Fergie’s chance to re-live his Euro vision

SQUEAKY-BUMMED terror, tearful total joy and sweat-stained relief: Tuesday night was what football emotion is all about.

At the end of the longest second half I think we have ever watched at Old Trafford — most of which featured our makeshift back four clinging bravely and brilliantly onto the edge of an abyss by its fingernails, as we gnawed ours down to the quick — I thought of a creaking old mate of my dad.

He’s attended every such Old Trafford semi-final since 1957’s first — and had left every single one of all nine disappointed. (United’s two previous finals, remember, were achieved via away-day miracles.)