The bigger the game the bigger the letdown. Football does have this irksome habit of answering great expectations with hard times.
A season of unending ordinariness now has the promise of redemption with two momentous encounters. On Sunday Manchester United play Chelsea in a match that will not decide the winners of the Premier League but could ensure that the contest remains suspenseful to the last. In three weeks United meet Barcelona at Wembley in a Champions League final that already has the country, not to mention the rest of Europe, agog with anticipation.
It is to be hoped that both occasions live up to their billings. If they manage to get halfway there the spectacles may still be acceptable. Experience, however, suggests that the more a match is hyped in advance the less likely it is to excite on the day.
At least nobody who has been paying attention will expect an outstanding exhibition of the attacking arts at Old Trafford on Sunday. United and Chelsea know each other's game like the backs of each other's hands. Neither has the means to surprise the other with something unusual unless Fernando Torres comes out of his trance to score a hat-trick, assuming he makes an appearance.
Nothing will matter except the result and if recent events are anything to go by the arguments may prove more entertaining than the action. Football must be living in a desperate, paranoid world when the choice of referee for tomorrow's game is awaited with impatient interest to see if the official will meet with the approval of Sir Alex Ferguson. As if it matters.
Howard Webb was always likely to get the nod for this one but if he gives a decision that Fergie does not like Webb will presumably be added to the list of officials who have got it in for United. Perhaps the Football Association should just leave the old hairdryer to blast away, like Father Jack.
Far too much significance is paid to what managers say anyway. Watching the recording of the classic 1960 European Cup final, when Real Madrid beat Eintracht Frankfurt 7-3 at Hampden Park, is to be reminded of a time when managers were hardly mentioned, if at all, and no more attention was paid to the officials than the goalposts or corner flags. They were there to perform a function not start a debate.
Thankfully football has been spared a confrontation between Ferguson and José Mourinho at Wembley on 28 May, the latter having achieved the singular feat of making every fan beyond the Bernabéu glad that Real Madrid are not in a Champions League final. To some Mourinho remains a gifted manager and tactician with the knack of organising his teams to exploit opponents' weaknesses while negating their strengths. After his reaction to Real's elimination by Barcelona others may be even more convinced that he is also a nihilist with a persecution complex.
Yet it does say something for the man's impact on football that although he chose to be absent from the Camp Nou on Tuesday, having been dismissed from the dugout at the Bernabéu, he was still an object of fascination provoking much discussion about what subterfuges he might employ to relay messages to the bench. Managers in England who are banned from the touchline should be banned from grounds on match days. This may be ruled a restraint of trade, or in Ferguson's case a restraint of tirade, but is surely worth a try.
To be fair, there were no serious complaints from Manchester United after they had been outclassed by Barcelona in the Champions League final in Rome two years ago, Pep Guardiola's team winning with goals from Samuel Eto'o and Lionel Messi. Wembley will be hoping for a more even contest but this will only happen if Ferguson's team manage to marginalise Messi as successfully as Mourinho's sides have done in the past.
Messi can make this the best of the six European Cup finals played at Wembley but United will hope to cramp Barcelona's style much as Sampdoria bottled up Johan Cruyff's side in 1992 before Ronald Koeman's free-kick took the trophy to the Camp Nou for the first time. Ferguson will try to keep the game narrow. It will be as much a battle of width as a battle of wits. Just so long as the football leaves something more to remember than a few moans.