TV VIEW:THERE WE were, thinking this was going to be the tamest of friendlies, divil a crunching tackle to behold, lots of cries of "no, no, after you", "how's the family?" and "will you room with me in South Africa?" Shane Byrne and Mick Galwey, though, tried to educate us on TV3's preview of Munster and Leinster's All-Ireland semi-final, suggesting that familiarity does not, after all, breed bonhomie – it breeds fire and brimstone.

Shane: “It’s because they’re your mates that you will kick the bloody head off each other.”

Mick: “Exactly.”

Shane: “You do not want to lose to your friends.”

Mick: “Exactly.”

That was us told. This, then, was going to be rugby’s version of The Wind that Shakes the Barley.

So, with that lesson learnt, we settled down for the game with some trepidation, our initial concern mainly for the well-being of Felipe Contepomi who, Sky Sport’s panel reckoned, would have done on to him by Munster what had been done on to him by the same lads three years before: ie, have his mind fiddled with.

Paul Wallace, in particular, feared for him. “If Felipe has a poor start today – and he doesn’t have the composure that Ronan O’Gara might have to pull himself out of it – he’ll be in a nose-dive and will go down quicker than the Belgrano,” he said.

It was one of those “tell me he didn’t say that, did he?” telly moments. Sky, strictly, should have banished Paul to a Total Exclusion Zone for the rest of the afternoon. Not that he’d be safe there, mind.

Anyway, off we went, Felipe flattening Ronan in an early “Gotcha” moment, which brought to mind Roy Keane, eh, testing Marc Overmars’ resolve in the opening seconds of that World Cup qualifier against the Netherlands a whole eight years ago. Ron Atkinson has a word for a challenge of that nature: a “reducer”. Although, in fairness to Felipe, it should be said, his challenge was legal.

Felipe, though, was reduced, himself, to the role of spectator soon after, having banjaxed his knee. But that, really, was where Leinster’s woes ended. And Munster’s began.

“Nothing good goes on forever,” as Sky’s Stuart Barnes – who proved he was practically a native by referring to the venue as “Croker” – put it when the camera focused on the faces of young Munster fans, so young defeat was as foreign a concept to them as, say, a world without Xboxes.

Leinster captain Leo Cullen dragged his aching body in to the tunnel for a post-triumph chat with Sky’s Mark Robson.

“Well, Leo,” said Mark, “we’ve heard for years all this nonsense about glittering city boys, you’re certainly not supposed to be the creatures from the swamp – what exactly was the game plan today? It looked to be built around ‘assassinate’.”

“Eh . . . yeah,” said Leo, who, understandably enough, appeared to be finding this contest trickier than the 80 minutes preceding it.

“No more ladyboys,” declared Tom McGurk on RTÉ later that night, which at first we took as a personal pledge from our presenter – when we really didn’t want to know – until we realised he was actually talking about Leinster.

Tom then encouraged Conor O’Shea to write Munster’s obituary – “this is an extraordinary result, it has changed everything!” – but Conor resisted, mindful of the fact that, despite the aging process, when Munster return they will, at Paul O’Connell’s signal, most probably unleash hell.

Loath to take the focus off Leinster’s distinguished day, Tom, reluctantly, turned his attention to that ugly moment.

“There’s one incident we have to deal with very quickly . . . Cullen didn’t seem to be hurt, it’s not up to us to call it, but we’ll show it any way,” he said.

“This is not an issue for us, it’s an issue for the citing referee,” said George Hook, who, let’s be honest about it, had never before stumbled upon a rugby issue that he was shy about commenting on.

A bit of auld displeasure wouldn’t have gone amiss, given the offence, after all, the cameras seemed to indicate, was so wretched it was the least it merited – whatever the citing officer decides.

The RTÉ panel has, quite rightly too, often scoffed at those moments when footballers – from the soccer code – somersault in agony after being chopped down by, well, fresh air.

But when a rugby man has his face momentarily rearranged and the victim or his team-mates/ coach brush it off as “one of these things that happen in the heat of battle”, they purr in manly admiration. No squealers in this sport! The latter, surely, is the more damaging deceit, especially for those having a think about which code they want their kiddies to join.

Cheating is less than pleasant, but this? That’s a whole new ball-game.

Even when the perpetrator is, uncomfortably, one of our own. It’d be nice if our commentators had the oval balls to call it for what it is.