There has always been a place in my heart for Liverpool. Even when Gary McAllister stole that penalty, by launching himself into a dive from what seemed closer to the halfway line than to our penalty box, my affection for his then club survived.

Do not misunderstand me. There is no room for a second club in my life. Despite living in France, where such things are supposed to happen, I would never take a mistress; supporting anyone other than Sunderland, however slightly, would seem similarly disloyal.

So it’s a liking, not proper support.

I could say it was a reflection of my failure as a father – my younger daughter, Nathalie, herself a highly useful player, has been a Liverpool fan since she fell in love with John Barnes – but that wouldn’t be true; I have felt as I do since boyhood.

In any game that does not involve or affect us, I am happy to see Liverpool win. I like the city, I enjoy the company of the fans, I love their song.

Last night, I had French TV on my side. TF1′s commentary from Anfield was fair enough, but you had no doubt which team they wanted to win. L’Equipe this morning headlined one of its match reports “Red Magic” and enthused about the “exceptional atmosphere” in which Liverpool battled against Chelsea and won.

And there’s the other reason I was so pleased when José-Manuel Reina made his penalty shoot-out saves. The Reds were playing Chelsea.

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