In the square in the old part of St Etienne yesterday the sun was shining and the Dutch fans were having a big orange party. The big brass band pumped out the swing. They played La Bamba for the Mexicans. For the finish up the boys played Happy Days Are Here Again.

Two hours later the Dutch team were adding in the grace notes and the Mexicans were giving the oompah oompah bits. A game of much promise had survived an early Dutch goal and had grown into an epic, if not in terms of quality at least in terms of drama.

The Mexicans, unlikely as it seemed at the start of play, slipped across river and into the second round on the same amount of points as the sublime Dutch but an inferior goal difference.

The game had scarcely been born before the Dutch attempted to kill it off in grand style. Four minutes of play down and Wim Jonk, who already had a thundering shot saved by Jorge Campos, opted this time to string it through to Philip Cocu. Wonderful goal. Long Mexican faces.

The Mexicans had come to St Etienne presuming the need to win and win well. For a while they just wilted instead. The Dutch were as irresistible as the summer wind. They blew gently through spaces which the Mexicans never knew existed. Jonk in midfield was superb early on, working demonically. Edgar Davids beside him executed his business with less toil and a little more invention. The perfect midfield partner.

In the first half indeed Jonk and Cocu, the PSV players in the spine of the team, linked so well that Patrick Kluivert's troubles may be compounded when he finishes his current suspension and finds it hard to get back into the Dutch side.

The second goal came on 18 minutes as naturally as growth. Claudio Suarez and Joel Sanchez in the Mexican defence developed ulcers as Ronald de Boer swung towards them after a short free with the ball at his feet. He danced past them like a spirit then scored with the enthusiasm of a child cutting the ribbon on a present.

From Paris the news seeped through that the Belgians were winning against South Korea. More cold water on Mexico's ambition but against the longest of odds they kept plugging away, continued looking for the pass to Luis Hernandez which would set something up.

Early in the second half, Dennis Bergkamp teed up Cocu who grazed the bar with a shot. The incident had the alarming effect of a gunshot in a crowded bar. It didn't augur well for a quiet afternoon.

Suddenly the Koreans had equalised in Paris and the Mexicans were electrified by the news. They scored minutes later with a set-piece from an Alberto Garcia Aspe free kick being consummated by a looping header to the net by substitute Ricardo Pelaez.

One goal in it and things became frantic. The Dutch had come down a gear just as the Mexican's became transfused with energy.

Cuahutemoc Blanco put the ball in the Dutch net only to be ruled offside. Tempers frayed and Jesus Ramon Ramirez was dismissed for his part in the subsequent protests.

Mexicans with transistors welded to their ears were feeding the news from Paris across the fence into the pitch and for the final 20 minutes there was the eerie sensation of a crowd attending two games at once as the Dutch pondered the fate of their Lowlands neighbours and the Mexicans made plans to pay off South Korea's foreign debts.

The game spilled over into injury time. Ten crazy Mexicans, not content now to let the happenings in Paris determine their fate, poured forward in droves as the Dutch held their hands up in a gesture which said anything for a quiet life.

In the 49th minute of the second half Garcia Aspe looped a pass over the Dutch lines. Jaap Stam, in a piece of bungling which will make Manchester United fret about their £10 million, misread the trajectory entirely and failed to see Hernandez of the dazzling hair and teeth just behind him. The Mexican striker slid the ball home and the celebrations were suspended briefly to allow the referee restart the game and blow the final whistle. Quite took the breath away, it did.

So the Belgians, with three martial draws to their credit, go home. Lesson learned? It don't mean a thing if it ain't got that swing.