Manchester City complete the treble.

 Manchester City complete the treble

It couldn't have happened to a nicer team. Metaphorically this was the icing on the cake for Manchester City but we've known this for quite a while. City have been the team of the ages, an evolving life force that just became irresistible. They were the ones who always hid behind Manchester United's shadow, almost destined to fail on all occasions and yet here they were as European Champions on this night of all nights.

If somebody had told that the City of over 25 years ago that the current incarnation would be lapping up the celebrations accompanying their first ever European trophy since 1971, you'd have probably been laughing all the way to a Saudi bank. City used to be end of pier seaside entertainment material, an easy target for good natured jibes, withering put downs, downright derision, circus clowns who kept ending up with custard pies in their faces.

But on a night of sweltering night by the Bosphorus, City came to Istanbul and produced the sweetest Turkish delight of them all. It was never going to be easy and even City must have recognised the difficulties that would face them. And that's how it proved. Their opponents Inter Milan are of course the legendary giants of the game and have been since time immemorial. Italian football teams love to be awkward, problematic and challenging. They love to defend en masse when the going gets tough and on Saturday night the barbed wire was erected, the locks were tightly bolted on and Manchester City were simply going nowhere.

There was a time when a City of the past would have immediately panicked, squandered possession repeatedly, caved in meekly to incessant passing around them and just surrendered. On Saturday evening City must have had flashbacks to a previous Champions League Final and wondered whether it was worth all the fuss. That they weathered the storm is more a testament to their fighting spirit, stoicism, doughty determination and then picking the right moment to pounce when even Inter weren't looking.

After clinching their third successive Premier League and polishing off neighbours Manchester United in the FA Cup Final at Wembley, City were looking for the Treble that United had achieved so memorably and deservedly. If Pep Guardiola was thinking about Sir Alex Ferguson's seemingly unstoppable Manchester United and their hat-trick of Cups and trophies then you could hardly have blamed him. City were going flat out to emulate their Moss Side rivals and you'd better believe it. We did and how stunningly impressive they were. When your back is against the wall, you keep pushing back the frontiers until you find the gleaming diamond.

For the ennobled Pep Guardiola this was his second time in the Champions League trophy room. Guardiola had performed the same act for his beloved Barcelona and this time City benefited from the man's formidably shrewd investments, his outstanding coaching prowess and those admirable judgements of character. He may have the available cash to spare, the assistance of vast Saudi wealth but a team is only as good as its players. City won the Champions League because they knew one day it would all come good on the day.

Realistically this was no masterpiece from City and when the referee blew the final whistle, City puffed out their cheeks with obvious relief, thanked their lucky stars and hoped that nobody had noticed. This was a City facing an Inter Milan side who had done rigorous homework on their opponents, stopped them from playing altogether at times and just blotted out City's landscape. This was a true measure of City's resilience, their rarely shown ability to find a way of scoring even when it looks highly unlikely. We've seen it before but not on this colossal scale.

Throughout the Premier League season City were once again a startling revelation, a team of almost electrical impulses when the ball is either with them or indeed without. City instinctively move the ball at speed around the pitch in a bewildering blur of astonishingly correct and precise passing. It's one touch, two touch, strategic movements, intuitive thought patterns and, to quote the popular vernacular, the high press, that moment when City just surround you, pinching the ball back for keeps. Then the ball spins around the pitch with dizzying alacrity, fast moving, deliciously skilful and a wonder to behold.

Then City explode from the starting blocks and then give their impression of graphic designers. It's football that oozes class and originality, a picture book that becomes more colourful every time they step onto a football pitch. It was the kind of football that Joe Mercer and Malcolm Allison tried to fashion at the end of the 1960s but didn't quite find the right material. But City just got on with it, never shirking their sense of duty and there was always an obligation to get it right on the night. Finally the engine was working like a dream, there was petrol in the tank and there was a renewed vibrancy and vivacity about City's football that they might have thought they'd left behind in the dressing room.

For Inter Milan this represented an unwanted distinction for three Italian clubs in European competition. Last Thursday West Ham had won the Europa Conference League Final in a palpitating Prague against a Fiorentina side who must have thought that all they had to do was just turn up on the night and just pass West Ham off the park. But then Fiorentina kept bumping into a white and orange wall and found an unforgiving West Ham team who just wanted to enjoy themselves but then forgot the last minute or so.  Jarred Bowen was discovered in acres of space from a Lucas Paqueta's delightful slide rule through pass and Bowen drilled home his shot for West Ham's winner.

Then in the Europa League Final Sevilla had beaten Roma in a bad tempered Final where Jose Mourinho once again went off the deep end, threw foul four letter expletives at the referee before shaming the game with deplorable behaviour. So for every English club striving for trophies there were Italian operatic voices who were just hoping that nobody could hear theirs. For those who follow the Premier League this probably felt like revenge for the Euro 2020 Final where Gareth Southgate's England just vanished without trace in the second half against Roberto Mancini's cunning Italy side.

But this was City's night. This was a night when John Stones represented all singing, all dancing versatility and adaptability, durability from start to finish and then Stones was given permission to roam into midfield, an area of the pitch Inter had perhaps overlooked. While Stones roamed and wandered with perfect freedom, Inter seemed to take their eye off the ball. Then there was the eternally enterprising and smooth running Bernardo Silva, venturing with intent, searching for space diligently and then passing the ball with effortless ease, the cleverest of ball players.

With Manuel Akanji, Ruben Dias and eventually the wondrously athletic Kyle Walker all concentrating on the task at hand with intensity and vigilance, City were besieged but far from demoralised. They held Inter at bay quite strikingly at times and then at arms length. Suddenly there was a noticeable sea change in the game. Inter seemed to run out of attractive options in their vast repertoire of short passing and then City began to work up a head of steam.

Midway through the second half Manchester City came alive against the run of play. A break down the flank was carefully thought out. From a sweeping overlap into the Inter penalty area, an excellent low ball across the Italian's stubborn defence found Manuel Akanji on the edge of the area. Akanji, who had been here, there and everywhere for City, laid the ball back for the onrushing Rodri and, with perfect balance, he curled a powerful shot into the roof of the Inter net. It had been the only goal of the match but it had meant everything to both Pep Guardiola and Manchester City.

With Jack Grealish once again shifting the ball from one foot to the other with wonderful technique and imperious close ball control City were now floating forward serenely as if all their art work in the Premier League had finally come to fruition. Grealish was all dainty delicacy, playing with defenders as if they were children in a nursery. Then there were the darting runs outside and inside full backs, the pin point passes to colleagues in close proximity. 

Then there was the Kevin De Bruyne, a player so essential to the functioning of a City at their best that his name is invariably the first on the team sheet. In Istanbul though De Bruyne once again hobbled off the pitch with a nasty looking injury. De Bruyne must have been privately cursing under his breath. On Saturday night though none could deny his easy going temperament, his varied passing range and that inimitable street wisdom, that experienced savvy. But perversely even when De Bruyne came off City just seemed to go through the gears, game management for them the easiest of accomplishments.

And so Manchester City are the new Champions League European Champions. They follow the sainted likes of Liverpool, Chelsea, Manchester United, Aston Villa and Nottingham Forest. You feel sure that the managerial genius of Bill Shankly, Bob Paisley, Sir Matt Busby, Sir Alex Ferguson, Tony Barton and Ron Saunders and of course Brian Clough would have been immensely flattered to keep the same company as Pep Guardiola. The champagne corks were popping joyfully in Salford and Manchester City are indeed one of English football's finest. We salute you again.