Dimitri Payet did the impossible for France, but it was standard for him

“Lovely skill from Payet.”

There are many redundant phrases in world football. This one is quickly joining the company of “...and Giroud misses,” and “Pogba with a sublime touch.” These things are so common that it’s only necessary to invoke the name of the player alone to express the greater sentiment.

Payet gets the ball back from a cleared corner, uses a stepover to create space and send a left-footed lofted cross to the head of a waiting Olivier Giroud (he missed)? Standard. Payet manages to hide away from his defenders on a throw-in, deftly controls the ball, turns and puts in a low ball into the path of Antoine Griezmann. Standard.

Payet beats a defender on the right side after another cleared corner and sends in another cross the puts meets the head of Giroud just before the keeper arrives. Giroud.

A sky-high pass from Pogba finds Payet on the right midfield. Payet brings the ball down, with his first touch taking it a bit forward. A recovering defender rushes to tackle him on the inside. Payet spins him with a roulette then plays a pass to Patrice Evra between that defender and his midfield help. We could do this all day.

Yet somehow -- even though it’s expected of him, because of his past efforts, to be great -- he still manages to take the breath and words away. Receiving a pass from N’Golo Kanté right above the left edge of the box half-turned, Payet turns and fluidly hits a left-footed shot to the top corner of the net. A shot so unexpected and perfect that the goalkeeper can only manage the pretension of a save. So perfect that it can stand as a legitimate argument that he has no weak foot. A surreal strike that left Giroud with no other form of expression but to push his teammate down during the celebration.

It’s a goal that can really only be described as brilliant. A moment that leaves fans staring at the field or the television like fools while repeating the same word over and over. Wow. Wow. Wow. It left the scorer emotional. Bacary Sagna had to hug and console him for some time afterwards. The stadium was bellowing his name so loud that even the most cynical among us had to be moved by such love and affection. Payet began to cry as he was subbed off moments later, and the only real response to the scene was to cry yourself. The tears were everywhere.

That’s not just standard brilliance, that’s pure magic: the magic of perfectly executed technique, of instinct and precision and the greatest magic of being able to bring joy to millions of random human beings from all across the globe with one common interest. Soccer. And few people make that interest, that game, as enjoyable or play it as well as Dimitri Payet.

There’s a slew of titles that we can bestow on him -- genius, artist, wizard -- but they all would do him an injustice. He’s at the stage now where we can and should only use his name. It’s enough to encompass everything from the little deft touches to the preposterous long-range goals. Payet. These are just things that he does, even if it seems ridiculous to the rest of the rational world.