I feel veritably faint. As we sat broadcasting from a bar in Syntagma Square, Athens, last week we pressed our headphones to our ears amid the din and clatter of scouse patter to hear George Gillett and Tom Hicks talking to us live from a nearby hotel suite.
Thus it was, 13 hours before Liverpool's chances went down the U-bend, that the two Americans drawled their score prediction - "two to one". We winced and sniggered like those toothy mates William hangs with at Twickers. "At least it won't be going to overtime with field goals then," phnnnnr-arred a colleague, with a haughty snort.
Why did them good ol' boys think it was going to be (I can hardly bear to say it] "two to one?" Because, as George revealed, they had consulted a ouija board. This gem has been somewhat overlooked in the post-match brouhaha but the incubi and succubae were bang on the satanic money and Gillett, to be fair, had injected a sage note of caution. "It did come up two to one and we certainly hope it to be in our favour."
George W's billionaire-buddy Hicks and Gillett were full of praise for Rafa which, given their occult dabblings, brings a whole new meaning to the phrase, a vote of confidence from the board. In their defence, or as they would say 'dee-fence', the Americans seemed genuinely caught up in the rapture of the occasion and Gillett struggled to think of anything like it.
"I suppose the Stanley Cup play-off rounds in Montreal would come close - we have a tremendously passionate fan base there but I don't think we've seen numbers like this." Hicks inner-jected. "We know we are lucky to be here. We had a dinner with our families last night on the roof of the hotel and we could see the lighted Parthenon in the distance and we could hear our fans singing below us, and we said this is as good as it ever gets."
As the strains of Rodgers and Hammerstein's You'll Never Walk Alone filled the fetid morning air, I thought of another musical. Lerner and Loewe's Camelot. King Arthur stares from his castle at his contented subjects in the fields below and wonders - what do the simple folk do?
"I have been informed by those who know them well, they find relief in quite a clever way. When they're sorely pressed, they whistle for a spell and whistling seems to brighten up their day."
Sitting listening to this was another guest, a delightful woman called Karen Gill. She is an English teacher, lives in Athens and had a grandfather called Bill Shankly. As the two owners of the franchise spoke, I thought of the long road from Bill to Tom and George; a road to perdition, some say.
Shanks once said: "Now when I hear of the money that's bandied about, the thousands of pounds a week people hold out for - it makes my blood boil. There are men with tennis courts and swimming pools who haven't even got a championship medal . . . not one." He saw the game, through his exclusively red-tinted eyes, as "a kind of socialism".
What on earth would he have made of the Benítez spending plans or today's superstar wage packets? He'd have gone with it because he wanted the best for the institution he loved and worked so hard to build. He'd have no truck with real socialism, as espoused by the writer John Reid in Reclaim the Game.
"Players would receive wages tied to the average wage of a skilled worker, with differentials based on the level of league they play in . . . Sky TV, and all cable, digital and commercial TV should be nationalised under democratic workers' control and management . . . The greed-is-good league should be scrapped. Football revenue including the monies from TV should be shared out more evenly between all the teams in the four divisions."
Right now Shankly would be desperate to get his hands on as many of Tom and George's greenbacks as possible. I bet you. Two to One? Never mind the Americanism, the spiritualism, the capitalism, the feudalism or the socialism, the only relevant-ism is Darwinism. Adapting to survive. My colleague Jonathan Ledgard told me Hicks had the look in his eyes of someone who, when he wants something, gets it. Like Shanks? The great man will no doubt tell me if I am wrong. Now where did I put that ouija board?
What you can learn in a cab ride with a Uefa bigwig
On the day after the Champions League final, I had a fortuitous meeting. In the mayhem of Athens' perpetual rush hour and teeming acid rain, a taxi from hotel to airport was looking unlikely. Then I saw a smooth, young go-getter grab one and I asked where he was going. "Airport." A problem shared is a fare halved.
We chatted about the final and it emerged he was a Uefa big nob on the way back to Geneva. "Did you see the three wise men giving away the trophy?" he asked with an impressive sneer. "Berlusconi, Blatter and Platini? My God, what a collection. Platini? We call him Platter at HQ. Says it all. Blatter would never have been welcome when Johansson was in charge. They loathed each other and Blatter hates the whole Champions League anyway."
I asked him about the ticketing problems and Uefa spokesman William Gaillard's assertion that it was all the fault of the Liverpool fans. "Gaillard? We'll see how long he survives. What an embarrassment. Not a clue." Then he added: "Let me tell you something else. Our promotions company had 46 tickets stolen the night before the game and when some were found we sent a secretary down to identify them and she was held in custody for 10 hours.
"The Greek police are useless. With the fans, they see behaviour they don't understand and they completely over-react." I suggested the corporate world got too many tickets.
"No, they don't get enough. When you consider the money the sponsors put in, they should get a lot more".
There was a conversational lull when we entered a long, dark tunnel. He craned his neck from the front seat to look at me. "What do you do?"
"I'm a journalist." There was another silence. "Well, you didn't hear any of this from me." Can I just say, I didn't hear any of this from him. I'll tell you something else: we both got charged full fare.
Return of the great man leaves Tel in a quandary
The hot topic is of course Steve McClaren's decision to bring him back. He says it is either brave or stupid but, let's face it, the language of Shakespeare offers a few more options than that. But why? After everything that's been said? I am surprised he has agreed to return but he clearly feels there is unfinished business and I suppose he still thinks he has a something to prove. I am confused, though? With Sven coming back, what will Venables do?
Macca's the man to sort out failing Anfield academy
I bumped into the great Gary McAllister last week. What a player he was and because of that glorious Indian summer at Anfield, he is feted by Liverpool fans. He is also fated to have a sore backside. As we speak, one of Scotland's greatest-ever midfielders is giving it plenty of Lance and loads of Armstrong on a charity bike ride to La Manga with Russell Osman, Tony Dorigo and Alan McInally. They are hoping to raise £100,000 for breast-cancer research - a cause dear to Gary's heart, as he lost his wife Denise to the disease last year.
Gary told me that after being unsuccessfully interviewed for the Scotland job, he is waiting for the right offer and he'll be back like a shot. He also said something interesting about the Liverpool Academy set-up. McAllister said the academy had not produced nearly as many Premiership performers as it should have over the past 10 years, especially when compared to a club like Real Madrid, who have turned out more than 40 players to have appeared in La Liga over the same period. It needs sorting. If anyone can do it, Macca can.