Ajax’s demolition of Real Madrid reminded us of one of soccer’s greatest joys

Games such as these are one of the great joys of football.

Ajax’s 4-1 defeat of Real Madrid on Tuesday wasn’t just a shock. It was a disrespectful defenestration, in which the established order of things was picked up, juggled for a bit, and then hurled out of the window to the sound of intense giggling.

The details are change, but the broad sweep these games is always the same. Here come the aristocrats, onto the pitch with a strut and a swagger, despite the tiny suspicion in the minds of all watching that they might be a little past their best. Out come the challengers, and off we go. Suddenly one side is playing a different game in a higher gear, and it’s not the aristocrats.

For the underdogs are quicker, brighter, cleverer, sharper. They are forcing the favourites onto their back foot, then sending them sprawling onto their their backsides. They are doing things with the football that their opponents can’t even understand, much less deal with. They’re winning. Winning big. And they’re making their notional betters look just so damn old.

This might have been the best example of this kind of game since the Netherlands overturned Spain in the early stages of the 2014 World Cup. Maybe it’s a Dutch thing.

So, no four-peat for Real Madrid. Not even close. Leaving aside the manner of Madrid’s exit for a second, perhaps their exit shouldn’t be a huge surprise. This looked like a transitional season as they went into it, thanks to the departures of Cristiano Ronaldo and Zinedine Zidane (the latter’s resignation as perfectly judged and timed as any through ball he ever authored). The quick removal of Julen Lopetegui only reinforced that things were going a bit weird. And yet …

… it’s Real Madrid. The operational power of any aristocracy lies in its ability to convince both itself and everybody else that its hegemony is how things should be. That there is a rightness to the inequity that sees them up there and everybody else down there. The divine right of Real Madrid.

This was only reinforced by the run of Champions League victories. One of the problems with assessing great football teams is that there are many kinds of greatness. Most important here is that cup greatness is different from league greatness. The latter points to consistency and remorselessness over time, while the former is about moments. Madrid finished some 17 points behind Barcelona last season, but it didn’t matter, because when the occasion arose so did Gareth Bale. Upside down.

Three Champions Leagues in a row, then, pointed to an almost inhuman mastery of moments. Even Madrid themselves seemed to accept their fundamental invulnerability. It’s not like they strolled through the first leg in Amsterdam, yet Sergio Ramos still knew that he could afford to pick up a yellow card, skip the second leg, and clear his slate for the later rounds. Because obviously there would be later rounds.

Ramos’ clattering act of hubris now looks extremely silly, of course, but it’s not alone. What Ramos achieved through his absence, his colleagues were busy emulating on the pitch. You can choose your favourite moment, from Frenkie de Jong sending Luka Modrić sprawling, to Lasse Schöne finding a way to lob Thibaut Courtois. Or the obscene precision of Dušan Tadić. Or that weird Madrid break where Karim Benzema just sort of fell over.

Or perhaps it’s best to take the whole thing in toto. There is a giddiness about games like these, a kind of collective deliriousness that settles across the watching world. This shouldn’t be happening, insists the brain, before adding: But it is! Hooray!

It is a revolution, of sorts. The imagination is liberated from the tyranny of what has to happen, and strides blinking into sunlit freedom. Flags wave all around. You wouldn’t have been too surprised if Daley Blind, for an encore, had wheeled a guillotine out into the centre circle and —

Well, alright. You’d probably have been a little bit surprised. But it wouldn’t have seemed out of place.

Well, OK. A little out of place.

Obviously, the cold chains of reality will soon be back. De Jong is already pledged to Barcelona, and most of Ajax’s other bright young things will follow him through the door. Modern football is designed to ensure that the aristocrats never stay out of power for long. While Madrid are desperately in need of an expensive refresh, they’re usually pretty good at those.

But perhaps that makes these moments even more precious. Last season belonged to Madrid; doubtless many of the next will too. Yet for 90 glorious minutes the world turned upside down, the good guys won, and everybody got to laugh at the evil empire. Not bad, for a Tuesday.