Ghosts and shadows loomed large over the Luzhniki Stadium on Wednesday night, as Manchester United and Chelsea battered each other to a virtual standstill beneath torrential rain. By the time United emerged victorious after a penalty shoot out they never really looked like winning, the result almost seemed irrelevant. Even the united players seemed stunned by what had happened. If their last-gasp victory over Bayern Munich in the 1999 final in Barcelona had seemed thrilling, it was like a pub game compared to the intensity of the drama that unfolded in Moscow. More than two hours of compelling, often fractious action provided a fitting tribute to the memory of the Busby Babes, who's names had been invoked so often during the build up. By the time the game finished it was long past midnight local time, the clock having ticked around to mark George Best's 62nd birthday. No doubt the first soccer celebrity was smiling down in satisfaction, glass of whatever-they-serve-in-paradise in hand, as former team-mate Bobby Charlton led the winners up the steps to collect the grand old trophy on United's behalf for the third time. Chelsea hardly deserved defeat, having played a full part in this epic drama and coming within a whisker of victory before the shadow of past England penalty shoot out failures descended over, of all people, John Terry. It was Terry's miss at match point handed the initiative back to the Premiership champions, but in the end United's heart triumphed over the manufactured values of the Londoners, and everyone watching will have seen the spectre of Jose Mourinho stalking the box where Roman Abramovitch slumped as his broken team dragged their shattered dreams from the pitch, their losers medals hanging disconsolately around their necks like macabre nooses.

In truth it need never have been like that. After 45 minutes United could and should have been three up and - Istanbul miracles notwithstanding - out of sight. Completely in control throughout the first half, they spurned chance after chance through a lack of ruthlessness in front of goal and some stunning goalkeeping by the incomparable Cech. A double save after 34 minutes to deny first Tevez then the excellent Carrick restored much-needed heart to his side when all seemed lost, because at that stage United seemed unassailable. Rapid passing and movement between Scholes, Carrick, Rooney and Tevez had Chelsea floundering again and again, and Hargreaves - a surprise selection on the right, had acres of space to work in as Ashley Cole tried to press forward. Down the United left Ronaldo was giving Essien the hiding of his life. A second goal to add to Ronaldo's fine 26th minute header from Brown's whipped centre would probably have proved terminal. As it turned out, despite being a goal up after 45 minutes, United couldn't even maintain their superiority until half time. The most ardent Chelsea fan would probably decline to argue that they deserved their equalizer, and nobody could claim it was a thing of beauty. But when Frank Lampard took advantage of a double deflection and a slip by Van der Sar in the United area to hammer the ball past the Dutchman's groping arms it was the lifeline Chelsea, the match, and possibly the game of football itself needed.

At that moment, the smart money would have been on Chelsea to go on and win. It is their well-established modus operandi to soak up pressure, stay in touch, build the pressure gradually, then strike from a hard-won position of strength. Time and time again they've won games that seemed beyond them, and this bore all the signs of turning out the same way. Without ever achieving the same heights of sublime skill, in their dogged way Chelsea dominated the second half as thoroughly as United had the first. They also proved equally incapable of carving a decisive advantage from their superiority, hitting the woodwork twice through Drogba and Lampard but failing otherwise to draw a serious save from Van der Sar in normal time.

But normal time was just the prelude. The extra half hour began with United in the ascendancy, but Chelsea fought for every ball, driven on by the relentless Terry for whom lifting the trophy seemed to have become a personal mission. As time ticked away Ballack in particular grew in stature and appeared to hold the key that would unlock the United defence. He was involved in everything good that Chelsea created during extra time. At the other end Tevez worked tirelessly but without ever showing the quality of which he's capable, while Ronaldo and Rooney, who had played the first half entirely on their own terms, still threatened every time United went forward.

It was a moment of madness in the 24th minute of extra time that finally ended Chelsea's hopes, although they had to wait a little longer for the killing blow to be applied. A nothing incident near the corner flag between Tevez and Terry flared up when Ballack stupidly joined in, shoving the United striker. Within seconds the referee had lost control as players from both sides entered the fray. In the confusion it may have seemed harsh that referee Lubos Michel should single out Drogba, but he had no doubt what he had seen and TV replays backed him up with footage of the Ivorian raising his hand to slap Vidic in the face. It might not have been much of a slap: in rugby terms it was more of a fondle, but that's enough these days, and having seen it the referee had no option but to pull out the red card. Drogba, for all his talent, attracts little sympathy in these situations. You might even say this was an accident waiting to happen. For the neutral he's a frustrating player to watch. In exchange for the occasional flash of brilliance, he offers the full repertoire of theatrics: expansive gestures to express injured innocence or complaint, paranoiac mutterings of frustration, elaborate facial contortions; and of course the abject collapse for which he's internationally renowned. All of which counted for nothing last night: as he walked the long walk through the Moscow night the extravagantly talented, supremely athletic multi-millionaire looked like the loneliest man in the world: a victim of his own flawed character.
 
And that should have been that, but it wasn't. Not quite. The fight had all but gone out of Chelsea with Drogba's departure, but they still had John Terry, the man with Chelsea tattooed on his heart. Terry and Drogba are perhaps two faces of the team that Mourinho built: the Ivorian as pouting and persecuted as his former manager had become by the end, Terry embodying the pride and commitment of the early years of the Kings Road revolution when everything seemed possible. It fell to Terry to keep the dream alive almost single-handedly, exhorting his team to keep believing. And it was Terry who kept United at bay, denying Tevez a clean header in the last frantic moments as they surged forward looking for the winner. So it fell to Terry at the last to step up and secure the prize, Ronaldo having stuttered and allowed Cech to save while trying to be too clever with the fifth kick, United's third. Apparently invincible, the gladiator strode forward and placed the ball on the spot as the world held its breath. It was a sure thing, the glorious crowning moment of Terry's career. This one, no doubt, was for Jose.

After Terry had slipped on the greasy turf, falling gracelessly on his backside in the wretched mud as his shot clipped the outside of Van der Sar's left hand post, there was only ever going to be one winner. The question was, which Chelsea player would be the next - and last - to miss. Kalou held his nerve to level at 5-5 but, perhaps appropriately, it was the mercenary's mercenary Nicolas Anelka who placed his kick within easy reach of the Dutch 'keeper to send United into raptures as the disconsolate Terry wept in his manager's arms.