The Osterley Times: Moscow Turns a Deeper Shade of Red.

There will be no politics today as I am too ridiculously contented with myself.

Manchester United last night won the Champions League (which I still refer to as The European Cup) in a game which literally went down to the last kick of the ball.

As an advert for all that is good about British football this was hard to beat. Man United opened by utterly dominating Chelsea in midfield with Ronaldo and Paul Scholes in magnificent form. Ronaldo answered his critics who say he is invisible in big games by producing some outstanding football, capped in the 28th minute by heading in the goal which separated the two teams - his 42nd of the season.

Tevez then had two chances to kill off the game, neither of which he took, establishing the theme of the night in what was to become an evening of lost chances. United's utter domination could not last and when a series of awkward bounces, which owed more to fortune than to skill, landed the ball in front of Lampard it was inevitable that he would score. Of course, just to highlight the amount of luck involved, the Man United goalkeeper Van der Sar slipped on the wet ground to ensure that Lampard faced an almost undefended net.

Man United should have been three up at half time but, as they retired, it was obvious they were going to have to start all over again.

To be fair this only served to energise Chelsea and Man United spent a lot of the second half deep in their own half defending. Both Lampard and Drogba hit the woodwork and there was the distinct feeling that we were hanging on with our fingertips.

Towards the end of extra time, with the dreaded penalties looming, Drogba, in an act of madness that perfectly illustrated the arrogance which permeates every inch of both him and his playing style, slapped Vidic in the face inches in front of the referee and was instantly given a red card. With only four minutes remaining it seemed impossible for United to use this to any really useful advantage.

However, it was to have a remarkable impact on the result. As it became inevitable that only penalties would separate these two teams, all was going to plan - with both teams scoring every time - until Christiano Ronaldo, the greatest footballer in the world, missed; and it fell to Mr Chelsea, John Terry, to score from the spot and take the trophy back to London. This task, the taking of the next penalty, would normally have been the job of Drogba who was now enjoying an early bath.

As John Terry ran towards the spot there wasn't a person in the country who didn't think the trophy was heading to Stamford Bridge. However, fate cruelly intervened, causing him to slip on the wet grass, and put the ball against the post.

When Ryan Giggs stepped up to take his there was simply no doubt that he would score, especially on the night when he had just overtaken Sir Bobby Charlton as the person who had played more games for Manchester United than any other. True to form, Giggs buried it and it fell to Anelka to take the last for Chelsea. He walked as if walking towards a hangman and when Van der Sar saved it the place went wild and Manchester United had for the third time in their history won the European Cup.

There has been much written today that I agree with, but as always James Lawton in The Independent captures the sentiment of what we had witnessed rather than the tactics which got Man United there.

Wonderful for Sir Alex Ferguson, delivering, quite astonishingly Manchester United's third European Cup 50 years after the Munich air tragedy and scarcely a minute after his world seemed to be in ruins and with it so many others', young and old, who have made this club the most romantic football has ever seen.

Oliver Holt at The Mirror also summed up nicely the poetry behind Manchester United winning the European Cup on the fiftieth anniversary of the Munich air disaster which wiped out The Busby Babes:

Now he (Ferguson) has kept his promise to the men of Munich that he would not let them down 50 years after the air disaster that claimed the lives of so many of the Busby Babes.

That sentiment and the fact that Ferguson has always produced teams that thrill the soul made it feel as though United's victory in this enthralling match was a victory for the spirit of the game.

A victory for a club that has stayed loyal to a manager. And a manager that has stayed loyal to a club.

A victory for football's last dictator and for the principle that a manager decides. A victory for playing football the right way.

For trying to win a match. Rather than trying not to lose one.

But however lavish the tributes to Ferguson this morning, the most sumptuous tribute of all was the one provided by his players during the match.

Some of the football they played on an occasion which often stifles creativity and expression was breathtakingly beautiful.

I think Lawson is correct when he says that Manchester United are the most romantic team football has ever produced. It was hard not to feel emotional when watching Sir Bobby Charlton, one of the surviving Busby Babes, lead this young team to collect their trophy. And to see him refuse to wear his medal out of respect for the friends he lost on that fateful night fifty years ago. To see Paul Scholes, so cruelly denied a chance to play when United last won the trophy nine years ago, finally - in the last years of his career - achieve his childhood dream. To see Ronaldo miss the biggest penalty of his career and for it not to matter. To watch Ferguson, yet again, pull victory from the jaws of defeat. He has always insisted that his players play to the last second of every match and here, literally, victory came with the very last kick of the ball. In a game where, only seconds before, defeat had seemed inevitable.

Chelsea, like Bayern Munich nine years before them, must have felt that they had one hand on European football's most coveted trophy, only for a Ferguson built team to cruelly wrench it from their grasp. It was impossible not to feel sorry for the shattered John Terry, and not to be reminded that the beautiful game can also be a very, very cruel one.

Here's the highlights: