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Given the quality of Portuguese football our home record in European competitions against sides from that country, six wins and three draws, is a fine one. We have never before played Sporting Clube de Braga, who were founded in 1921 and took their name from Sporting Clube de Portugal and their colours, after the war, from Arsenal. Known as Arsenal de Minho they may only have the Portuguese Cup in 1966 and the Intertoto Cup in 2008 as major trophies but in the old fashioned way, without the intervention of rich strangers, they have been steadily improving towards a position to challenge the big three in Portugal. This is their third successive year in the Champions League. Their notable foreign scalps have included Celtic, Sevilla, Liverpool and Udinese. They arrived at Old Trafford lying third in the Primiera Liga, three points behind Porto.

Tuesday was a miserable day across the land and after setting out in the fog and drizzle of London it was a surprise to arrive for a dry, mild evening in Manchester. Given Sir Alex Ferguson’s quoted views on the skill and speed of our opponents on the counter-attack the team was also a surprise. Rio Ferdinand, either being rested or punished, was on the bench and in his stead Ferguson had selected Michael Carrick to partner Jonny Evans in the centre of defence.

The risk associated with this gamble took less than thirty seconds to materialise. Éder was too good for Carrick and won a corner. Rafael da Silva cleared the kick but we had two men against three at the throw-in and Hugo Viana had space to look up and sling in a cross. There were four United men in the area who watched Alex Büttner, making his European debut, unable to prevent Alan from heading a fine goal; 2 minutes 0-1.

The forwards ignored the problem. Robin van Persie and Wayne Rooney looked their class, Javier Hernández was lively but Evans got no power on his header, when Carrick did what he does best and floated a ball into the area van Persie had more time than he realised. There seemed, however, a huge disparity in midfield. While ours misplaced passes and avoided making challenges (our first tackle was by Rooney, well into the match), theirs was eager and fleet footed. While we were allowed plenty of possession in our own half they were surging forward with menace. Rúben Micael was allowed to run and shortly a defence mindful though not yet awake was undone with another throw on our right. Rafael was an ambling spectator as Éder fooled poor Carrick again and sped around him, cutting back for Alan, unmarked twelve yards out, to stroke home at the near post. A plague of sighing and grief; 20 minutes 0-2.

We looked sluggish and clueless. Now even our forwards appeared as dismayed as the crowd. Braga were bragly, Éder was lord of the field, there seemed no escape from humiliation. Rarely can a goal have been more badly needed. Van Persie, who had shone in this dimmest of light, outwitted Paulo Vinícius on the left wing so comprehensively that the angry defender came back at him recklessly, sending him spinning through the air as his pass found Shinji Kagawa. Brilliant refereeing by Milorad Maži? allowed the advantage, so rare.

Kagawa is at his best in and around the edge of the area and his chip to the far post was clever, but effective only because Hernández seemed to stretch his very frame as he dived backward to reach it at the far post. Such moments cannot be translated immediately. As the header went in off goalkeeper Beto we did not yet understand the degree to which it would unnerve Braga; 25 minutes 1-2.

Rooney found van Persie with a long chip but the Dutchman shot narrowly wide after turning his man. Van Persie’s cross might have been turned in by Hernández. We should certainly have gone ahead when Rooney slipped a ball to Kagawa, whose cut back was stroked home by Hernández but ruled out because of an erroneous linesman’s flag; it was not even marginal. Leandro Salino managed to disguise as accident a foul on Büttner, who had weaved a path into the area.

Everything we did now looked convincing so long as we kept the ball in their half. On a rare sortie for the visitors Viana caused chaos in our area with another simple cross, Alan had a free shot. There had to be some tactical change if we were to capitalize on Braga’s self doubt and when the teams resumed the field for the second half Kagawa was in the dressing room, Nani outside the touchline waiting to come on, Rooney inside the touchline prepared to play on the wing. Manchester United is not Manchester United without wingers. The change allowed Cleverley to look more comfortable in his natural position at the centre of midfield even if Nani’s performance was a vignette of his career, brimming with talent and excitement but for the greater part careless and wasteful.

Bring on your fireworks; Braga played to our strength in choosing to defend their lead, eleven men back as we went at them unremittingly for fifteen minutes. Büttner, Rooney, Cleverley and, of course, van Persie, were challenging and winning the ball and excellent football flowed towards the Stretford End goal. Van Persie’s free kick from a narrow angle was too ambitious and parried by Beto, Nani headed a Rooney corner wide. Cleverley’s cross was cut out by Beto as Hernández and van Persie moved in menacingly. Amid this quality the equaliser was almost an embarrassment. Van Persie took the corner on the right and Evans, at the heart of the six yard box, had an air shot but despite the presence of most of the Braga team around him still had time to turn round and drag the ball home with his left foot; 62 minutes 2-2.

José Peseiro, the Braga coach, who had an hour before been strutting the touchline in his suit like a chubby Maitre D’ on a night the restaurant was going particularly well was now all frustrated Mediterranean gestures as the service deteriorated. He was inches away, a helpless spectator, when Hernández was floored on the touchline by a triple assault but rose from the ground with the ball at his feet to run up the wing and deliver a perfect crossfield ball to Nani, whose thumping shot demanded a pretty good save from Beto; the move of the match. Hernández was once again the young man we bought two years ago; his challenge left Beto suddenly unwell on the floor for no apparent reason until attended by Peseiro’s wine waiter, incongruous in his dark suit.

Reflecting his quiet influence it was Fletcher’s intervention which started the winning move. Cleverley and Rafael worked it on the right touchline and Cleverley’s ball in was a gem. Methinks it were an easy leap but born again Hernández found the space and headed the ball with the power and authority that Denis Law once showed on a weekly basis; 75 minutes 3-2.

Play out the play; neither our team nor its supporters know what to do anymore when we score a winner before the last minute of added time and there were nearly twenty minutes to go. Dear David de Gea tried his best to cheer up the Arsenalistas with a clearance which nearly put Cleverley in hospital and the ball in our net. Nani produced his moment of genius, a chip for van Persie to blast over, but nerves were shredded by Nani and Cleverley giving the ball away. The time for hurried substitutions had arrived. Zé Luis was the most noticeable; he came on, tripped Rafael, cleared his nose spectacularly, and shot wide.

The pleasure was tempered by the memory of just how bad we had been at the start. Even the free scoring United teams of the fifties and sixties were not in the habit of affording foreign visitors two goal leads. Four times in history; most will remember us shipping three against Real Madrid in 2000, David Beckham’s and Paul Scholes’ goals of no consolation. Some will recall Scholes and Peter Schmeichel drawing us level at two apiece against Rotor Volgograd in 1995. Historians and the elderly will know that Liam Whelan and Bobby Charlton achieved the same against Real Madrid at their height in 1957. This is the first time we have recovered two goals during a home European match to go on and win it but as I drove home through the rain and fog I wondered if the real significance of the night was the renaissance of Javier Hernández. It was as if a friend you thought gone away for ever had reappeared.

Paul Andrew James