Argentina are World Champions

 Argentina are World Champions.

Your mind was whisked back to 1978 when, amid a turbulent backdrop of the military junta and a shower of ticker tape in the venerable footballing cities of Buenos Aires, Cordoba, Rosario and River Plate, Argentina won their World Cup in their country, their backyard and none of us had seen anything like this. Ticker tape streamers were showered upon a grateful and ecstatic nation, their celebrations running deep into the night and early morning.

That was the World Cup Final when Argentina's opponents 44 years ago Holland were beaten cruelly when it looked as if they may have been the better and technically superior side. But, as was the case last night Holland got tangled up in foliage of their own making and were simply outclassed by the highly respected likes of Mario Kempes, Leopoldo Luque, Ossie Ardilles and Ricky Villa, a side of enormous gifts and somehow destined to win a World Cup.

Last night revisited their past yet again. In 1986 a certain Diego Maradona, now sadly missed, went through a series of tangos and bossa novas while Bobby Robson's English defence just disintegrated as Peter Reid, Terry Fenwick and a whole succession of flailing English legs failed miserably to stop Maradona in his tracks. We all know about the disgraceful hand that allegedly had given Argentina the lead from the stocky but well muscled Maradona, but this is now ancient history and hardly worthy of any mention.

Once again another Argentina icon and surely enshrined in Football's Hall of Fame, finally received his just desserts. Lionel Messi has been consistently recognised as the greatest and finest world-class player of his generation. For years the World Cup has eluded Messi and yesterday evening in Qatar, in what will certainly be his curtain call and moment of departure from the world stage, the former Barcelona heart throb, lifted aloft the Jules Rimet World Cup and an adoring footballing community raised a glass.

For what must have seemed a lifetime now, Messi has ventured through the forests of football's prettiest landscapes and wondered why he simply couldn't get his hands on that much coveted World Cup. But on a late Sunday evening we settled back to watch the embodiment of genius, a master of his craft, the stunning, multi faceted talents, the extraordinary phenomenon, the man who elevated football to its highest level and always made the game look effortless.

Now for those of us who would be tempted to make dubious comparisons with football's legendary world names, this may be the time not to engage in such futile exercises. Pele, for many us the most complete of all remarkable players, had everything you could wish for in a player. During the 1970 World Cup, he had attempted an outrageously spectacular goal from the centre circle that only narrowly missed the target. Then there was that breathtaking dummy which simply left a Uruguay goalkeeper stretching out his arm. Pele missed but the sheer audacity of its execution will always be recalled affectionately.

There was the extravagant style and brilliance of Johan Cruyff, a Dutch master. Cruyff would become the chief exponent and pioneer of the stepover and drag back, an act of such impudence and impertinence that none of us would have dared to try and emulate it. But Cruyff would be robbed of his World Cup glory in 1974 when West Germany cancelled out his dazzling run and goal with a well deserved victory. Holland had won their penalty from the kick off when Cruyff simply shrugged off the German tackles as if they weren't there. And then there was Diego Maradona. Football took a sharp intake of breath. Genius is such a rare commodity that maybe we should bottle it up for ever.

But last night was all about the appointment of Argentina as World Champions. On their way to this year's World Cup Argentina summarily dismissed Holland in a repeat of the 1978 World Cup Final. Now Argentina looked at themselves in the mirror longingly and gave the Dutch another dose of its own medicine. This time France were on the receiving end of their decades long World Cup frustrations. Les Bleus though were not though in any mood for entente cordiale. The Gallic swagger and free flowing attacking fluency had gone horribly missing for large periods of this World Cup Final.

You cast your mind back to the footloose and fancy free French of yesteryear, the likes of Raymond Kopa and the prolific goal scoring prowess of the astonishingly talented Just Fontaine from many moons ago. In recent times there was the eternally elegant Michel Platini, Jean Tigana, Didier Six, Alain Giresse who wafted the ball almost naturally amongst themselves as if the ball had a mind of its own. Then in 1998 the World Cup swashbucklers of Zinedine Zidane, Didier Deschamps and Emmanuel Petit gave us an authentic reproduction of the football their ancestors had passed down their generations.

For France though this was not to be their night. Four years ago in Russia, Kylian M'Bappe had single- handedly conducted the French orchestra that accompanied France to World Cup victory against Croatia. From the moment the match kicked off France looked like a group of men stumbling around a dark room searching for a light switch. They looked off the pace, sluggish, leaden footed and neither nor there. Their passing had little in the way of co-ordination, their movement reminded you of those marathon dancers in America who would think nothing of tripping the light fantastic for hour upon hour. By the end of extra time last night, France were out on their feet and with nowhere to go.

