First, the good news. After more than half a century's wait, the day has come when English clubs bestride continental football so colossally that their best two teams will for the first time contest the European Cup Final. The really good news? This historic occasion in Russia looks so finely balanced that you'd have to be a clairvoyant of Rasputin-like barminess to predict the new Champions League winners with any confidence.

Who to fancy over 90 minutes in the Luzhniki Stadium between two sides that could barely be separated over more than nine months of the Premier League season and who, in so many areas, are either so evenly matched or so well-equipped to cancel each other out?

Take their match-winners. While Manchester United can boast the world's best player, Cristiano Ronaldo, Chelsea can claim they've got the planet's most difficult player to handle, Didier Drogba. What about experience? United may have Ryan Giggs and Paul Scholes but Chelsea can boast half a dozen Champions League winners. Defences? Both fantastically parsimonious.

When United talk of having the momentum after edging the race to the Premier League line, Chelsea can retort that they'd won the last key battle between the two sides a fortnight earlier. While tipsters for United will trumpet how their flair and attacking prowess has seen them plunder far more goals than Chelsea this season, the Blues' backers will note how their organisational efficiency and midfield consistency and solidity has meant they've lost fewer League games.

So if it's so tough trying to call it, why do United go in as clear favourites? Is it because in just one area, there seems such an apparently glaring disparity of experience, excellence and ability? For if you got Sir Alex Ferguson and Avram Grant to slam their medals down on the table, the referee would be tempted to wave a halt to this mismatch before they even get on the pitch.

Think of it; in the red corner, Ferguson comes out armed with 30 major winners' medals, including a Champions League and two other European gongs and 10 Premier League crowns. He's not just the most bemedalled manager in the history of the British game but also arguably the most influential figure in domestic sport in a generation. Nobody bothers arguing the toss about his greatness any more; nobody questions his right to command United's castle as he sees fit. Even Grant, trying to put Fergie's 10th League title with United into some sort of perspective, could only splutter that words failed him to express how monumental the achievement was. The Scot's record intimidates. His aura intimidates. Then out of the blue corner comes Grant, an absolute beginner in the higher echelons of the European game. An experienced coach, yes, but one offered no protection by four titles in his native Israel. Here, he's still won nothing, been outmanoeuvred in his only final and finds his abilities questioned at every turn by doubters who've never seen him as anything but Roman Abramovich's puppet.

His club's fans, who only a couple of months ago were serenading him about not knowing what he was doing, still doubt if he's in the same league as his predecessor Jose Mourinho whereas Ferguson's been at the helm for so long, 22 years, there's a generation of United fans who probably couldn't even tell you his predecessor was Ron Atkinson.

It was a painful contrast watching the pair of them going through their Champions League conferences last week. On the Tuesday at Cobham, Grant was grilled about his uncertain future, about the conspicuous lack of public backing from the club and about whether his players would be walking out after Moscow. He did his best, remaining good-natured and patient, but Ferguson would never suffer an impertinent interrogation like this.

The next day at Carrington, Ferguson, as always, got a comfy ride. Why ask him about his post-Moscow future at 66 when you know you'd get your head snapped off with "you'll be the first to know". Sir Alex will go when he's ready and it will be on his terms (only don't hold your breath on him giving up his thrilling young team any time soon). But Grant? Who in the world, apart from the governor of Chukotka, truly knows?

Yet we should temper any tendency to feel a bit sorry for a man who just can't offer a convincing impression that his Chelsea future is in his own hands with the thought that, actually, Grant has a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity tomorrow to achieve a managerial feat so extraordinary that Ferguson himself would be put in the shade.

This is old Taggart's 17th crack at the European Cup and he's won one; Grant could equal him at his first attempt. It's possible all right. Back in 1982, a hugely-popular manager quit his club because of irreconcilable differences with his chairman, and was replaced by a little-known backroom figure, who within three months guided them to the European Cup. For Chelsea, read Aston Villa; for Jose Mourinho, read Ron Saunders; and for Grant, read Tony Barton.

Anyway, Grant is making us learn the hard way not to underestimate him. The critics who said he was found wanting tactically in the big matches now have to concede he can't stop winning them.

Nicolas Anelka, who won the 2000 Champions League with Vicente Del Bosque's Real Madrid, likens Grant's quiet, knowledgeable style to that of the unsung, lugubrious Spaniard, who went on to win it twice.

Grant's chief triumph so far has been the successful guardianship of Chelsea's organisation and spirit and whatever fate befalls him, it would be too churlish not to recognise how, through his faithful adherence to the credo "more than to know what to change, you need to know what not to change", he's done a sterling job for them.

Ah, but if he really could outdo Fergie and succeed in the one task which proved beyond Mourinho at Chelsea. Wouldn't you just love to see the Great One's purple face and the Special One's pouting face if they had to give second best to the Derided One?