Champion

As I wrote here, "one more game to make it a great" season.

Make that a champion season, as they say where I grew up.

Here are Derek, Matthew, Aled, Matty & I waiting for the Champions League final to start tonight. All United fans. The invitation to the Vicarage only went out to United fans - no Chelsea followers welcome here this evening, though clearly they were in our prayers: for defeat and consolation following defeat. You see, it's both judgement and compassion we see in action.

I felt confident United would do it. 2-1 in ordinary time. Wrong.

And as we hit the end of extra time, with penalties looming, I felt very bad. We all did. Chelsea have an inevitable machine-like quality to them - and a far better goalkeeper.

Cut to our celebrations on winning 6-5 after the shoot-out was done. Ronaldo, our 42 goal superhero (yes, another wonder goal in the first half) missed his penalty, but Edwin Van Der Saar, our weak link, saved the final Chelsea spot kick and won the Cup for us.

How glorious that it was one of our least likely heroes that won the day. How salutary. How perfect.

How perfect. Being a football fan is for moments like these - whether it is the MK Dons you follow, and promotion up to League One provides it, or Fulham and escape from relegation does it, the emotional release that comes from the victory of your tribe is a primal human joy. Probably fundamentally a male joy, to stereotype.

Losing is unbearable. Tomorrow I will give my Chelsea friends a thought. But tonight the joy is too much: the TV in the background is proclaiming it loud and clear.

And I feel champion.