This is getting really, really ridiculous. “There have been so many classic games, so many magic moments,” Jude Bellingham said on the eve of his first appearance in the biggest match on earth and now he has one of his own, another absurd comic-book moment in an absurd-comic start to his Real Madrid career. With the Rolling Stones’ iconic tongue logo adorning the red and blue shirt of the home side, and Mick Jagger in the directors’ box, someone put Hey Jude on again. Not once, but twice.

And as for iconic: how about this? It was just after 6pm, the sun starting to dip behind the stand, when he stood in the corner of the Olympic Stadium in Montjuic and opened his arms wide once more. They were into added time and Bellingham had just slipped in behind the Barcelona defence to nudge the ball past Marc-André ter Stegen to score his 10th league goal of his debut season in Spain, and in the clásico no less. Nor was it just the winner: he had also scored an extraordinary equaliser to give Madrid hope in the first place.

Now they had a victory that will be for ever his, a moment to watch again and again, one he had almost single-handedly given them. It had been a difficult afternoon until then, but with one swish of that right boot everything changed.

Bellingham’s was the last dash into the area. His had also been the first into the area, taking the ball of Andreas Christensen and setting off only two minutes in, but it was Barcelona who made the better start. Not just with the opening goal – the earliest they had scored in a clásico this century – but in the flow of the game. There was an intensity about them and a passivity to Madrid that was revealed in the moment the home side took the lead, Ilkay Gündogan allowed to carry the ball a long way through the midfield until he reached the edge of the area.

When the ball was returned to him to continue his run, David Alaba slid in to cut it out and got there first but, rather than clear it, he only managed to make it sit up even more invitingly. On the bounce, Gündogan slipped it past Kepa.

Barcelona had the lead; they also had the ball. Bellingham, who had Gavi for annoying company, was finding it difficult to get into the game. Vinícius Júnior, faced by Ronald Araújo, remained the greatest threat but only occasionally escaped, his frustration expressed in words being exchanged on the touchline with the Barcelona manager, Xavi, who concluded the conversation with a pat on the cheeks.

Gavi was superb, so too was the 20-year-old Fermín López, making only his third start of the season. He hit a post after Gavi had snapped into Toni Kroos to win the ball, sliced another shot wide form the edge of the box and appeared all over the right side pitch. Playing in Spain’s third tier last year, here he was in the clásico and looking entirely at home, even out-Kroosing Kroos at times. João Félix meanwhile found Dani Carvajal blocking most of his advances but there were flashes too, a neat exchange with Alejandro Balde taking them into the area after half an hour.

An Araújo delivery very nearly found its target at the far post, and the Uruguayan then appealed for a penalty after he tumbled in the box. Gavi too was down, this time on the edge of the area just as he swiped at a shot. That though was nothing compared to the moment when Vinícius dashed free on the right just before half-time. Ferran Torres, aware of what this might mean, came flying across and rugby tackled him off the pitch.

Madrid needed a response, and almost got it immediately when Rodrygo shot over at the start of the second half.

Again though it was Barcelona who came closer, Iñigo Martínez heading Fermin’s cross against the post. Araujo was first to the rebound but his shot, struck hard towards the same post from close range, drew a superb save from Kepa. Madrid were still struggling to trouble Barcelona or get some kind of grip of a game that could have escaped them entirely. Twice João Cancelo cut through them, dashing in to the area from the right to almost double the lead. The first sliced over, the second deflected wide off Alaba.

And then, suddenly, brutally, it happened. Aurélien Tchouaméni’s long shot was pushed away by Ter Stegen before Bellingham picked the ball up 30 yards out. The way he struck it seemed almost easy, like it wasn’t an effort. There was no run-up, no violent swing; instead, there was a smoothness to the strike. And yet somehow it absolutely tore through the air with breathtaking precision and power, into the corner, hitting the net before Ter Stegen’s hand could get there. The game was in the balance, a win still there to be chased, so this time there was no celebration, a trademark now. But there would be, because this is Jude Bellingham and Jude Bellingham is inevitable.