Leicester celebrates its team's triumph on a day of opera and hysteria

For once all the fairytale cliches seemed to ring true, with even the rain adding to the atmosphere

Pretty much everything turned blue in the stadium and the city at large (GETTY)

Bags of Walkers "Made in Leicester" "Salt and Victory" crisps. Daft blue wigs. Gigantic Champions flags. Ill-advised tatoos. Even the turbans were blue. Pretty much everything turned blue in my home town, as seemingly the entire city, in all its diversity and vibrancy and comradelyness, and a goodly proportion of the great Leicester diaspora, descended on the King Power Stadium, which has lived up to naming, and its fans' and its owners' ambitions.

Scattered around the native new champions were a few enthusiastic, slightly bemused Thais, some respectful enough to have turned up in business suits, and a contingent, naturally, I suppose, from AS Roma (Claudio's home town and former club). They hailed from "Gate 17", apparently. Obviously a man who wins loyalty. And the odd Everton fan who hadn't answered the Leicester fans' begging to make their lives meaningful and let a fearless fox have their ticket (black market value - 17,000).

For once all the fairytale cliches seemed to ring true. The rain added to the atmosphere, the idea of the underdogs struggling through adversity against a more storied name, which Everton remains, let alone Arsenal, Manchester United, Chelsea and the rest. It would have been nice to have an azure sky to match the rest of the trimmings of success. As Leicester fans know, you can't have everything.

It's been said before, but as I surveyed the media throng from all over the world, it was plain that even Richard III hasn't got the pulling power of premiership football, or the power of this as a story. Munich, Madrid, Barcelona - are you watching? You know where Leicester is now. "Look upon our players, ye mighty, and despair!"

So did Everton's team. Leicester, as they have been all season, were fast, fast, fast. Goals from Vardy, virtually gifted by a dozy Everton, an artful one from Andy King, the winningly-named unsung hero of this and past seasons, and Pennington's penalty were especially apt and just. Vardy missed his penalty, and no one cared. Everton didn't deserve to get one back.

Quite a poetic sort of day, really. If I, a mere born-again, johnny come lately, plaggy Leicester fan can be moved to tears, then it is hardly surprising that the fans who have endured much more pain and disappointment were close to mass hysteria. When the cup was awarded and the fireworks added to the drama, it was on the Richter scale. The smell of cordite again reminded the Blue Army of battles won. The pre match tweet from one of Leicester's foxiest and most famous sons ran;

Or,as a beautiful rendition of Puccini's Nessun Dorma, by Andrea Bocelli, kitted out in his fearless foxes shirt, enjoins; "None shall sleep! None shall sleep! Even you, O Princess, In your cold bedroom, Watch the stars That tremble with love and with hope! Set stars! At dawn, I will win! I will win! I will win!"

And so they did.