A worthwhile ruination of European football

I've always loved the dynamics of European football; the way a two-leg tie can swing back and forth, the sub-plots and mental battle produced by the away goal rule and the fact a single goal can turn a game on its head make it one of the most dramatic footballing stages on the planet and as a rule I enjoy watching it.

Last night, however, that all changed.

I was as ecstatic with the result as the rest of us but the 94-minute period leading up to the final whistle was probably the most tense, nailbiting football experience of my entire life.

As a neutral, you can sit back and thrive on the tension and take in the various subplots and tactical battles but being a supporter of a team involved makes the whole thing a different prospect.

Yesterday I found myself totally immersed in every pass, every tackle, every touch. Time slowed to a crawl as I watched the clock tick over in earnest, breathing a sigh of relief every time the ball went out of play.

It made no difference to me that Milan subdued our attacking game, it made no difference where the ball was on the pitch, my only hope was that we would get it back. "Keep it" and "think", I continually mumbled out loud, greeting every misplaced pass or loose touch with "Arrrgh" and "Nnnnr" noises.

Only at half-time, stepping back from the precipice and seeing some of the highlights could I make any sense of this alien way that our team were playing - gradually it began to fit into place.

By the time my dad rang claiming, "They're all over us, we're being torn apart, how it's still 0-0 I have no idea", I had just about come to terms with what was going on and looked to reassure him.

"We've got a one-goal lead, Dad, we can't go steaming in or we'll lose it in a flash. This Milan side are much better than they were at the San Siro, they're fast, fluid and dangerous but we're keeping them at arm's length.

(Obviously, I'm elaborating slightly, I don't actually speak like this, especially to my dad, but the ideas were the same)

"Look at how well we've kept our shape, we've been rigid and except a few wobbles, we've been tough to break down, it doesn't matter that we're not attacking, it's 0-0 and we're half way there."

The second half was much of the same, Spurs were a bit more sprightly going forward, we had a bit of confidence but could we really see this out? An actual nil-nil? Surely not.

The build up had been all about Gareth Bale. Given the column inches devoted to his possible fitness, you'd be forgiven for thinking the whole Spurs squad had been massaging and pampering the Welsh whizzard to get him into shape, escorting him down steps and up kerbs to protect him, maybe even feeding him grapes and reading him bedtime stories.

And that was fine, while the circus deflected Milan's attention towards Gareth Bale, Redknapp must have been working on defending as a unit. The two banks of four in our 4-4-1-1 formation seldom wavered and Sandro further cemented his starting place with an assured performance.

The Brazilian is rapidly becoming our very own Thames Barrier and broke down wave after wave of Milan attack, winning the ball in key positions and putting us on the front foot as he broke out of defence.

Only in the 87th minute did I seriously start to entertain the thought that, "Hang on, we might actually do this," And, from that moment, it was back to clock-watching and nailbiting.

I'm now left with no fingernails, sore fingers from where I ran out of nails, and my innocent enjoyment of European football has been well and truly ruined - but I still can't wait to go through it all again next month!