PSG pummelling proves Real Madrid's Galacticos are miles behind Europe's elite sides: Xabi Alonso has a huge job on his hands to turn Los Blancos around

There was a sense that this meant something bigger for Florentino Perez. They spent the season being ritually bloody nosed by Europe, comfortably second best to Barcelona in La Liga, and far off the pace in the Champions League. This tournament, silly to some, was a chance for Los Blancos to reassert themselves as the best team in club football.

And there's certainly something to be said for that. The CWC can be mocked, disparaged, and cast aside as a Gianni Infantino vanity project. But at the end of the day, the winner is still a world champion that gets to lift a very heavy, very shiny trophy. That feels real.

It's the kind of thing Madrid like. If times are hard, if results are bad, if vibes are poor, they can always point to a trophy cabinet that is absolutely packed. That, of course, comes with its faults. There is no such thing as being second best for them (third is unthinkable.) Every Blancos loss comes with an inquest, every win is almost criticized for not being perfect enough. Referees are blamed for losses. There is, more broadly, no correct way to secure three points - unless it's by remarkable, heroic circumstances, ideally over Manchester City in the Champions League.

This, then, was the ultimate psychological blow. Madrid weren't beaten here as much as blown away. They flirted with an equitable contest for all of five minutes. Kylian Mbappe did some nice things on the ball, Vinicius Jr looked awkward - but momentarily effective - on the right. They poked and prodded, but the Parisians didn't flinch.

And then PSG turned it on. The first goal was due to some shambolic defending. Raul Asencio - brought in here in lieu of the suspended Dean Huijsen - fumbled too long on the ball in the box. Ousmane Dembele intercepted, fell, but rolled the ball into the path of Ruiz, who tucked into the bottom corner.

Three minutes later, the Parisians were at it again. And this time Antonio Rudiger played culprit-in-chief, hesitating on the ball as Dembele charged him down. He glanced to his right, hoping to find an open Asencio. But Dembele was too rapid, and after cutting off the passing lane, nicked possession, ran through on goal, and finished past a stranded Courtois.

The third was no fault of Madrid's. Sure, Mbappe might have reacted slightly quicker after losing the ball high up the pitch, but PSG charged immediately. Achraf Hakimi found Dembele, who swiveled and, without looking, pinged a ball into space for the Moroccan. Hakimi stretched his legs, outran the breathless Fran Garcia, and squared for Ruiz, who completed his brace. After 24 minutes, this was a mauling. The referee called for the first of four hydration breaks over the course of 90 minutes. Madrid looked relieved to have a second to breathe.

Khvicha Kvaratskhelia might have made it four before the half time whistle - but fired wide. Madrid kept it mercifully comfortable in the second half, even as PSG decided to largely stop playing football. Still, there was one final blow. This time it was Goncalo Ramos, bought for nearly nine figures two years ago but now very much a backup. He took Bradley Barcola's feed, pivoted, evaded a sliding defender and tucked home from six yards. Massacre complete.

Before the game, though, there was hope. MetLife Stadium was an optimistic sea of very hot white before kickoff. The train to the stadium was littered with pale Blancos jerseys, with PSG shirts sparse and awkward. "Hala Madrid" was heard as a catch phrase at ticket scanners and in the halls of tunnels between tracks. One Parisian tried to start a PSG chant, but received daggers from Madrid fans before he could be joined in any sort of vocal support. It was a gross, hot, humid and sticky day for football, but Madrid fans came into it with a sense of belief.

And before the first whistle, you could feel it. Madrid players were cheered loudly in the still-comical individual intros. The boos outrang the applause as each PSG player walked in. This was always going to feel like something of a Madrid home game - such is the global appeal of their fan base. But the magnitude of the discrepancy in fans between the two sides was remarkable, a tiny pocket of Parisian dark blue behind one goal serving as the only real area of French camaraderie (although they were loud throughout).

If there is one thing that Madrid fans must be applauded for, overall, though, is their sense of authenticity. Indeed, as soon as those in white started struggling, the boos rained down. Asencio was jeered. Rudiger was taunted. Even Mbappe, the guy Madrid fans have stuck with despite the controversy he has brought alongside his remarkable goalscoring production, was mocked as he toiled against his former club.

That all felt a bit unfair, though. It must be admitted that it is seldom right to feel sorry for Madrid. They can spend more than pretty much anyone else, and make a ritual of pinching the best players from every other big team in Europe. This is the Galactico model: sign the big names, disregard what everyone thinks.

