Madrid give Barça a complex

The first surprise was that Luis Suárez started. We were gullible enough to believe that Barça would keep its new jacket in the wardrobe until the first day of winter arrives. The following lather was what sort of effect of intimidation his lining up alongside Leo Messi and Neymar would create. Unexpectedly, Real's back line retreated a few yards, a sufficient amount to lend credence to Barcelona's plan. With the pitch that little bit longer, Madrid were unable to pressure and without pressure on his shoulders Xavi was like a 20-year-old again. Andrés Iniesta also shaved a few sheets off the calendar and Sergio Busquets seemed unaffected by his ailments. The new Barcelona revived the old midfield that brought it so much success. The result was that we witnessed a Clasico of yesteryear, controlled by Barcelona and dominated in midfield by their superior technique.

Neymar's goal was not so much a consequence as an advance payment. The Brazilian scored with three minutes on the clock after running across the face of goal and freeing himself all too easily from the attentions of Pepe and Dani Carvajal. His right-footed strike was impeccable, it has to be said.

Karim Benzema reserved the right to reply. First with a badly angled shot and later by rattling the bar and the post in five seconds, with a glancing header and a thunderous shot. It was the first sign that the Frenchman was the only Madrid player who wasn't still groggy from the intoxication of Anfield. These are the advantages of being plugged into a different frequency from the conventional world. Meanwhile, the rest of the side had trouble remembering their own names.

The minutes that followed belonged to Barcelona – gluttonous, almost pornographic instants, enjoyed without the presence of fear. After the virtue arrived the sin: Barcelona preferred to amuse themselves rather than kill the game off. They put off the final shot in the same way that movie villains dream up elaborate ways to finish off the good guy, explaining their dastardly plans in detail and giving time for the cavalry to arrive. Messi missed the sort of chance that he never misses in the 21st minute and it has to be concluded that at the moment of execution, Telmo Zarra stuck his boot in the way.

Shortly afterward, Gerard Piqué was Madrid's saviour. The defender conceded a penalty that unveiled some serious deficiencies. He was unable to stop himself from toppling over and handling the ball, falling prey to his own 1.92-meter frame. But it is not a question of height; there comes a time, on the road to 30 years old, when the human body cannot stand up to everything.

Cristiano Ronaldo converted the spot kick for his 16th goal of the season and Madrid were as relieved as someone who has just received a governor's pardon, given the opportunity to embark on a new lease of life. For Barcelona it was exactly the opposite; the torment of opportunity lost.

When the second half started, Carlo Ancelotti's team were already running downhill. And it was not just a question of morale. Real Madrid's physical fitness give them an advantage as the minutes tick past and the first 45 were akin to an assault course.

Pepe wasted no time in putting Madrid in front with a splendid header propelled by a twist of his neck. Around him, a series of blocks reminded us that corners are ever more like a basketball court. In his goal celebration, Pepe was on the point of eating the club crest and it is understandable, as it is in the Clasicos that part of his honour has been eaten away.

From that point Barcelona started to expire. The fantastic emergence of Suárez was insufficient to keep them alive. Whoever has accused the Uruguayan of being overweight should take a good look in the mirror. People have confused kilos with carats. Extraordinary players shouldn't be doubted, and Suárez certainly falls into that category.

Xavi's substitution on the hour mark marked Barcelona's line of resistance, at least under the old model. Rakitic came on to take a corner but did little more than cut the wrong wire. The continuation of that passage of play destroyed the visiting side. James cleared and Isco chased down the ball in midfield. It seemed impossible that he had any chance of getting to it as both Iniesta and Javier Mascherano had a good head start. However, Isco pick pocketed them and fashioned the third goal, executed by Ronaldo, James, who had run the length of the pitch, and Benzema. The Bernabéu went into rapture. For crushing Barça. For keeping the faith with Isco, for the return of the best Benzema, for the whiff of an 11th European triumph, for Telmo Zarra. For so many things.

Madrid could have scored more, but there was no need. It wasn't necessary to turn the knife to find Barcelona's weak points and confirm the distance that exists between the two sides, despite the triumvirate of Messi, Neymar and Suárez. It was ever this way, reinventing yourself takes time, the same time that the eternal enemy has required to overcome their collective complex, to return to the summit of Europe, the kings of football at the moment. 400 million people bore witness to that.

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