Argentina knew this would be their night of tango, dramatic pauses, sumptuously intricate passing that seemed to be gather in momentum as the match wore on. There were the familiar triangles, isosceles at its finest, thick clusters of passes that blossomed into almost wondrous floral creations. It was a display of football at its most natural, football of delightful spontaneity and fluidity. Messi was always at the heart of it all, acting quite frequently as a shield in the middle of the park, gathering the ball with his back to opponents and then gliding forward with purpose and logical progression.

For Alex MacAlister, now the only Brighton player ever to play in a World Cup, fused the Argentina attack intelligently and stylishly with glorious close ball control. Both Julien Alvarez, Christian Romero, Nahuel Molina, Paulo Dybala, Nicolas Otomendi, Gonzalo Montiel, Enzo Fernandez and Angel Di Maria, formerly of the Manchester United parish, were highly qualified engineers and architects, one touch passing maestros, weaving webs in and around the French defence as if they'd been going back through the same, familiar routine a million times.

When Di Maria had been upended in the French penalty area and Messi had confidently struck home his penalty for Argentina, the South American team moved in perfect unison for a very special exhibition. From another magnificent cat's cradle of passes that simply opened up France like Pandora's Box, Argentina spreadeagled the French defence with counter attacking at its most polished. Breaking forward with speed and exquisite fleet footed dexterity, the ball swapped feet in a blizzard of neat passes. MacAlister, Messi and several other blue and white striped men flooded forward before the ball was laid back across goal for Di Maria to sweep the ball home for a nonchalant second goal.

Then shortly before half time France rallied as we always knew they would eventually. Kingsley Coman came much more forward with a sharpness of mind and footballing intelligence some of us were convinced he still had. Eduardo Camavinga , Ibrahim Varane, Youssof Fofana and Antoine Griesman, still capable playing the simple game, were now revitalised, refreshed, much more committed to the cause. Their football was still stuck in a treacly quagmire but at least they were far more alive and alert now. M'Bappe was finally flourishing, tucking home a penalty and then volleying the equaliser home quite staggeringly. 

As the game reached its final stages, both Argentina and France were locked together in battle like marauding armies ready to deliver the lethal blow. For all the world it all looked like Argentina had blown up at least psychologically. Suddenly though Argentina found a second wind. There were though hints and suggestions that the Latin candle had yet to be extinguished. Lionel Scaloni, the Argentina manager, must have been repeating the mantra of Sir Alf Ramsey. In 1966 Sir Alf had implored his team to win the World Cup for England again in extra time and they promptly obliged.

In one last sustained assault Argentina threw the cliched kitchen sink at France. A lobbed ball into the French penalty area, bobbled around dizzyingly and Messi was there to prod the ball home - but only just. For a moment none of us could tell whether the ball had crossed the line but after brief deliberation, Messi's goal was given and the World Cup had to be in Argentina's hands. But oh no there was yet another underlying pulsating narrative. France were far from finished.

A ball that landed in the Argentina penalty area seemed to bounce up against the back of a blue and white striped elbow and the Polish referee had no hesitation in pointing to the penalty spot. M'Bappe, the French matinee idol, completed his hat-trick and Argentina were shocked into submission. Now the most unforgettable World Cup Final had given as much as it could. Some of us would have been quite happy to see the match go on for an indefinite period of time. It was 3-3 and by the time the match had reached extra time without any resolution, we knew there had to be a winner. But the inevitable and farcical penalty shoot out loomed and so it was.  

France now looked drained of colour although Argentina were hardly any sprightlier. France seemed to freeze at the most vital moment. Penalties were converted for a while but finally France lost both their concentration and focus. Their final and crucial penalty was horrifically sliced wide of Emi Martinez and Argentina had won their third World Cup. Their fiercely patriotic supporters went berserk, exploding with delight and grinning with irrepressible happiness.

In the moments after this stupendous spectacle, your thoughts went back to 1978 and Buenos Aires while at the same time pondering on the magical exploits of Diego Maradona during the World Cup of 1986 in Mexico. There are parallels with today's Argentina's golden generation. In a country that still simmers with political tension, this was all the escapism that Argentina needed. Argentina, Argentina they cried as one in Qatar. You couldn't possibly disagree. This one is for you Lionel Messi. It's time to wander into the honeyed sunset and accept all the bouquets of praise. None surely deserve this moment so much.