THERE IS NOTHING MORE I WOULD like to see tomorrow night than an Arsenal victory. Having experienced Liverpool last season in Istanbul and Middlesbrough last Wednesday night in Eindhoven, I can tell you very quickly which were the easiest post-match scenes to describe from a British broadcaster’s viewpoint. But even if Arsenal don’t pull it off, there is a subtle difference to this final. T hat difference is Ronaldinho.

He is a player who almost transcends national and club identity — there is no division in opinion on his talents. Quite simply he is the best and most exciting thing with a ponytail and two feet and, according to those who compile lists on these things, he is the richest and most marketable player in the world. So even if Barcelona do win the Champions League, it will also be a victory for Ronaldinho. Just saying his name makes you smile, so watching him perform should leave you feeling warm inside.

The maudlin post-match experience that was Middlesbrough’s defeat would not be so funereal in Arsenal’s case because it will undoubtedly have involved that man’s genius, and it is genius when you make brilliance look that easy. And if Arsenal do pull off a victory (after extra time and penalties, please), then it will surely only be a matter of weeks before we see the world player of the year dressed in gold and blue and raising a trophy a few hundred miles east of Paris.

I haven’t met a pundit, journalist, fan or player who can see beyond Brazil at the moment. When their seventh-choice striker scores a goal of the calibre that Fabiano opened the onslaught against Middlesbrough in Eindhoven, assisted by Daniel, another brilliant Brazilian, then you have confirmation that England are in trouble on the striking front.

When Barcelona played away to AC Milan in the semi-finals of the Champions League last month, we were moved out of the hotel we had stayed in for the Milan v Lyons match two weeks earlier and had to travel across town to a less lovely hotel. I was happy with the reason: Barcelona were staying in our old hotel and they needed our rooms.

A couple of journalists and broadcasters did manage to keep hold of theirs, one of whom was John Helm, the commentator. On the afternoon of the match, John decided to grab a bit of shuteye and nestled down for 40 winks. He was in that lovely zone in between deep sleep and wide awake when he was roused by a thud like noise every few minutes against the wall by his head. There was laughing and joking going on outside the room so he got up and poked his head outside of the door, ready no doubt to be a bit cross with whoever was disturbing his rest. In the corridor about four hours ahead of kick-off were Ronaldinho and his team-mate Ludovic Giuly volleying the ball back and forth to each other, heading the ball to various parts of the other’s anatomy and having about as much fun as schoolboys in the playground. John smiled and went back to bed. What else could he do? Confiscate the Fifa Player of the Year’s football?

Football is why Ronaldinho does this job, not fame, fortune or recognition, but playing the game he adores. He may be the greatest beneficiary of the multibillion-pound industry that this game has become, but the irony is he would do it for nothing, which means we love him even more.

When he went into the head offices of Nike one afternoon, as cheery as he always is, one of the guys in the office shouted over: “Ronaldinho you are always smiling, why are you so happy?”

“You think I have a choice with this many teeth,” he joked. It would be a lie to say that he is conventionally beautiful. He has a kind of comic-book appearance with the wide toothy mouth, the Eighties curls and the big eyes. He could have been Shaggy’s best mate in Scooby-Doo. Imagine him having mousey hair, a regular set of teeth and pale skin. It doesn’t work does it?

Of course, he is just the pinnacle of an apparently bottomless pit of brilliance. A few years ago Brazil were on a promotional tour of the UK with all of their top stars and they visited NikeTown in London. The company had shut the shop for the morning to allow them to have a free run of the store. It’s a massive theatre of sportswear in there, with escalators and a huge atrium, perfect for a bit of samba football. So as the players entered the megastore they picked up a ball from a basket and started knocking it about, as they went up the escalator, down the aisles, around the tills, the ball was kept in play and then another ball and another until pretty much the whole squad was playing along.

There wasn’t a camera running or a photographer in sight. If you are ever feeling that the game is a bit cynical with money the motivating factor think of that scene.

In a recent interview Ronaldinho was asked what he thought of the rumours that Thierry Henry would be leaving Arsenal to play for Barcelona. He smiled and said it would be brilliant to play with him — I believed him.

There is no point comparing Henry and Ronaldinho, they are different kinds of genie. Whether they could play in the same team is up to Frank Rijkaard, but tomorrow they are enemies not team-mates, if it’s possibly to be an enemy of Ronaldinho. It would be pointless, like hating water.

Undoubtedly Barcelona are the Goliath, but if Ronaldinho and his team-mates are to reach their zenith on Wednesday they are going to have to topple a perfectly positioned David. Barcelona may be travelling away to Paris but for Arsenal there is a sense of coming home. Henry was born in a suburb of Paris, he has won the World Cup in the city and now he is back for club football’s top prize along with his French manager.

There is a romance to this story almost too good to be true; the opposition could not be more difficult, the stars on show could not be burning brighter, Uefa must be rubbing its hands with delight.