After that there is only one question: do you have any nails left? Manchester United and Chelsea emerged this week from the most gut-wrenchingly tense Champions League semi finals to meet each other in Moscow on 21 May. And if anyone does have anything remaining at the end of their fingers after watching them progress then Nasa would like to hear from you: your body is clearly made of tough stuff.
Following the cagey, give-nothing-away first legs, the two second legs burst into pulsating life. At Old Trafford, Manchester United staged the finest exhibition of defensive play in the club's long and glittering history. After taking the lead through Paul Scholes's sublime shot early on, they held out against an insistent Barcelona, a team determined to find redemption in the Champions League after the disappointment that has been their domestic season. Wes Brown, Rio Ferdinand and Patrice Evra were magnificent at the back. But United defended everywhere, on every blade of grass, with little Carlos Tevez a giant of industry, closing down from the front. They needed to: until the very last kick of the game, Barcelona could have snatched it with an away goal.
But if the game at Old Trafford was exciting, if its nuances were never less than riveting, even it paled compared to what was served up at Stamford Bridge 24 hours later. Chelsea and Liverpool simply battered each other. In weather more associated with the monsoon season in southern Asia, the two clubs pounded at each other's resolve. Didier Drogba and Fernando Torres played out their own private competition to be recognised Europe's most powerful centre forward, each scoring brilliant goals to take the tie to extra time. In the added half hour, first Chelsea moved ahead through Lampard and Drogba again, before Liverpool evoked the possibility of the grandest of escapes with Ryan Babel's blaster, a goal which set up the most frantic of finales. In the press box, anyone trying to write a report of a match switching in direction every second would have been driven to despair. For neutrals it was a tough enough watch; heaven knows how the committed must have felt as fortunes fluctuated faster than a gambler's bank account.
That is the glory of this competition. When the prize is as great as that offered by the Champions League final then the effort to reach its conclusion is extraordinary. Unless you know better, I cannot recall matches of this passion, this intensity, this drama offered up within the space of 24 hours. And now they have got there, now they have proven their mettle against the most unlucky of opponents, who is going to finish things? Will it be the Manchester United of Rooney, Ronaldo and Ferdinand? Or the Chelsea of Drogba, Ballack and Terry? Will Sir Alex Ferguson celebrate his 22nd season in charge of United by lifting the grandest trophy in club football? Or will Avram Grant mark his debut year by finally stepping out of the shadow cast by his ever-popular predecessor? That is a matter I leave to you to decide...