For Pep Guardiola it’s the least wonderful time of the year

A luxury flat in Spinningfields, Manchester, the very small hours. The black polo neck is slung on the back of an ergonomically designed chair but Pep Guardiola is still pacing the room. Not even the soothing sounds of Noel Gallagher’s High Flying Birds or that CD of whale music Marcelo Bielsa sent over after clearing out his Pudsey pied-à-terre are doing the job. The celebratory cigars remain in the humidor. Pep will sleep eventually, though fitfully, for a few minutes at a time. At the Etihad Academy on Wednesday morning he will need some of the rocket-fuel coffee Johan Cruyff used to swear by to get through the day, the warmdowns, the debriefs, the chalkboards, the ice baths, the stats. Not even Brandon the kitman’s chirpy b@nter and jock-strap party tricks can lift the spirits.

It’s happened again. Well, sort of. Manchester City actually managed to beat Real Madrid 4-3 in Tuesday’s Big Cup classic. And it was only the first leg, too. At times, they ravaged Don Carlo’s collection of golden oldies, bright young Brazilians and Dani Carvajal, but Pep didn’t enjoy it one bit. He knew. He knew when Riyad Mahrez hit the side netting rather than pass to Phil Foden. He knew when Aymeric Laporte’s arm flailed in the penalty area. He knew when Karim Benzema took the resultant spot-kick, fully Joe-Harting Ederson with a brisk Panenka.

He just bloody knew. Throughout Tuesday evening he wore the pained expression of someone asked to sit through Ricky Hatton’s attempt to sing the aria from La bohème. Big Cup semi-finals bring the man Big Jürg (who, with true sincerity) is happy to call the world’s greatest coach to his knees, especially when Fernandinho is sold a dummy by Vinícius Júnior. Like Weird Uncle Fiver and Valentine’s Day,