The half-baked idea of taking English football to the world might be dead in the water, but nobody says that global football should not be played here in this country. Yesterday Old Trafford might well have been Mars, where even Fifa has no dominion, but where there would surely be an audience for the talents that Manchester United possess even in reserve.

This, on paper, was the FA Cup, a fifth-round tie between two of the world’s most wealthy clubs, featuring so many imported talents that Englishmen still barely have a shout. Both Sir Alex Ferguson and Arsène Wenger showed their priorities lie in Europe; both left key figures on the bench or not even in the match pool and yet we were still sure to be entertained. For if there were five Englishmen on the pitch, there were also three Brazilians.

This is what is becoming of the global game right here where our fans can see it, and from where there is no problem whatever for television to relay it live to 200 countries in an instant.

On the strength of the first half, United have spectacularly the bigger playing squad. Arsenal may lead the Premier League by five points and deserve all our gratitude for the sumptuous manner in which Wenger’s football is played, no matter how many times he must rebuild his team. But United had them for breakfast yesterday.

What a pleasure it is, and how pleasurable it must appear to Fabio Capello, to record that an Englishman was the star of United’s domination. We knew Wayne Rooney was a fighting bull, but some of us doubted at Wembley just 10 days ago that he could play the lone centre-forward’s role. For England, ill-served, he couldn’t. For United, brilliantly served by two young imported comrades, he proved that even against Kolo Toure and William Gallas, he has the energy, the desire, the impudence and the movement to run them to oblivion.

So the home-grown talent from Croxteth in Liverpool was in his element, playing to reach another cup final. But, forgive me, it was a Portuguese winger, and a Brazilian teenager in mid-field, who shaped the victory and who constantly fed Rooney or helped themselves. To my eye, and what is more important to Alex Ferguson’s, Anderson is a teenager beyond his years.

He was born in Porto Alegre, famous for its Brazilian sons. But at five years of age they knew this one was special, and though it was Porto that took him to Europe first, it was the swoop of the summer last year when Ferguson, of course aided and prompted by his assistant Carlos Queiroz, who decided Anderson and the Cape Verde-born Portuguese winger Nani were United prospects they must buy.

Right from the kick-off last night, Anderson was a spellbinding mixture of apparently languid grace, eminent power and a football brain operating yards quicker than even the assorted company of multi-mil-lionaire performers. He was involved in each of the first three goals, but much more beside.

We saw him only moments into the game deftly roll the ball away from, of all people, Cesc Fabregas, and in the blink of an eye, stroke it for Rooney to chase. Jens Lehmann won that race, but minutes later Anderson was shrugging aside Gilberto, who has been his captain at full national team level.

But Anderson came out of Portugal together with Nani. They were a pair, and Ferguson thought this would be a season to bed them in slowly, to let them occasionally get the pace and feel of England’s ferocious Premier League football. Now he can’t leave Anderson out, and yet not even the master knows where Anderson is best suited. He can play the holding role, but United have plenty of strength there. He can play left-wing, but again with Nani able to step up to the fray when Cristiano Ronaldo is resting, there is cover on the flank too.

So yesterday Anderson either was given, or took, a free role. He exercised himself right across the pitch, usually looking for Nani, directing the ball with either foot, holding off Arsenal’s challenges, and then deciding whether Nani or Rooney were in the better position to receive his passes. It may be heresy around Manchester to suggest it, but Paul Scholes, approaching 500 games in the red shirt, and 500 of immaculate creation, could soon find his position most under threat by the emergence of the young Brazilian.

Nobody, of course, would suggest that Ronaldo is remotely threatened, and yet Nani yesterday made light of the absence of the phenomenon. He may not have the full turbo-boost of acceleration that comes so easily to Cristiano, but he has guile, he has fancy footwork, and both in scoring and in awareness of when to place the ball on the head of others, he was exquisite.

His goal, when he stretched to reach the ball on the right foot, and on the turn struck it below the left-hand of Lehmann with his own left foot, was simply wonderful. Nani ultimately incensed Arsenal with his teasing and his showboating. However, it was strange that Wenger turned that into the excuse for three of his players, Hoyte, Eboue and Gallas for disgracefully kicking him.

The other French gripe? “The groundsmen were at the level of our team today,” said Wenger. “It was a disgrace to ask players worth £20m or £25m to play on a pitch like that.” One or two of the United boys did okay on it. You could indeed go to the red planet and not see better.