UEFA CHAMPIONS LEAGUE FINAL/ Real Madrid 2; Bayer Leverkusen 1:Question. Put the world's greatest players together in one place and what do you get? No, not a Nike ad. Another European championship. Real Madrid, the Continent's most assiduous collectors of talent, claimed their ninth European crown last night in circumstances which were inevitable but not without excitement and beauty.
Hampden Park has long been a happy place for the regal Spaniards to come on May evenings, and they disported themselves last night with an air of entitlement which was unbroken by the best that the inventive Bayer Leverkusen could throw at them.
The ending was fraught and the journey to it flecked with moments of trouble, but Real got there in some style, and, on a night which demanded poetry, secured the trophy with a goal of epigrammatic brilliance from man-of- the-match Zinedine Zidane.
It started with some old-fashioned bump and grind. Despite solemn pledges made by both sides to Glaswegian sentimentalists to play good and open football like 42 years ago, the first nine minutes passed with the Germans figuratively asking "C'mon if you think you're hard enough". The reply came in the ninth.
Roberto Carlos hurled a long throw down the left flank, Raul turned like a darting fish, making Keystone Cops out of the defence, and slotted the ball past Hans Jorg Butt and into the far corner. A rout seemed likely.
Thereafter, however, Leverkusen stopped softening the Spaniards and began playing them. They have been wonderful improvisors all year and reward was soon theirs.
Claude Makelele Real's World Cup-bound Frenchman won't depart entirely happily. In trouble, he stopped, not for the last time, Thomas Bdraric's progress down the right with a foul. Bernd Schneider lingered long over the free, but not long enough for the Real defence to find the resolve to mark efficiently.
Finally the ball swung viciously across to meet the forehead of the Brazilian Lucio. He celebrated by revealing a T-shirt which told us that Jesus loves us. Whatever. One all. Game on.
The Germans enjoyed their best stretch for the next 20 minutes. Brdaric was through and almost scored a couple of minutes later as the left hand side of the pitch yielded a goldmine of possibility.
Michael Ballack tried his luck a couple of times, one shot teed up for him by Oliver Neuville skimming just wide. In midfield they hustled and bustled as Real waited for Figo or Zidane to ignite.
The progress of Klaus Toppmoller's side has been based on an almost reckless ability to throw players forward during periods of dominance, often leaving just Diego Placente and Lucio minding the house. Real Madrid have the luxury of being able to wait for lightning to strike, however. Through hook and a little crook they weathered the German huffing and puffing, and finally it came.
On the cusp of half time, another move down the left, Carlos stabbing a looped pass off his toe and over the head of Zoltan Sebescen. The ball fell in a sweet arc towards the edge of the area, and as it headed earthwards Hampden gasped. Zidane lurked unmarked and wolfish. He stretched his left leg balletically as the defence organised itself. Too late, too late. The ball moved as quick and as unstoppable as rumour towards the top corner. A perfect goal.
And somehow that moment of sublime beauty seemed enough. All week there had been talk of how incontinent these teams are when they play each other, unable to stop scoring even if they wanted to. Last night Zidane's single stroke of genius seemed a natural highpoint. Everything thereafter would be prosaic by comparison.
Bayer kept at it, introducing the old war horse Ulf Kirsten for a last joust up front. Real were below their best, or at least below what they could be if they were ever truly the sum of their parts.
McManaman was introduced for Figo on the hour, a personnel decision which seemed to underline Zidane's pre-eminence over the Portuguese player this season and last night. Flavio Conceicao came on to good effect. It seemed as if the kings of Europe were flaunting their riches.
The football was bubbly without ever being sparkling, but it built to a wonderful crescendo, with the Spaniards in the house shrilling and howling for an end to it. Ballack almost scored with a header late on when another Schneider free veered across the Real goalmouth. Smelling blood, the Germans poured forward, all 11 of them.
They forced a series of corners and a string of wonderful saves from Real's substitute goalkeeper, Iker Casillas. Yildiray Basturk, Ballack and Dimitar Berbatov all provoked reflex saves before the Spaniards were liberated by the final whistle.
End of the road for Leverkusen on a night when power suffocated romance. Cue fireworks and Queen music. Again.
BAYER LEVERKUSEN: Butt, Zivkovic, Lucio (Babic 90), Placente, Basturk, Ballack, Schneider, Sebescen (Kirsten 65), Ramelow, Neuville, Brdaric (Berbatov 38). Subs Not Used: Juric, Vranjes, Dzaka, Kleine. Goals: Lucio 14.
REAL MADRID: Cesar (Casillas 68), Salgado, Carlos, Hierro, Zidane, Helguera, Solari, Makelele (Flavio 73), Raul, Morientes, Figo (McManaman 61). Subs Not Used: Guti, Karanka, Munitis, Pavsn. Booked: Salgado, Carlos. Goals: Raul 8, Zidane 45.
Referee: Urs Meier (Switzerland).
