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Ruddy marvellous. And even if you hadn’t a flake of skin in the game, there’s a fair chance your watch starting beeping violently to let you know your resting heart rate had exited through the ceiling, the drama on show of the very, very splendid kind. Divine, even.
And while some of us managed to miss just about every significant moment on D-Day by flicking between Manchester City v Aston Villa and Liverpool v Wolves and Brentford v Leeds at entirely the wrong times, we still got the gist: D-Day was epic.
Even Roy Keane got a little bit excited about it all, although much of his joy was probably related to his Sky host David Jones never once asking him about the 20th anniversary of Saipan.
Indeed, the only time Roy looked a little grumpy all afternoon was when he had to stand on the pitch during Manchester City’s title-winning celebrations while, over his shoulder, City old-boy Micah Richards violently wiggled his buttocks in time to a tune blasting over the speakers. “This is torture,” Roy complained to David.
But he stuck with it, even shaking hands with Jack O’Grealish and congratulating him on his medal, perhaps, like Gary Neville up in the commentary box, reckoning City prevailing was considerably preferable to Liverpool moving three quarters the way towards a quadruple. A rock and the devil on one side, a hard place and the deep blue sea on the other.
Until Villa went 2-0 up, Sky’s decision to focus on a title ‘race’ that appeared to be done and dusted before a ball was kicked seemed like a very terrible one, especially when there was an enthralling ‘Battle To Avoid Playing In The European Conference League Next Season’, involving West Ham and Manchester United, going on.
But then Matty Cash scored, and as Gary Neville put it: “Oh.” And then Philippe Coutinho scored and Gary emitted one of those strangled high-pitched cries that he is renowned for, the title race very far from done, and certainly not dusted.
Micah was sporting new glasses for the day that was in it, ones that resembled goggles a welder might wear while, well, welding, and come half-time they had severely steamed up, City trailing by a goal and Micah’s nerves shredded.
“Is it time for calm heads,” David asked Roy. “No, I think it’s time for panic,” he said, that sense somewhat heightened when Villa went two up, Sky missing the moment because they were showing us Son Heung-Min grazing Norwich’s post.
After that, Sky, burnt by the experience, opted to focus largely on events in Manchester and Liverpool where something momentous was happening every 86 seconds, which meant that ‘The Battle To Avoid Playing In The European Conference League Next Season’ was ignored, and even now we don’t know who won/lost it.
But, with City two down, it was time to switch over to see if Liverpool could take the lead and put a hand and a half on the trophy, during which time City scored three goals in five minutes, during which time Jamie Carragher’s voice went from feverish soprano to gutted baritone.
By then, even though Liverpool fans are very hard to love, you’d almost have had sympathy for them, especially that bawling small boy in the Anfield stands who, because he’s only known Liverpool under Jürgen Klopp, probably regards winning the League Cup and FA Cup, losing the Premier League by a point and reaching the Champions League final as a calamity.
Back in Manchester, David reminded us that Phil Foden is not yet 22 and has already won four Premier League medals. And Micah reminded us that he’ll have Erling Haaland as a team-mate next season, at which point the buttock-wiggling started again.
Roy had the look of a man who wished he was back on an island in the western Pacific Ocean arguing about cones and bibs and the like. But when you come from two down to win the Premier League the very least you’re entitled to is some buttock-wiggling.