Oh yes oh yes oh yes

Campioni, campioni!

For the first time in 21 years the mighty reds are champions of Europe. Gulp!.
And it was bloody Alavez all over again. More drama than you could shake a stick at.

In the UEFA cup final, myself and herself were in a far flung foreign sports bar. She was chatting to an elderly Indian gentleman who supported Crystal Palace (go figure, as our colonial cousins say). I was repeatedly falling to my knees and wailing. Not in the call to prayer, but as we seemed to find endless ways to avoid winning until the glorious foot of McAllister in the last minute of extra time.

For Man U vs Bayern we were in a wine bar in posh South Manchester, home to Roy Keane and the Neville Brothers (and my celebrity stalker Bryan Robson). As events unfolded the watching scum (and me a temporary one) got progressively more downbeat. Until Sheringham scored. The place went wild. And then just about calmed down again to watch the reply. Except it wasn't a replay it was Soljskaer. Cue bedlam.

This time, I was East of the Pennines watching in the pub across the road. Gulping Stella next to a wise guy pointing out how rubbish Harry Kewell was. Not that I needed to be told. Leeds fans. At half time I skulked out to nurse my grief and shame at home. One turkey sandwich later we start again, and then it happens. We started to dream.

The rest was just awful - and my heart attack is no doubt in the post - but it was obviously our night. Logic, physics and common sense were overruled by narritivium, which says the better story will happen and that million to one shots happen nine times out of ten (TM Terry Pratchett).

And there you have it. And we have it for keeps. And if only they kick Everton out to make way for us joy will be complete and unbounded.

Campioni, campioni...