Still, as they were outran, outmuscled and outplayed by a superior team, it became clear just how significant the difference is between these two sides. It was like watching men playing boys, senior pros beating up on a U-12 side in a sick, twisted scrimmage. Madrid are a very, very good football team. They may be tactically awkward, and still a work in progress under a manager still tinkering with his tactics. But they are a sublime collection of remarkably skilled individuals. Against most teams, on most days, that is enough. This CWC has served as pretty compelling evidence for that.

PSG are not most teams, though. Luis Enrique spent the final year of Kylian Mbappe's tenure beta-testing how to put together an effective side, and had no problems benching his soon-to-depart star. He remarked, certainly with a wink and a nudge, that when Mbappe left that he could finally work with a group of dedicated footballers. And what a magnificent job this has been. PSG are a finely balanced unit, dominant in midfield, devastating up front, and brave in their defensive positioning. They don't play with a recognized striker, and still scored 92 goals in 34 Ligue 1 games. That takes truly sublime coaching.

They executed every principle with aplomb here. When they lost the ball, they simply won it back. When Madrid pressed, they passed through them. When Madrid went long, PSG caught them offside. By the end of it all, they had completed almost three times as many passes - and that was after they had removed Ruiz and his tempo-setting aplomb from the field.

This was always going to be a tricky one for Alonso and Madrid. For the first time, he had both Vinicius Jr and Mbappe fully fit and at his disposal for 90 minutes. Throw in the excellent play of backup Gonzalo Garcia, and the Basque manager had a decision to make: bench one of his two stars, or remove Garcia. He decided to keep all three and play Vinicius out on the right.

It was a disaster. Madrid didn't press with any clarity or conviction from the front. Mbappe didn't really run at all. Vinicius never seemed to know whether to open space on the right byline or cut in to offer a through ball. And when he did receive on the right, he looked awkward and misplaced, an elite footballer confronted with the angles, spaces and scenarios totally alien to him. The result was a fine array of loose touches and misplaced passes.

Meanwhile, the midfield consisted of an irritated Aurelien Tchouameni, overrun Arda Guler, and frantic Jude Bellingham. None of the three could be criticized for their effort, but the cohesion was lacking. No midfield has been able to contain PSG this year - never mind a trio hastily assembled in their first real test against an elite side. Throw in the absence of Trent Alexander-Arnold - who picked up a very convenient injury 24 hours before playing the best left winger and left back in the world - and whatever balance Alonso thought he might have established was in tatters. After 30 minutes, he abandoned it all, went to a 4-4-2, and asked Garcia, ever the diligent servant, to basically just cover ground on the right side. All it did was stop the bleeding.

For PSG, this was a rampant showing, even vindication. They had got one over Madrid, and also proved, in pretty confounding circumstances, that they never needed Mbappe. They showed up at a party in front of their ex and made him look silly in his new relationship. The Parisians have never really coveted proof that their project is working - a Champions League winners medal tends to do that just fine - but this was an excellent sweetener.

For Madrid, this was the final blow of a truly miserable season. Luka Modric played his last game in Madrid white. He is off to Milan soon. Lucas Vazquez also wore the shirt for the final time. Rodrygo sat on the bench, and a move away looks increasingly likely. Three key players of an old era - albeit in different ways - could be moved on. And then, there are the larger tactical questions. Does Garcia have to start? Can Guler, Tchouameni and Bellingham play in the same midfield? Is Asencio even remotely near the level required to play among Europe's elite? Yes, there was no Alexander-Arnold here, but how could he have helped Los Blancos defend more effectively? There was little to suggest that even the legs of Federico Valverde in midfield could have made the scoreline any less damning.

Alonso, at full time, promised that things would be different next year. He insisted that this is a project, and Los Blancos need further games and time on the training pitch to make things work. There will also, undoubtedly, be calls for Perez to open his wallet, shuffle a few Euros around, and see what he can do. There is perhaps a need for another central player. A right winger would help. Left back is also an area that could be targeted - with Alvaro Carreras supposedly on his way from Benfica. More broadly, though, this feels like a wake up call, a need for a Madrid rebuild. Even those far away from the Santiago Bernabeu could see it, jeering the team that some had never seen before as they toiled against the real best - and most complete - club in the world.