They called it the end of bling-bling era in Paris. From that, they have mined the glitziest prize of all. But so much for no more superstars, they’ve got a team full of them now.
What to do next? Get rid of Khvicha Kvaratskhelia, Ousmane Dembele and Desire Doue, the name this final will forever be remembered by, and go again?
Not a chance. Luis Enrique has turned Paris-Saint Germain into a football club, not a fashion club. His brilliant management is akin to a coup.
The Spaniard took a match to the catwalk and, from the ashes of indulgence, his team are Europe’s top dogs. Neymar’s diamond earrings have gone, in their place something far more valuable – probably – a first Champions League trophy in PSG’s history. Now, it is the future to which they can look, not the past.
But first, let us savour 90 minutes here in the sweatbox of Munich’s Allianz Arena. Not that Enrique’s boys had broken a bead by the time they were two goals in front inside 20 minutes. They were up against worthy finalists in Inter, and yet it looked like a mismatch. Doue made the first for Achraf Hakimi and scored the second.
He later added a third. Are we sure Lamine Yamal is the best teenager in world football? On reflection, it’s a shame we were denied that match-up here.
To think, Doue was not a guaranteed starter. The only selection call Enrique had was whether to include the 19-year-old or Bradley Barcola on PSG’s right. He got it right, all right, just like most things in his two seasons at the club. This makes him only the second manager in history to win a European treble with two clubs.
The last time he did that, with Barcelona in 2015, he celebrated on the pitch with his daughter, Xana. You’d need a heart of stone, then, for your own not to swell at the sight of him lifting the trophy on Saturday night. In 2019, Xana passed away, aged just nine, after being diagnosed with bone cancer.
He looked to the sky on full-time before being mobbed by his staff, and there was not a soul here who did not want to reach out and give him a hug. For Enrique and PSG, it was the perfect night in the perfect setting.
This stadium looks like a second moon as you leave Munich in your shadow. On Saturday night, it felt as if its illuminated exterior had the same impact on people as a flame does a moth. Parisians, Milanese, Bavarians, with tickets and without, football fans and curious observers, each drawn to this sporting spectacle at a venue befitting the game’s greatest club fixture.
Munich, too, is the finest of hosts. It is a city that has seen war and revolution, but the sound of uniformed boots on its cobbled Old Town has long since made way for the more comforting clatter of studs, be that inside the old Olympiastadion or here at the Allianz, the new torchbearer.
This city has a habit, too, of anointing new kings. In its four previous stagings of the European Cup or Champions League final, a first-time winner has been crowned. And so it proved to be the debutant’s ball once more – never did the outcome feel in any doubt.
For all of their monopoly on possession, it took PSG 10 minutes to trouble Yann Sommer. Not that he was troubled. It was more a couple of ticklers, shots from distance by Doue and Dembele. But then, they punched them on the nose. Twice.
You might be tempted to call the second goal a knockout blow, but Inter were barely conscious anyway. They were wearing yellow and went down like a submarine during those opening 20 minutes. Indeed, it was like watching a child trying to stop a wave with their foot during the spell that sunk the Italians.
The first goal, on 12 minutes, was incisive and ruthless. Vitinha’s pass to Doue opened up Inter’s defence. Doue’s square pass to Hakimi then ripped it apart and the right back showed no mercy against his former club, turning in from six yards.
He had the good grace not to celebrate – come on, it’s a Champions League final! – but the Moroccan had opened a wound that was never likely to heal, especially when the second goal had an element of self-harm about it.
Nicolo Barella, Inter’s wonderful playmaker, was not so wonderful when trying to shepherd the ball out for a corner. He had forgotten his shield and Nuno Mendes swept in to steal. From there, PSG broke. Mendes to Kvaratskhelia to Dembele to Doue – and in the time you’ve read that sequence the ball was in the back of the net.
Doue’s shot took a deflection off Federico Dimarco, but at least he made some sort of contact on the ball, which is more than can be said for his team-mates who showed zero resistance in stopping the counter.
Belatedly, in the 23rd minute, Inter’s semi-final hero Francesco Acerbi headed over from a corner. Marcus Thuram did the same soon after. But that was all they had to show for a first half in which PSG’s Gianluigi Donnarumma might as well have jumped in with the ultras behind his goal and waved a giant flag.
At least those designs had a bit of colour – Inter’s was all white.
It continued to flutter helplessly in the second half as PSG confirmed the inevitable. Not that we should brush by three terrific goals as formalities. Doue’s second, on 73 minutes, came after Dembele’s flick released Vitinha who in turn released Doue.
Like everything PSG were doing, he made the finish look easy. Not that being clean through on goal in a Champions League final should ever look so simple for someone so young. He and Yamal really could be our heirs to Messi and Ronaldo.
Kvaratskhelia made it four in the 73rd minute, just reward for another warrior-like performance. Dembele was the creator, springing the Georgian clear, and, like Doue, he rolled into the bottom corner as if having a kickabout on the playground.
Indeed, this game had long since had the feel of the older boys taking on the year below and substitute Senny Mayulu smashed a fifth late on.
Just how many years can Enrique and PSG now dominate? It has taken 14 years of Qatari investment and £1.92billion spent on players to arrive here, but to witness this masterclass, the ultimate show of superiority, it felt like just the beginning.
