In one of the many hagiographies written about U2 in Dublin over the last week there was this gem: "This is not a stage, it is an altar. These are not songs, these are prayers."
These were Bono's words and no one was going to disabuse him of the notion that he was Rock God, especially not an 80,000-strong home crowd buoyed up by a sea of alcohol and an unexpected Irish victory over Holland in the World Cup qualifiers.
To the romantic backdrop of Slane Castle and enveloped by the atmosphere of a love-in, U2 could have said and done anything as they took to the stage for the final gig of their European tour.
Backstage though, it was evident there was another mantra at play. Hordes of helicopters queued to decant the wealthy corporate guests from Dublin, 50 miles away.
And stretching out along the river Boyne was a half mile of marquees, erected to entertain the families and hundreds of crew members who put on the show.
It may be rock 'n' roll, but it's also a damn good business. At £40 a head, the promoters pulled in just over £3m in an afternoon. And £3m the Saturday before, in the first "homecoming" concert.
But hand it to him, Bono was the first to admit it. While he spent other gigs in the UK urging fans to take to the streets in acts of civil disobedience, this time he had other things on his mind.
Poignantly, he thanked his father, who he had buried only a week before, for the first £500 he had handed over to help the band on the road more than 20 years ago.
ÒI asked my father for £500. The Edge asked his father for £500. Larry asked his Dad and Adam asked his mother for £500. But we didnÕt choose to stay in London or in New York when we made it. We came back to Dublin. This is our city and you are our tribe."
And he went on to thank the crowd for the £500 they, too, had parted with over the years on albums, gigs and merchandising.
"I want to thank you for queuing in the rain. Thank you for your cash," he roared, as he strutted down the heart-shaped ramp into the delirious hordes. "You have given us a great life."
Well at least he was honest - even if that too was part of the hype.
In the final stage of the European leg of the Elevation tour, it is not only the spectacular props that have disappeared. Maybe it was the bullshit-lite U2 or the emotional charge of songs such as Kite and In a Little which attracted one 41-year-old fan who had flown from New York to see the band for the second week running.
A well-heeled executive, she had barely known U2 in the 80s or 90s, but is by now so absorbed that she even had the heart-suitcase logo of the latest album tattooed on her forearm.
From the U2-owned Clarence Hotel, to the VIP area behind which the corporate friends and family troughed, she was getting nearer to her God every minute.
By the end of the night she knew enough people to get a head start out of the car-park. As we inched our way through the VIP fields with the rest of Ireland's media and "professional guests" we hit a wall - an aggressive Merc driver who wasn't going to let as much as a ray of moonlight between bumpers.
But our New Yorker was at hand. She rolled down the window and she hollered. "Hi, Martin!". Who was that?
"Aw," she drawled, sounding, as she did like Mary Tyler-Moore, "that's Bono's physio." Later, it was phone calls from the backseat to Justin. Who? "Aw, that's the concert promoter." Was there anyone she hadn't met in the corporate trough? Bono's wig-maker maybe.
And then there were the celebrities - John Hurt, John Hume, John Rocha, Ronan Keating, Elvis Costello and Baz Lurmann and Bob Geldof. Bob the builder could have been there too but no-one would have noticed.
But the love-in was tarnished by geography - 30,000 cars bumper to bumper on the road to Dublin transformed 50-minute journeys into four hours of frustration.
Many, even those on the crew, didn't get back to Dublin until 3am. Not too late for the private party at the Clarence - and in the carnival atmosphere of early morning Dublin there were no shortage of parties. Nevertheless far too late to see Roy Keane and the victorious Irish football team in the karaoke bar atop a Dublin club.
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