I haven't shouted like a maniac for ages while watching a football game on TV at home.

I often let out a strong but short 'yeah' when goals are scored but I rarely drag out the euphoric exhilaration in G-O–O–O-A-A-A-A–L-L-L.

But I screamed long and loud last Sunday night when Manchester United played Manchester City.

It was a good game, made even better when Michael Owen came on as a substitute for the last 15 minutes.

I have followed his fame - and famine - over the years, from his days at Liverpool, when he zipped past defenders regularly to score, to his wasteland of a time stuck at sorry Newcastle.

He's with Man U now but, in his Liverpool prime, I recalled he curled a superb shot past Fabian Barthez, then tending goal for Man U.

I like Owen, not only for his poaching skills, but also for his stoicism to live to fight another day in the face of adversity.

Plenty of folks have written him off over the years. They said he had lost his speed, composure and finishing.

In Real Madrid, where he played after he left Liverpool, his star had started dimming. He often came on as a substitute but still managed to score regularly.

In Newcastle, he was often injured or played among woeful teammates. Often he looked lost and forlorn on the field, and I always wished he would get a break, any break.

Life’s often like that outside the football field too - it is littered with obstacles - but if you do not cave in, like Owen, well, there’s always a chance to reap some rewards.

Indeed, that was what happened last Sunday.

Owen actually hasn’t been used much by Man U too since he joined. On Sunday, he came on only towards the tail-end.

I think he did not have a touch of the ball until that magical moment in the 95th minute.

He controlled a magnificent ball from veteran Ryan Giggs, to slot it home and spark off his gleeful run along the sidelines.

No, he was not taunting the City fans, who I am sure would not have begrudged Owen’s moment of salvation, even redemption, though at their expense.

Some of them would have understood.

Owen had just scored one for the everyman, the romantic, the dreamer, anyone who has had doors slammed in his face for being supposedly useless, old, silly or unhip.