But every true Red knows the importance of sweeping aside Real Madrid, and bloodying the nose of the popinjays down the East Lancs Road, not least when they stand poised on the edge of an achievement which was even beyond us in our heyday.

This reaffirmation of our place in the natural order of things, a reminder that our heritage will always provide a spur to produce remarkable results, is a source of joy and pride to everyone who feels Red blood course through their veins.

We may ultimately end up disappointed at the end of the season, but I for one will never forget the last week as one of the most enjoyable of my 45-odd years watching the Reds; it was that good.

It might have to sustain us in the coming weeks; but Kelly will just have to see to her own bra strap – I’m going the match.

A RARE word of praise for the stewards and police manning the front-line between Reds’ fans and our mortal enemies on Saturday.

It’s fair to say that my brother and I, when finding ourselves seated just feet away from our Mancunian brethren, felt more than a little trepidation that we could find ourselves caught up in, or even the subject of, some questionable crowd control tactics should things turn disagreeable.

I’m delighted to report that the stewarding was remarkably even-handed, with those fans exceeding the boundaries of normal taunting swiftly dealt with regardless of their allegiance.

One fan in front of me drew a senior steward’s attention to an offensive banner hanging from the upper tier of the Stretford End; within minutes, it was removed. Impressive stuff, displaying a sensitivity and honesty that their team manager would have done well to have copied after the game.