His English was poor. But he said what fans of Rangers wanted to hear.

"You," said the Zenit supporter, "are the people". The young Russian was marching to the City of Manchester stadium, one arm draped over the shoulder of one of his Scottish rivals, the other practically bandaged in scarves of red, white and blue.

This was Old Mill Street, half a mile from the ground and half a world from the trouble about to break out in central Manchester. The atmosphere was good-natured and friendly.

"Good luck," shouted Philomena Corrigan, 68, from the garden of her home. The pensioner was wearing an RFC Nessie hat, a present from a passing Rangers fan. She was loving every minute of the football carnival.

I had been keen to get away from the Piccadilly Gardens fan zone, a heaving throng of Rangers fans, most drunk, many very drunk. The mood had been terrific up until the match began. Then came the trouble.

But most fans returning to the city centre after the game were met by a wall of riot police and turned away, many trying to figure out how to get to their hotels or trains. Beyond the cordon, in Newton Street, the mood was tense. The street was covered in glass - from smashed windows of Manchester's Police Museum. A car was off the road, its roof open and interior burned out and its bodywork smeared in blood.

Here in the street were young men, some Rangers fans, some obviously Mancunians. This was after 10pm. What police later called a mob of 200 - "a pack of baying wolves" - had just attacked the police.

The Greater Manchester force had clearly dropped its "soft touch" policy. A woman lay injured on the ground and a group of half-a-dozen young Scots were facing up to the riot police guarding her. The response: quick jabs with their batons for anyone in the way. I was one of them.

A few minutes later a young fan of Zenit - wearing Rangers colours - stepped up to one of the riot squad to ask directions. He was shoved back a yard with the officer's shield.

He and his friends found themselves in a no-man's-land between police and a group of pumped-up young men, some English, some Scots. Despite the shove, the Russians were grateful to the police. "They are really impressive," said one.

By 2am Manchester city centre looked like a landfill, its streets patrolled by groups of riot police as straggling fans picked through the litter looking for unopened beer cans. Little groups huddled round people suffering from cuts and bruises - or just ill from drink.

Then came the most surreal moment. Through the litter waded a little group of Zenit fans, hungry and lost. At their head was Alexander Kutikov, one of the founders of Time Machine, the old Soviet Union's first big rock group and one of the biggest celebrities in Eastern Europe.

"I can't understand it," he said. "The Rangers fans were very friendly. We were fraternising, We were hugging. How could this have happened?"