United Road Take Me Home

Well, what can you say? There are nights when all the rubbish that comes with being a United supporter can cause you to doubt whether it's worth the mither. You know the stuff; the inability to get through 90 minutes, regardless of the opposition, without singing about Liverpool; the generous way that the club rewards our loyalty by sticking another couple of quid on the ticket price; the fact that Kieran Richardson is still allowed in the ground, never mind onto the pitch.

And then there are nights like last night, when every flicker of irritation floats into the night sky and United carry you to a place, supporters of few other teams will ever be privileged to visit. At half-time you could have told me that the Glazers had decided on the spur of the moment to take another £46 from my bank and I wouldn't have cared a jot, such was the sublime nature of what was on show before us.

No one who wore red last night - well Richardson apart maybe - should not share in the deluge of praise. The Guardian gave Fletcher a stingy 7 out of 10 this morning, when it was quite clear that he was playing the game of his life and was worthy of a 10 at least. As for the like of Carrick and Ronaldo, we'd have to turn it up to 11 to rate their performances.

After the jitters of Pompey and a start in which Totti had tried a couple of speculative long-range efforts, clearly hoping that Van der Saar would parry them to a grateful Roma poacher, what happened next was simply beyond imagination. This was football with a tempo, a verve, a freewheeling brilliance that would surely obliterate any opposition.

And what next? The prospect of a United and Liverpool final is shimmering into view. Yes it's a bit ominous that Chelsea are out '99ing by chasing on four fronts and plucking late winners out of nowhere on a weekly basis, but when it counts, I fancy Benitez to outwit Mourinho. Which means that truncheon manufacturers will need to go into overdrive to meet the demand a United/Liverpool final will involve.

But we'll worry about that another time. Today's all about shutting your eyes and seeing those glorious, dream-like sweeps upfield again. Ben Foster-less Watford, you're next.