AT THE EDGE of a field of joy, you caught sight of a simple but loving hug. One an attentive son would give his mum when seeing her after work. 

Yet, when the touching embrace had ended, you could see Jude Bellingham’s mother had a gold medal around her neck. 

A Champions League medal that her dutiful lad had placed gently over her head and now hung gleaming from her shoulders. 

It was a heartwarming moment to cherish amid the chaos, the joy and the desolation. Because this showpiece final between Real Madrid and Borussia Dortmund was full of such treasured vignettes. Of joy, and heartache. And respect. 

Yet, on such a fevered evening — amid the grandeur and disorder, the noise, the colour, the passion, the aural assault on your senses amid the tumult, the mighty relentless visuals that sought your attention along with the good, the bad and the ugly, not to mention downright bizarre — blink and you’d miss such moments. 

For the Champions League final, in all its blazing majesty is as very few other football matches on the planet can be.  

In its glorious ear-splitting, attention-seeking, money-grabbing, fascinatingly febrile atmosphere, the spectacle and the aftermath are as compelling in their perturbing pandemonium, disarray and misrule, deep-seated joy and intense celebrations, in a way that not many other games can offer, or provide.

First, the moments that led to the ruthless Spanish behemoth Real Madrid having its name inscribed on the Champions League trophy — the cup with the big ears — that this incredible club has now lifted 15 times in its long and illustrious history. 

Second half goals from Dani Carvajal and Vinicius Junior crowned the Castilian kings in front of hordes of their adoring fans that turned Wembley Stadium into the Bernabeu and Trafalgar Square into the Placa Major. 

However, if such grand occasions consist of a mosaic of important moments that we piece together to find a coherent narrative, then it was Borussia Dortmund’s admirable head coach Edin Terzic — who was at this very stadium as a fan back in 2013 when his team lost the final to Bayern Munich — who will be reflecting well into his dotage on the chances his team spurned in the first half. 

Not least when Karim Adeyemi took the wrong option in attempting to round Real keeper Thibaut Courtois when clean through. Or whether the 22-year-old forward could perhaps have done better with another chance that was saved by the Belgium keeper playing his first match in the competition this long and winding season. 

Or especially, when yeoman Niclas Fullkrug saw his shot bounce back from the inside of the post, and, alas, to the resounding agony of the yellow and black hordes massed behind the goal, away from, rather than over the line. 

So many moments. 

The way that both sets of fans had intermingled throughout the capital over the previous 24 hours, which included Wembley Way was as warm as it was required.  

A not inconsiderable feat given that the last time this correspondent emerged from the steep steps at Wembley Park Tube that lead you down onto the straight stretch to the arch in a game of such magnitude, a young man was crumpled, drunkenly senseless, inside a shopping trolley. 

A precursor to the worst disorder this country has seen at a football match for many years, prior to the Euro 2020 final between England and Italy back in July 2021. 

While the Metropolitan Police revealed there were 53 arrests at the national stadium on Saturday evening, mostly for fans attempting to breach the turnstiles without tickets, the noticeable increased pre-match presence of a raft of officers clad in distinctive yellow high-vis — as opposed to yellow and black — was encouraging, certainly compared to the breakdown of order four years ago. 

Or maybe it was simply because the boisterous but well-behaved Madrid and Dortmund fans simply didn’t consume as much alcohol as England fans did on that sorry evening. All of which led to a riot of colour — as opposed to a riot itself. A heady mix, rather than the pathetic trolley man’s debilitating concoction.  

Along the walk to the Arch — where the official vendors were doing a roaring trade in Bellingham scarves, not to mention 10 quid for a match programme and a staggering £25 for a pennant - yellow and black seemed to be the predominant pre-match colours. It seemed appropriate that a large sign read: “Yellow Zone.”

Everywhere you looked there was something to see. Moments. 

From the pre-match hug of genuine respect between the imperiously laconic Don Carlo Ancelotti and Terzic, to the moving rendition of “You’ll Never Walk Alone” sung lustily by Dortmund fans — as they do for every home match at the Westfalhen Stadion, their Yellow Wall transported to north-west London for one night only — there were moments to savour. 

Thousands of white-shirted Madrid fans sung their slow-burning club anthem ‘Hala Madrid, y nada mas’ (Come on Madrid — and nothing else). Initially a mournful dirge before it exploded with passion around the eighth stanza — or so it felt — certainly compared to the exuberance of their Dortmund counterparts at the other end. Who cheered to the rafters when former boss Jurgen Klopp appeared on the big screen. The popular ex-Dortmund leader who brought his team to Wembley back in 2013 looking mercifully relaxed, his elongated farewell to England now thankfully at an end. 

