There is no argument now, no tormenting itch to scratch, no void to fill on his CV. Sir Alex Ferguson has his second European Cup and with it the validation of his greatness that he has so craved. He loves to pick an argument but, if the subject is his European record, he can forever stick up two fingers — one for each Champions League triumph.

Perhaps it did not come quite the way that he had hoped. He had promised that his team would play the game the Manchester United way — passing, movement, flair. It is the greatest legacy of Sir Matt Busby, a belief in football as a means of lifting the spirits. Giving the working man something to look forward to at the end of a hard week, as Sir Bobby Charlton once summed up the ethos.

"I was prepared to risk and if you risk in a game of football you deserve to succeed,” Ferguson had said in the immediate and joyous aftermath of the 1999 Champions League triumph at the Nou Camp. And, while the players had changed, last night he set out to recapture the spirit.

It is an approach that tends to make it an unbearably nervous ride for everyone associated with the club, not least the supporters, and so it proved again last night as United veered more erratically than ever between triumph and disaster here at the Luzhniki Stadium. They toyed with calamity even when it came to penalties.

They could have been three goals to the good before Chelsea had even had a meaningful shot. But the flair tends to come, in this Ferguson creation at least, with a distinct lack of control, an absence of authority against the very best opponents. A central midfield pairing of Paul Scholes and Michael Carrick was always going to be vulnerable to Chelsea’s bludgeoning power-play and, having failed to capitalise on that opening burst, the blue juggernaut began to gather ominous — at times, one thought, surely unstoppable — speed.

Ferguson had taken a risk with his team in stretching them out in a 4-4-2 formation, with Owen Hargreaves playing as an orthodox right winger, and the strengths and obvious fragility went hand-in-hand. “Attack, attack, attack,” the United fans exhorted as Scholes and Carrick were overrun, Cristiano Ronaldo subdued and their team forced back in the second half.

Until he sent on Ryan Giggs in the 87th minute, Ferguson had seemed strangely reluctant to intervene to help out his tiring, toiling side. Perhaps he was still dreaming of what might have been in the first 35 minutes when it all worked like a dream. Ronaldo was destroying Michael Essien — a makeshift right back at a club who have now spent almost £40 million unsuccessfully trying to fill that position — and not only when he rose to head United into the lead.

It could have been game over when the modern-day Holy Trinity combined, Wayne Rooney booming a 60-yard pass into the path of Ronaldo, who cut the ball back to Carlos Tévez. The Argentinian headed against Petr Cech’s legs when he should really have applied the coup de grâce.

This was what Ferguson had promised and it was the reason why so many, even in the press corps, including plenty he regards as enemies, were wishing him well — even those he has bullied, intimidated and pinned against the wall. Perhaps even the Spanish journalist who had asked a perfectly fair question about Ronaldo’s future in the pre-match press conference only to be dismissed as an idiot.

All the truest footballing instincts had not done Ferguson much good when it came to winning European Cups, mind you. “There is a weakness in the European trophies we’ve won and I hope we can make that better,” he had said with some understatement. “Winning is important, but skill is what we do,” was another marvellous quote from the man.

But United fans craved both. They, understandably, regarded one European Cup final every decade as underachievement. The crowing from Anfield, as Liverpool have amassed five European Cup victories, had hardly helped. Defeat last night would have felt like being within touching distance of the summit of Everest only to be kicked off the peak.

United may be a young team, with a lot of improving to do, but that was going to be little consolation for Ferguson, particularly at 66, if his players had not seized this opportunity. And then this mighty tug of war went to penalties.

Careers and reputations had not quite boiled down to a 12-yard lottery but could anyone imagine Avram Grant being back in this position, one kick away from the European Cup? Ferguson, more than anyone, knows just how rare these occasions can be.

That must have been his great fear when Ronaldo’s penalty was saved, but there was to be an extraordinary reprieve when John Terry’s left foot slipped. United had not won in 90 minutes but, when it comes to European Cup finals, they never do. They love to inflict torture on their fans, but it all adds to the richness of the story — one that comes with a happy ending for Ferguson now that he has his second European Cup. Knowing the man, he will wake up this morning and start dreaming of a third.