The story had its happy ending. How could it not? It was surely preordained, a narrative honed to perfection by a team of script writers to usher in a new age of football as entertainment content.
From the moment you disembarked the train in Manchester, the energy in the city centre was evident. Only one shirt number was worn: No.7. Only one name was being sung through the street.
The choruses of ‘Viva Ronaldo’ were breaking out on cue on station concourses, street corners and in pub garden like something out of a Walt Disney musical. It was like the old days, as though only one team mattered in Manchester.