This time it was Marcus Rashford who delivered the knockout blow. Three days after the fight between Fede Valverde and Aurélien Tchouaméni that ended with Real Madrid’s vice captain taken to hospital and the crisis at the club laid painfully bare for all to see, they went to the Camp Nou and finally relinquished the league title they had effectively lost long ago. For the first time in 94 years a meeting of sport’s greatest rivals decided La Liga, 62,000 fans starting the party as goals from the Englishman and Ferran Torres took Hansi Flick’s team over the line with three games to spare.

For Madrid, at least it was over, nothing left to hold on to. They had avoided it happening last week by beating Espanyol, just across the city limits, sparing themselves from having to hand their rivals a guard of honour before the game but they knew they couldn’t avoid it for ever. Now all they could aspire to was preventing them from beginning the title party in their presence, but like so much else this campaign that was beyond them, and so a second successive season closes without a trophy, and on the worst possible stage.

Barcelona had taken the first step on the night early, the opening goal coming on nine minutes, and never looked back.

If this is to be just a one-year loan, what a way to sign off: with a clásico goal to win the championship. And what a goal, too. From the right edge of the Madrid area, Rashford stood over the ball. Before him, four men in the wall, another lying on the turf behind it, and, behind them, the best goalkeeper in the world. None of them could stop him, a superb free-kick flying in a long arc outwards and into the far corner. The Englishman raced towards the bench, pursued by his teammates. It was his 14th goal of the season in Spain; there have been 14 assists too.

Speaking of assists, the one that Dani Olmo provided for Barcelona to double the lead ten minutes later was gorgeous. Leaping to connect with the clipped ball into the Madrid box, he guided it, on the volley, through his legs to Torres. Alone near the penalty spot, Torres controlled and smashed it past Thibaut Courtois. The place went wild, smelling blood.

While this looked like it might get ugly for Madrid – if no more ugly than their week had already been – they did react while Barcelona’s front-footed approach meant there was a path to pursue too. So it was that Gonzalo García should have pulled one back when a Raúl Asencio ball in behind Pau Cubarsí set him clean through only for the shot to slip wide. A moment later, Jude Bellingham almost escaped to set up Vinícius Júnior.

Pedri sought to provide a little more control and Barcelona looked to turn the screw. A sharp turn saw Torres drop deep and release Rashford up the right, and when Rashford is released no one can catch him – including his teammates. The fastest player in La Liga raced clear and while he could have laid it across to Fermín López, his teammate still had not quite arrived into position. Rashford struck hard, low, and just beyond the far post. Courtois’ touch had been decisive and from the corner, Olmo sliced wide.

The second half brought an early confrontation when Olmo pushed over Asencio, and the players pilled in, Tchouaméni hanging back. Then a Trent Alexander-Arnold ball found Bellingham who was laid out by a stray elbow from Eric García. Next there were words between Gavi and Bellingham. Perhaps surprisingly, this was still a game.

Torres might have made it 3-0, only for Courtois to stretch out a foot to deny him. When Bellingham controlled Brahim Díaz’s pass and scored just after the hour, the flag was up. One of five men offside, Bellingham knew as much, left tearing at his shirt in frustration. Almost immediately, Cubarsí made a mess of a simple long ball from Asencio to allow Vinícius in. The Brazilian, though, was unable to lift over Joan García. Gerard Martín, so often the man tidying up, then had to chase down Díaz.

Time slipped away, and as Barcelona’s control returned so too did the olés, the expression of an incontestable superority that lasted almost all season long. Soon they were followed by a chorus of ‘campeones, campeones’. Twice Barcelona might have scored again but it did not matter, the roar huge at the whistle.

Up in the directors’ box sat the president of the league, Javier Tebas, and the president of the Spanish football federation, Rafael Louzán, here on official duty. Alongside them, was the president of the international boxing federation, Mauricio Sulaimán. Florentino Pérez, the president of Real Madrid, was not. When it was all over – the clásico and the title race – they came down, handed out the trophy and the celebrations began. By then, Madrid had departed. They had done some time ago.