Real Madrid are a team with terrible manners. If they were a house guest, they would loudly slurp your whisky, spend the whole evening whining intolerably about their privileged lives, and then casually slip your best cutlery into their pockets as they left.
For all the regal trappings of the Bernabeu, with its braying robe of noise and ambassadorial entitlement, somehow it is away from home, and on nights such as this, that Real really come into their own. Here, they wore their black shirts like a paramilitary uniform, gleefully trampling on the dreams of Bayern Munich and laying one boot in the Champions League final, delighting in the fact that once again they had triumphed without really getting out of third gear.
Marcelo and Marco Asensio got their goals either side of half-time, and superbly taken they were, too. Still, playing Real Madrid is hard enough without giving them presents, and when Bayern debrief this game, they will still find it hard to work out just how they managed to lose it, having spurned a number of fine chances and handed them their winning goal in a party bag.