No one ever forgets where they were the first time they saw Lionel Messi play live.
In my case, it was here in west London on a Wednesday night in February 2006. Messi was still only 18 that night when he came out in the colours of Barcelona. He had long hair, magic feet and an unmistakable aura of greatness.
Messi was untouchable that night. By legal means, anyway. The only answer Chelsea had to him was to try to kick him out of the game.
When I looked to my right from this press box, towards the Matthew Harding Stand, I could still see Chelsea full back Asier del Horno kicking Messi up into the air near the corner flag in the 36th minute and being sent off. Some of the one-eyed claimed, laughably, he was play-acting. ‘Dog Messi,’ one headline said the next day.
An epiphany like that never fades. You never forget seeing a genius in bloom and realising you are in the presence of something extraordinary. And even if it was one year earlier, you never forget seeing a goal like Ronaldinho’s swivel-hipped toe-poke in a 4-2 Chelsea victory at the Bridge in March 2005.
It is genius that underpins this great modern rivalry between these two sides, a rivalry that has only developed since the advent of the Champions League, a rivalry that has survived even Uefa’s inadvertent attempts to strip the early stages of the competition of all its jeopardy.
There is still joy in this fixture. There is still excitement in walking up the stairs out of the underground station at Fulham Broadway and wandering down the Fulham Road to Stamford Bridge when Barcelona are playing here and the heirs to Messi and Ronaldinho, and to Didier Drogba and Frank Lampard, are ranged against each other.
There was the same sense of anticipation about this night as there was that night in 2006. It was billed as a battle of the wonderkids. Fathers pointed their sons towards Lamine Yamal, 18, as he warmed up in front of the Shed End and bade them take his picture so they could prove they were here to see him play.
Others rejoiced when the teams were read out and Estevao, Chelsea’s boy from Brazil, who is the same age as Messi was all those years ago when he first played here, was named in the Chelsea starting eleven.
The first time Estevao got the ball on the Chelsea right, he took on his man and won a corner, the crowd rose as one and cheered him uproariously and urged him on. That was the flank where Messi had tormented Del Horno.
Still, amid all that talent, the first chance of the night came from a mistake. Reece James lost the ball on the edge of his own area in the sixth minute and when the ball was worked to Ferran Torres, he had the goal at his mercy. He clipped his shot wide. On the touchline, Barcelona coach Hansi Flick turned away sharply in disbelief.
At the other end, Enzo Fernandez had two goals disallowed, one for a handball, the other for offside, and Pedro Neto spurned a one-on-one chance with Joan Garcia. By midway through the half, Chelsea were very much on top.
Enzo Maresca’s side finally got a little luck in the 27th minute when Marc Cucurella ran at his man on the right and fired in a cross that caused havoc in the Barcelona six-yard box. It turned into something of a comedy as the ball ricocheted between Torres and Kounde before Kounde managed a final inadvertent flick that nudged it over the line.
Yamal’s class was evident in the intelligence of his touch but the truth is, this was not his night. In fact, he had a miserable night, marked out of the game by the brilliance of Cucurella, who was outstanding from start to finish in the midst of a Chelsea performance that was irresistible.
Winning the Club World Cup is one thing but destroying Barcelona, even a Barcelona reduced to ten men for more than half the game, is something else. Surging in the Premier League, Chelsea are suddenly a side alive with possibilities.
When Yamal hit one shot tamely at Robert Sanchez, the Shed suggested to him, in as many words, that he was not a patch on Estevao. Estevao, as it turned out, was waiting to deliver his signature moment.
Barcelona’s night grew worse a minute before half time when their skipper, Ronald Araujo, was sent off for a second bookable offence, a mistimed tackle on Cucurella. His first caution had been for dissent. It was the best half of football Chelsea had played all season.
Marcus Rashford came on at half-time, Maresca was booked for protesting a decision that went against Cucurella, Cucurella continued to keep Yamal in his back pocket. And then Estevao stepped up.
Ten minutes of the second half had gone when he got the ball on the edge of the Barcelona area. He ran at Pau Cabarsi and weaved inside him. Then he stepped away from Alejandro Balde and rifled an unstoppable shot high into the roof of the net. It was an electric moment. It was another moment of arrival.
His shot was timed at 64mph. It was a thunderbolt of a drive and a strike that shouted out that there is so much more to come from this forward of whom so, so much is expected.
Chelsea’s night was still not over. Fernandez flirted with offside once more but stayed the right side of the law and played a simple ball across the box for substitute Liam Delap to slide the ball past Garcia to complete a 3-0 win.
Eleven minutes from the end, Barcelona put Yamal out of his misery by replacing him. He walked dejectedly to the bench, muttering to himself and shaking his head. A few minutes later, Estevao was substituted, too. The ground rose to him and he acknowledged their adoration.
And so football’s world turns and another star is born.
