Give Lionel Messi half an hour and he will sprinkle some magic to remember for ever. Most of the crowd under this vast roof had been afflicted with their own strain of Messidependencia for two-thirds of this game, whose low stakes had been reflected in both tempo and ambience. Everything before their idol’s arrival felt almost self-consciously like a prelude, played out in the certainty that a crescendo would follow. There was no need to worry about anything else here: why not get ready to bask in seeing a little more history being made?

You can set your watch by Messi, even if that does not usually mean winding it to the 60th minute. He had agreed with Lionel Scaloni that, with Argentina already guaranteed the spoils in Group J, that he would not be unleashed until then. After all, no chances should be taken for the deadest of rubbers. From the moment he came on this felt like an occasion, a moment in lore, another precious chance to distil the admiration for a legend of advancing years. So Messi delivered and sent another flock of starry-eyed devotees beaming into the muggy Texas night.

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