It was not even close, which was surely the most impressive thing from Manchester City’s point of view as they roared into the Champions League final; another step closer to ultimacy, immortality. The power came during an eviscerating first-half, when Bernardo Silva scored two and Real Madrid were reduced to quivering wrecks, fortunate that the damage was not heavier. Jack Grealish had one of the games of his life and he was ably supported by pretty much everybody around him. With this Madrid team on these kinds of nights, partly because of their history – 14 European Cups and all the rest – there is usually the feeling that they are never truly dead; they will find a way back. Not here. Madrid knitted a few moves together in the second-half and if that bears reporting it was because of how one-sided it had been previously. But there was never the feeling that they had another comeback in them, another dose of Champions League voodoo to rival that with which they had devastated City at this stage of last season’s competition. City managed the period when a Real goal might have provoked a few jitters and it was all over when Manuel Akanji touched a Kevin De Bruyne free-kick into Eder Militão, who watched the ball fly in off him. It probably said a lot that the celebrations in the stands were not overly wild, which was also the case when the substitute, Julian Álvarez scored the fourth, after fine approach work from two other replacements, Phil Foden and Riyad Mahrez. It was a stroll and yet another statement. City will be the red-hot favourites to beat Internazionale in the final. It was one of the biggest nights in City’s history. In the background was their looming capture of a fifth Premier League title in six seasons, along with the FA Cup final against Manchester United. But it really was in the background. This is the competition that everybody at the club has craved, from the ownership down and – at kick-off time – Madrid had felt like the acid test, the team loaded with all that savvy, the one which had reached five of the previous nine Champions League finals. But City knew what they had to do – impose themselves from the first whistle. It was extraordinary how they did so. Guardiola’s team were a blur of sky blue, bringing the press, their movements and inter-play sharp. Madrid reeled; sinking into two deep banks. Or survival mode. Luka Modric was a symbol of their early difficulties. Twice in the opening 20 minutes, he erred with passes. This is not supposed to happen. City advertised the opening goal and Erling Haaland might have had two inside the first half of the first period only to be thwarted by Thibaut Courtois. The first big chance came after he eluded David Alaba to meet a lovely Jack Grealish cross. He headed down but too close to the goalkeeper, who blocked, Alaba hacking clear. Grealish was in the mood. The second was an even more remarkable save – or let-off for Madrid. After City worked a short corner, Manuel Akanji headed De Bruyne’s ball back across and there was Haaland, towering above Eduardo Camavinga, to butt goalwards. Courtois flung out a hand to tip behind. Rodri had dragged a shot wide in the early minutes, on the second phase after a Haaland dart, and City’s remorseless pressure told when De Bruyne flashed a low pass through for Silva, who had melted into space behind the Madrid defence. It was one of the many examples of City’s fizz on the ball. Silva never looked like missing, the finish lifted inside the near corner. Madrid could barely get out, although Toni Kroos did unload a vicious shot from distance that rattled the crossbar in the 35th minute. Moments earlier, Kyle Walker had chased back at high speed to nick the ball away from Vinícius Júnior. How the home crowd loved that. City were winning every duel; Madrid looked shell-shocked. It was a harrowing experience for them and it got worse when Silva scored his second after Grealish had moved in from the left, defenders backing off, before banging a pass into Ilkay Gündogan. The midfielder showed his twinkle toes and worked Courtois, the ball looping up for Silva, whose guided header was a snapshot in composure. Akanji would go close before the interval and Madrid could not get off quickly enough. When Silva’s first went in, Carlo Ancelotti could be seen in conversation with Vinícius, eyebrow arched even higher than normal. When the second went in, the manager drummed his fingers on his lips. He looked nervous, incredulous. Guardiola lived every moment, blowing kisses at one point to Grealish, who was excellent, striking fear into Madrid with his dribbling and close control; tracking back diligently, too. Alaba extended Ederson with a free-kick that wobbled and dipped and Madrid were better after the interval, playing their football. They knew that one goal could change everything. It did not come. Haaland was denied yet again by Courtois, the goalkeeper diverting the ball up and onto the crossbar after a one-on-one, but it did not matter for City. Can anybody stop them?