Less popular with the masses was the sight of Jose Mourinho, the Yellow Wall jeering his image as much as the cheers from fans at his old Spanish club failed to materialise. 

Although judging by Mourinho’s appearance on UK TV screens as a pundit — viewed at 4am from my living room after finally getting home from Wembley as the dark sky turned blue outside, sleep impossible with adrenaline still raging — the Real Madrid boss between 2010 and 2013 was everything good about his Jekyll and Hyde public persona. Punchy and insightful, rather than quarrelsome and contrary. With his deadpan line about former foe Arsene Wenger’s plans to change the offside rule in his new role as Uefa bigwig raising a smile even from the most ardent Mourinho haters.

Moments

With organisers seemingly unsure whether to copy the razzamatazz of a Superbowl, timeless rocker Lenny Kravitz was wheeled out to provide his most well-known hits amid an explosion of fireworks and officially sanctioned pyrotechnics, in association with — and fuelled by — a well-known soft drinks company. To this observer at least, it felt a shame that the musical idol failed to play anything from his far superior 1989 debut album Let Love Rule, including the seminal Fields of Joy. 

As the frenzy built before kick-off there was scarcely time to process the fact it was actually the great Zinedene Zidane who carried the European Cup onto the pitch as the teams filed past. 

The wonder of Kravitz: Live at Wembley was also watching a plethora of unsung workers scuttling here and there in dismantling the centre-spot stage as quickly as it had emerged as kick-off hurtled towards us. 

Yet such industry was lost in the opening moments of the match, sadly made notable for three idiots running onto the pitch. 

The reasons behind such cretinous behaviour emerging as strangely fitting for the social media influenced 2020s — their embarrassing actions prompted by an internet bet rather than driven by any longstanding political statements that such clowns singularly failed to hold. 

Dortmund’s bright start lasted the entire half. And while some commentators seemed to believe in some sort of preordained destiny for Real, it was nothing of the sort. Not when this mighty club went 32 years between trophy wins, then another dozen, nor the fact that between 2004 and 2011 Madrid failed to progress past the last eight of this tournament. 

The Yellow Wall certainly had hope at the interval. Unfurling a huge banner that a surprising number of social media users with hitherto unknown German language skills — or was it Google translate powering such previously hidden knowledge — roughly translated as exhorting their heroes onto greater heights. 

However, it was Madrid who opened the scoring with a mere 16 minutes remaining. 

Loyal servant Carvajal escaping his marker, the normally redoubtable Ian Maatsen, to angle his emphatic header past Gregor Kobel to make it 1-0. The 32-year-old defender improbably joining Real’s sepia-tinted great Paco Gento on six tournament trophy wins. 

Barely had the noise levels settled down, when Vinicius Junior doubled the lead. With the most exquisite mishit shot you’ll ever see, the ball thudding down into the turf and spinning past Kobel into the net for 2-0, with seven minutes to go. The goal coming after an error from Chelsea loanee Matsen, via a Bellingham assist, as one end of Wembley erupted once again in delirium. 

On another level it was hugely satisfying to watch the Brazil star celebrate — because of the powerful and dignified way he has continually dealt with appalling racism endured during his trophy laden spell in Spain.  

Shortly afterwards the no-nonsense Slovakian referee Slavko Vincic blew for full time — to start the celebrations on Real’s 15^th time. 

Toni Kroos — in his final game of a storied career, as respected as it was creative — was hoisted upon his teammates shoulders, a clutch of photographers capturing the moment. Behind them thousands upon thousands of adoring fans singing the unassuming German’s name in another moment for the ages as he, along with late substitute Luca Modric, joined Carvajal with six wins.

And so it was Real Madrid’s captain Nacho — now also on six wins — lifted the Champions League trophy as gold ticker tape fluttered. 

And you smiled at the moment the team — his team — hurled Don Carlo into the air to give the serial winner Champions League bumps (but not before respectfully seeking out the disappointed Terzic, who was also seen to be hugged by Mourinho) as you struggled to pick out which particular celebrations to watch, to study. To enjoy. Or all three. 

That was until you saw young Bellingham tenderly approach his dear mum. To give her a simple but loving hug. 

And deliver a Champions League medal.