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This, in a world of exaggeration, was the most extraordinary finish to a Premier League season imaginable. A couple of hours after the final whistles sounded, the reaction is still speechlessness.
But the typing fingers have to make some sense of what the eyes have seen, parlaying that out to the reading eyes of others.
The pragmatic part of the story is that Manchester City have secured their first title in nearly half a century, over their arch-rivals Manchester United. The narrative is that they rescued it from certain defeat, turning despair into delight. The ephemeral is that the English Premier League is becoming a very different place.
Rarely has the title been decided on the League’s final day. Today, it was decided with two minutes to spare. 38 matches, all the effort and intrigue that goes into them, came down to these moments.
City trailed 2-1 against a desperately defensive Queens Park Rangers side that needed at least a draw to ensure safety from relegation. City needed a win. As the match entered injury time, their campaign looked to have died. Yet somehow, they scored not once, but twice in those added minutes, to triumph.
Coming into this final round, City were odds-on to win the league. Level on points with United, but well ahead on goal difference, they had only to match United’s result to become champions.
The team’s assignments were comparable, though probably favouring City, United facing a less-than-fearsome Sunderland side away while City hosted 16th-placed QPR at home.
But there was always the sense that something unusual could happen. Sides threatened with relegation can make formidable late-season opponents as they fight to survive.
QPR knew a loss would risk them being knocked into 17th by Bolton. Sunderland, meanwhile, were comfortably 11th with little to play for.
City had not been title contenders for decades. They were breaking new ground. Nerves would have been immense.
United, meanwhile, are the most seasoned of campaigners. The relentlessness of Alex Ferguson’s sides, their aura, can make it seem that their eventual success, against even the unlikeliest odds, is all but assured.
There was the very real prospect that United would pass their obstacle trouble-free, and that City would inevitably stumble at theirs.
And so it proved. United were in command; they scored early for a 1-0 lead, then held it throughout to win without major incident.
It couldn’t have been any different in Manchester. City had also taken a 1-0 lead into half time, thanks to the unlikely Argentine Pablo Zabaleta and a goalkeeping error from Paddy Kenny. But the news that Bolton were leading Stoke 2-1, thus threatening to leapfrog QPR on the league table, would have galvanised the Rangers squad.
They needed a goal. They went one better.
Three minutes after the restart, ex-Liverpool striker Djibril Cissé headed home their first after a botched clearance. City nerves started jangling. They had struggled to break down QPR in the first half, and now the Rangers were free to start defending anew.
Eight minutes later, QPR captain Joey Barton was sent off for elbowing Carlos Tevez. He kicked and headbutted other players for good measure as he left the pitch.
But playing ten men doesn’t always advantage an attacking side. It all but guarantees they’ll draw back to their goal and play an entirely negating game. City needed to create chances.
Except, crucially, QPR’s game didn’t prove entirely negative. In the 66th minute, Armand Traore drifted down the left wing. He popped in a speculative cross, and Jamie Mackie, arriving between four City defenders, was able to nod into the ground and through for a goal.
Incredibly, and entirely against the run of play, City were down a goal, while United remained comfortably ahead in their fixture.
It looked for all money like the pre-match premonition had come to pass. City would choke, United would cruise through from second. Surely there wasn’t enough time left.
City attacked and attacked. They missed, and barely missed, and missed by whiskers. Kenny made up for his earlier error and produced some fine saves to keep the sky blue side at bay. At Sunderland, United were keeping the ball in elaborate passing sequences, soaking up time. Clocks ticked down.
As full time approached, City had certainly had chances, but put none away. United ticked into time on. Sunderland didn’t look too interested in the result. City reached time on. They still needed two goals.
As United’s match closed, the mass of their fans in the pub where I was watching started to congratulate each other, joking and at ease. It was certainly a red venue – the pub owner was such a one-eyed United fan that he wasn’t even screening City’s game.
My request to bump Liverpool’s dead-rubber match in favour of the title decider had earlier been monosyllabically refused, driving me to surreptitiously watch it on a laptop while the rest of Super Sunday’s matches were beamed onto televisions.
But I wasn’t the only one following it by online means, and a murmur of comment went through the crowd as, two minutes into injury time, Edin Dzeko headed home for City for make it 2-2.
No matter, they thought. The match is surely over now. There’s not still time.
As post-match formalities went on at Sunderland, the bar owner finally flicked the main plasma screen over to City’s game. He was taking the piss, wanting to broadcast his rivals dropping the title.
Instead, he got Sergio Aguero sprinting into the penalty box, dragging the ball wide with a step around a defender, and rifling home across the keeper. Wait, you could see everyone’s faces saying. Is this telecast just a bit slow?
No. The scoreboard clicked over to 3-2. Three and a half minutes into injury time, City had found a winner. City had found three points to match United. City had won.
Roberto Mancini’s beaming countenance and group hugs were beamed around the room for a minute, then abruptly, the screen went blank. One by one the televisions all round the pub cut to black. The lights came up. A less ceremonious boot-out has never been seen. Some supporters, it seemed, were as bad at losing as Sir Alex himself.
Even that couldn’t kill the buzz. It was the very finest of finishes: the kind that leaves you hands-to-head, open-mouthed, searching for words to describe it. But beyond the nature of the finish is what is signified by the result, and by the season as a whole.
Suddenly, there is new life in the Premier League. While City this season have been a breath of fresh air, what has really been felt is the wind of change, a far broader weather front that is arriving.
United have been so dominant for so long that we accept it as a fact of life. They are the league’s great heavyweight, thanks to Ferguson’s incomparable list maintenance and man-management skills. The list of challengers has rarely extended beyond one or two.
Arsenal and Liverpool were the accepted triumvirate for years on end. Chelsea arrived as the new kid in 2005, winning three of the last seven titles to form their own duopoly with United.
But 2012 has seen more than just the emergence of a sole new contender. Tottenham surged to third for much of the season before ending up fourth by a point. Newcastle have been revitalised one point further back in fifth.
Liverpool have fallen as far as eighth, and Chelsea are out of this season’s reckoning at sixth. The same-old same-old feeling the has permeated the league is no longer a given.
Until the early hours of this morning, Australian time, City had not won a title in 44 years. That’s the same span that the AFL’s Geelong Football Club waited until their drought-breaker in 2007.
The Cats have since gone on to found one of the greatest dynasties in their sport’s history. It remains to be seen whether City can do the same. But for now, we have the prospect of a league with new intrigue and interest, as well as just having witnessed probably the greatest finish it has known.
United fans aside, that gives us a lot of reasons to wake up smiling.