The curtain rose on a quilt of oddly matched greens, some of which we were told had been covered with paint by Moscow decorators, upon which scarlet-dressed dancers with stars on their heads were spiralling about like the Bolshoi Ballet dancers some of them apparently were. Was it an omen? As one commentator remarked, “red is the predominant colour around here”. He was referring to the centre of Moscow and to Russia’s Soviet era, but also to the team that was predominant throughout the first half.

The second half, though, was almost all Chelsea and increasingly exciting. One didn’t want the curtain to fall, but fall it had to, and fall it did after a second half of extra time when one could feel the cramp in the players’ legs — and then after one of those rumbles in which players surround the referee like a crazed Greek chorus pointlessly trying to get a god to change his mind. Off went Didier Drogba, Chelsea’s Achilles or Ajax, but too late to influence the course of extra time. And so to penalties, the miss by that great Agamemnon, John Terry — and, yes, red really was the colour.

Football at its best, and here it was often at its best, is a blend of chess, ballet and war. It was hard to discern the chess aspect, so frenetic was the pace. But ballet was represented by Ronaldo, with the lacquered hair and the step-overs that add to the impression of a puppet on speed. And war? Well, there were tussles everywhere. Patrice Evra had a go at Joe Cole and got away with it. Paul Scholes had another at Claude Makelele and got a bloody nose and a booking for his pains, as did Ricardo Cavalho for what looked to me as innocuous a tackle as you’ll find out of the nursery.

I had better admit that I’m not a wholly disinterested critic here. I’ve been following Chelsea for 30, 40 years and surely this would be our moment. And, yes, Frank Lampard scored thanks to some lucky ricochets. Drogba hit a post with a gorgeous shot and Lampard, less lucky this time, struck the bar. Petr Cech — in his orange fluorescent garb looking like a crazed traffic cone — saved first from Carlos Tévez and then, miraculously, from Michael Carrick. But it wasn’t to be for Chelsea — and I don’t think I’m alone in thinking penalties are a sorry way of settling a great contest.

There was banality, too, but mostly from the commentators — “they both know that a first goal may be the last”, “normally the side that dominates possession dominates the game”, etc etc. But even though the ending was tragic, at least for me, there were moments to remember. The delicate Ronaldo header for the first goal. Lampard looking to the sky and holding his hands aloft after his equaliser. He was clearly addressing his mother who died recently. Drama needs tension, needs conflict, and got it last night. But it also needs a little heart, a moment of pathos and poignancy — and it got it then.