Just when it looked like being deja-vu all over again, just when it looked like Didier Drogba's red card, John Terry's missed penalty and Nicolas Anelka's saved one would be used as a motivational tool in a Guus Hiddink Champions League final team-talk, fate dealt Chelsea another cruel, cruel hand.

Never mind the "cup with big ears". At Stamford Bridge tonight it must look like a grotesque gargoyle, full of warts and moles, the mirror close to cracking at one glimpse of its nasty, nasty face.

Somehow Chelsea responded to their final defeat to Manchester United last term by getting to within two minutes of a shot at revenge.

In the end, they were left with only spitting fury, raging at the decisions of hapless Norwegian referee Tom Henning. Accusations, recriminations. Where were the penalties? The injustice of it all.

For 92 minutes, Chelsea had done their jobs perfectly. Held their nerve, kept their cool. One flash of magic from Andres Iniesta robbed them of their dream.

As comparisons with the extraordinary events of 24 hours ago were inevitable, glancing at the clock ticking towards 11 minutes took on a life form of its own.

And by the time Cristiano Ronaldo's incredible 41-yard free-kick ripped into the net at the Emirates, Stamford Bridge had its own awe-inducing moment to savour.

The sight of Frank Lampard screwing a shot wide from a very similar position to the one from which Essien found the net only emphasised what a difficult task the Ghanaian had mastered - with his wrong foot too.

Any kid wanting to master the art of volleying should just watch Essien again and again and again.

Create a bit of space as Lampard's shot loops up off a defender. Adjust body shape as ball drops. Eye on the ball. Bang.

And to think the challenge to Ronaldo's genius was supposed to come from Lionel Messi.

Indeed, the purists left north London last night privately hoping there would be no repeat of last season's all-English European affair. They wanted Messi against Ronaldo. The art of Barcelona against the craft of Manchester United.

True, Barca weave very pretty patterns. Their passing, while not quite at the level that shredded Real Madrid at the weekend was still attractive, their movement spellbinding.

Yet football has to be so much more. You need a way of breaking down the opposition. You need to shoot. You need to fill holes in midfield. You need to defend.

Pep Guardiola can hardly be blamed for Carles Puyol's suspension or the knee injury that rules Rafael Marquez out of the season's end.

However, with Martin Caceres apparently failing a quality control test, Guardiola's method of combating the problem was to drop Yaya Toure back alongside Gerard Pique, only confusing an already slack rearguard.

It meant whenever Chelsea did break out of their defensive shield, what should have been a last Barcelona line instead looked as jagged as a heart monitor.

Didier Drogba loved it.

If Henning ruled Eric Abidal had brought the Ivorian down in the area instead of reaching the somewhat bizarre conclusion that Drogba had ended up on the floor by accident, irrespective of the leg tangle and the fact he had a clear sight of goal, the tie would have been all over.

The same was also true just after half-time when Drogba's dexterity gave him a gaping goal to aim at, only to fire straight at Victor Valdes' legs.

It all helped to generate the sense of excitement so sadly, for Arsenal at least, lacking last night.

Through the agony that followed - Abidal's red card, Lampard's deflected shot, Drogba's exit, Nicolas Anelka's fall, Pique's handball, four nervous, nervous minutes - Chelsea knew and so did all their supporters, their slender lead was also a very precarious one.

That nagging, nagging fear never went away. That second goal would not come.

Barcelona had not had a shot. But they were primed, ready. One Messi pass, one Iniesta strike.

The purists got the final they wanted. Chelsea have got a whole load of trouble for their inexcusable, if understandable actions.