There was a moment just before half-time at the Wanda Metropolitano when Cristiano Ronaldo stood on the penalty spot, delivered a shrug of the shoulders, pulled a face and raised a finger: one, just one. None of his Manchester United teammates were really looking his way and even if they had been, there was little they could do about it, and so he walked slowly back out of the area, shaking his head, alone. It was a journey he would embark upon often.
All the way to the end, in fact, when he was the first player off, throwing back his arm in frustration, born perhaps not just of this night but other nights too, an uncomfortably familiar feeling of impotence, a hint of recrimination there too. Pausing to applaud the fans in the north stand, Ronaldo crossed the pitch and turned up the tunnel on his own. United had found a way through, Anthony Elanga slipping past Jan Oblak with 10 minutes to go, but the goal he wanted never came on his return to the city where he won it all.
