I wish I could be in Rome this week but times are hard and I can’t afford the £1,250 the shark community is asking for a ticket. A couple of rather cheaper tickets have come tantalisingly closer. Earlier this week, a couple were sent by guardian angel to the Penya Blaugrana Reino Unido- the London-based Barca fan club to which I belong-but I thought Jaume and his mate-two young cules- deserved more than I did as they missed the Stamford Bridge semi-final, through work, and I didn’t.

The memory of that second leg match with Chelsea still lingers like a mixture between a nightmare and a wet dream. The nightmare, once again, was provided by the thuggish behaviour of some Chelsea fans, and some of their players. It was with a sense of justice restored that we saw some fair-minded stewards telling one particular Chelsea fan to take off the Real Madrid shirt with which he had been taunting us. And I look forward to seeing Drogba banned from several European ties next season for using live TV to corrupt the language of our kids.

The dream part was seeing Iniesta score in extra time, and then spending most of the next hour dancing with Alves and Etoo even though we knew the Norwegian ref had done us a favour or two. The taste of victory had an awkward taste about it after this dysfunctional coupling of football’s version of the Beauty (Barca) and the Beast (Chelsea.)

I expect this year’s final of the European champions league to be an altogether more enjoyable event, one worthy of the two best teams in the world, who like to play attacking football, to put on a show, to win, and who retain a healthy respect for each other.

Barca and Manchester United come to the Italian capital flushed with success and hungry for more. They each have players that are a delight to watch. My personal favourite list includes Ronaldo, Rooney, Iniesta, Xavi, and, well, yes, Messi.

They say the little chap is the new Maradona. He is wise to deny this as he did earlier this week. Messi may have an extraordinary capacity to beat defenders and score wonderful goals, but he has yet to reach the sublime brilliance that Maradona achieved in Mexico 1986.

That said, with a bit of luck, we shall probably see more of young Messi on the field in the years to come, than Maradona managed in a premature short-lived football career. As far as I know, success has not gone to Messi’s head, and he doesn’t take drugs.
In interviews with the media this week, Messi has also shown himself to be a real Argentine gent-not just self-effacing but also generous to his opponents, not least his fellow countryman Tevez.
Barca’s Pique has been similarly full of praise for Rooney’s hard-working ethos, perhaps explaining why the bookies currently put Man U as favourites to win 2-1, with Rooney the potential man of the match.

All I can say is that I have a statue of the Virgin of Montserrat near the TV, and will pray several Hail Mary’s for a Barca win in Rome. When Barca played Arsenal in the Champions League finals in 2006, I was working in Washington DC and grabbed the match in a bar in Arlington. It was filled with Anglo-Saxon expats on one side, and South American immigrants on the other. I had a great time and got royally drunk on Becks.

Maybe I am getting old, but this time I don’t want to risk having warm bitter emptied over me at my nearest pub, or having to throw myself into the Thames by the boat where we London Barca fans normally congregate at.

I plan to make a stew of lentils with chorizo, drink several bottles of San Miguel, and have a bottle or two of Catalan champagne on ice-but at home, among friends and family. At the very least I expect poetry in motion-the kind of football we got used to, watching Spain in the European championships. If I end on that note it’s because I am a Barca fan born in Madrid and I love Lorca.

Enjoy the game.