Like any sensible person, I shall be supporting Barcelona this evening, even if that does also require one to endorse the insufferable Thierry Henry. Nonetheless, give me wee Lionel Messi over Christiano Ronaldo any and every day. Alas, I fear the worst and suspect that Manchester United will prevail and that they may do so more comfortably than might be expected.
Not that I have too much against United, even if Sir Alex Ferguson did once, inexplicably, scoff at my suggestion* that he could
Anyway, consider this an open thread or whatnot for your theories on the final.
*Made, if mermory serves, in Eamonn Doran's nightclub in Dublin, circa 1996. This was an evening that culminated with the discovery of George Foulkes slumped unconscious in the cloakroom. In fact, the noble lord (as he is now) had made a kind of nest for himself, using punters' jackets to cushion his comfortably-sized frame and, once awoken, needed a pair of helpers to guide him back to his hotel. Mr Foulkes had been addressing the Dubin University Soccer Appreciation Society and refreshments had been served. Before retiring to the cloakroom he had been in fine voice, belting out the Hearts song while lurching across the dance floor to the bemusement and, it must be said, amusement of all present. Unlike some of the society's guests, however, Mr Foulkes did not sleep with any of the members.