A game that yearned to be a classic never quite bloomed as such. Clare and Tipp hurled with an intensity that is customary for them now but it was a day for destructive genius, an afternoon when much of the best hurling was done by two full backs. In the final reckoning it was agreed that Clare's missed chances had handed Tipperary a merited one-point win.

Blame couldn't be established any further than that. It would be cruel to accuse anyone of being prodigal. Chances were missed but it was a day when the best and most passionate hurling was played by defenders. The beauty of the game isn't diminished by that.

For Tipperary it is a time for looking forward rather than a time for uncorking a celebration. The days when they could sit and savour landmark victories over their gnarled old neighbours are long gone and in the aftermath the talk was all of the Munster final and what Waterford and Limerick would have made of all this.

In the Clare dressing groom nobody knew if yesterday's bow was an introduction, a farewell or a bit of both. For hurling's sake the hope must be that this rivalry doesn't recede. Cork was a carnival town yesterday and when the most anticipated game of the season unfolded, there was never a moment when it was possible to slip a cigarette paper between the two sides.

Seanie MacMahon granted Clare the lead in the opening minute, Eoin Kelly replied and from there it went, hard serious hurling to the death. Hurling offers too few good days to be without these meetings. It was an afternoon of seething adrenalin. The appetite was whetted as soon as the teams burst onto the field and Barry Murphy jumped clear over one of the steel barriers protecting the tunnel. Straight off Gerry Quinn and Mark O'Leary were giving each other timber, to the extent that when they were booked after just over a minute of play, it was like a lull in an age-old feud.

There were moments when Tipperary's kids just had to earn the right to play. And they did. Take Eoin Kelly. He caught a ball after 14 minutes and bounced off Seanie MacMahon like a lamb who'd been hit by a Range Rover. He reeled straight into the path of Colin Lynch - a misfortune worse than being struck by lightning. Remarkably, he still had the ball and the wit to place it wide to the corner. If they ever wondered on the Tipp bench if Kelly had the right stuff, they found out then.

The sides got to the half-time break tied on seven points apiece. It was a day when Clare's big men were contributing big games. The Lohans, Seanie MacMahon, Baker and Lynch and inevitably, Jamesie O'Connor were keeping Clare at the table. Then, early in the second half, Nicky English threw in John Leahy with the swagger of a man laying down his fourth ace in a late night game of poker.

The Park erupted. Brian Lohan took a deep breath and smiled thinly. Next thing: First ball lands in Leahy's vicinity, finds his hand, he sticks his head down and bulls for the goal, there is a meeting of bodies, hurleys everywhere, Guernica, the sliotar escapes like a rodent fleeing crazed cats and first out after it is Brian Lohan, red helmet glinting in the sun.

This will be the game.

And then in keeping with the character of the whole thing this sub-plot died. Leahy fell badly on his knee, writhed in agony and was carted off with suspected cruciate trouble. Eugene O'Neill arrived but, despite the name, his entrance lacked the theatricality of that performed by his predecessor.

After that it was toe-to-toe slugging. Clare made a few wild swings which caught nothing. Tipp were a little more economical. The music stopped and Nicky English welcomed that shrill like a death-row reprieve.

"I was just delighted to hear the final whistle to be honest with you," he said. "I couldn't take another day of that.

"Trying to decide whether to make a change or what to do in the context of a game like that, it's unreal. Having said that, Clare missed some very easy chances."

Tipperary now await the outcome of next Sunday's Limerick and Waterford semi-final.