The commentator was screaming his name, the crowd were chanting it and his Manchester United team-mates were joyously converging on him.

The only person in Old Trafford not obsessed with Wayne Rooney was Rooney himself — and at that moment just after 8.30 on Wednesday night, as Rooney, beaming, trotted gratefully to Nani, the personality that has carried him over the threshold of greatness was revealed.

It was a beautiful sight. Rooney cared only to thank his Portuguese team-mate for the pass, bent into his path with the outside of the right boot, that had been stroked into the AC Milan net for the second of four United goals. The Englishman has a rare and particular kind of ego and its crucial aspect is that it is always subject to the interests of the team. For football, at its highest levels, is a game of unselfishness.

We saw it in 1970 when Pelé took delight in rolling, for Carlos Alberto, the ball that launched the Brazil captain’s iconic goal. We saw it in 1986 when Diego Maradona, man-marked by the West Germans in another memorable World Cup final, concentrated on laying the stage for Jorge Valdano and Jorge Burruchaga, whose Maradona-prompted goals won it for Argentina. It is the quality of champions and Rooney — at this point every supporter of English football should pause for humble reflection — has got it.

Players destined to inhabit the next class down might point to the name on the back of their shirts. Rooney exposes that as naff. He is above clichés, at least in his behaviour. He is too intelligent to be swayed by passing clamours. When everyone was entreating him to be more selfish — with the notable exception of Sir Alex Ferguson, who appeared in two minds — he interpreted it as a stimulus to score more frequently for the team. The difference is not always understood in this strike-centric footballing culture.

The clamour before that concerned his temper problem. Twice it emerged when he was playing for England: when they lost to Northern Ireland in Belfast in 2005 and he swore at his captain, who happened to be David Beckham; and when he had to be pulled off the field during a defeat by Spain in Madrid the year before in case he was sent off. On each occasion, the profession chorused its customary bad advice. “Don’t lose that devil,” he was told. “It’s what makes you the player you are.”

That devil made the most recent of its now-rare appearances nearly a year ago, when Rooney was sent off at Craven Cottage for hurling the ball and departed punching a corner flag. He has learnt to channel his energy, as great players do. No devil eroded Pelé or Maradona (not on the field, anyway). England’s greats — Bobby Charlton, Bobby Moore — knew how to behave, too. And where was the devil in Tom Finney? You are more likely to find it in underachievers such as Paul Gascoigne.

Rooney has worked this out. He has transcended the hackneyed claptrap of his environment. He is a man of the world and to survey those pictures of him gazing at the 12 inches of solid gold that is the World Cup last week was almost to feel the excitement of what might begin to happen in South Africa in June. After the beauty of Glenn Hoddle, the brittle genius of Gazza and the glitter of Beckham, the real thing is on England’s side.

Even Spain, as they continue to give an impression of near-invincibility, will go to the tournament with a healthy respect for it. And if, for just a month, the rest of Fabio Capello’s players can be persuaded to forget about the names on the back of their shirts, a team in the admirable image of Rooney can make history.

High price of fame bugging the very best
It was no surprise to hear of Sir Alex Ferguson’s concern about espionage in the wake of the revelation that conversations in the England team hotel had been secretly recorded and offered for sale.

Not only do Manchester United routinely order sweeps of their dressing rooms; according to an entertaining book by Michael “Ned” Kelly, the club’s former security chief, Manchester United : The Untold Story, Ferguson became troubled in 1995 by suggestions that spies working on behalf of the press were taking an interest in his private and professional life.

Believing that his home as well as office might be bugged, he alerted Kelly, who called in an old Services chum and one evening, while the counter-surveillance expert was checking through Ferguson’s Cheshire house, hospitality was extended to Kelly by his wife, Cathy.

It struck Kelly, he wrote, as “surreal” to be sipping her tea “while an ex-SAS man was combing the rafters . . . Here was Cathy going about her normal household chores, unaware of what was really going on.”

The poignancy of the tale lingers as a reminder that, for all the riches and glory showered on the likes of Ferguson and Fabio Capello, they are liable to pay a price.

Blatter’s technology own goals
In setting out his opposition to “technology in football”, Sepp Blatter merely draws attention to the myopia of Fifa’s thinking. To take the president’s points one by one: “Men, women, children, amateurs and professionals all play the same game.” Yes, but with significant differences. The higher the level, for instance, the more likely you are to have refinements, such as goalposts and referees.

“No matter which technology is applied ... a decision will have to be taken by a human being.” Quite. So let humanity be as well informed as possible.

“Fans love to debate any given incident.” As above.

“Fifa’s goal is to improve the quality of refereeing.” So is ours.

“The application of modern technologies can be very costly.” Only if we are silly about it. The press have television monitors at every World Cup match. We could give one to the fourth official as well.

With due respect to Blatter’s conservatism, he appears to have listened to too many commercial presentations — and disturbingly little intelligent debate.

Not half the player he thinks he is
According to Shaun Wright-Phillips, there are players at Manchester City earning twice as much as he. It is no argument for the sharp increase he seeks in a £60,000-a-week wage because those players, if he is thinking of Carlos Tévez, Shay Given and Emmanuel Adebayor, are twice as good as he. More than twice as good. In some cases, a lot more. If Tévez, say, is worth £120,000 a week to City, what should our Shaun command? A tenth of that? A twentieth? Those who watch him regularly would be able to assess it best — except that he doesn’t play regularly. For City or England. He is already a very, very lucky boy.

Green and gold the way to go for Glazers
Memo to the Glazers: why not announce that, from next season, Manchester United’s colours will be green and gold? Then put the new strip in all official retail outlets. This will disarm the protesters and help to raise even more money towards your interest payments. PS: it’s a much nicer combination of colours than red and white anyway.