stoke the fires. Strange thing was, that, after all his giving out about Kildare's players and the team, Spillane had observed as the cameras switched from studio back to the arena that Kildare were "well used to close battles, and you can't write them off", which is what he had spent most of the previous 10 minutes doing.

Stranger still, he was to be proved right. And faster than anyone could have expected. A Kildare team ridiculed for not scoring enough in championship matches grabbed two goals inside 90 seconds. "How can you talk logic and analyse a game when you're talking about Kildare," queried Davis.

"They're like a side that's got new batteries," remarked Canning.

"Dublin have been knocked down on the floor twice in two minutes . . . we'll see what they are made of now," added his co-commentator.

The answer, as all the armchair fans at home discovered, was that Dublin weren't made of anything stronger than paper as they folded and barely raised a flag (one, actually) in the entire second-half.

Lyster used a boxing analogy to describe Dublin's punch-drunk nature, describing them as the better boxers who had suffered not one but two sucker punches. "You can analyse the game until you get dizzy . . . but the two goals are the key," added Lyster.

O'Rourke observed that the first goal, from Dermot Earley, was actually worth more than its three points. "Dublin never recovered," he said.

The wicked smile was back on Spillane's face - although the egg was mysteriously missing - as he tongue-in-cheek informed us that he had predicted that Kildare wouldn't lie down.

A few minutes earlier, out by pitchside, Spillane's old mentor Micko told us that "this is a Kildare team that never know when to stop running . . . if the people of this country don't like the brand of football we play, then I'm sorry for them".

Later, Canning wondered would we be referring to it as the "90 seconds match" and Tony Davis showed his confused state by picking Dermot Earley as man-of-the-match, to much guffaws back in the studio, all of which showed that there is nothing you can take for granted in a Gaelic football match.

Me? I'll keep with the theory that some witch's concoction transformed them from mice into men. How else can you explain it? Bizarre. Sorry day to be a Dub. Pat wasn't the only one with egg on his face.