It is time to snap the wand, close the tome and end that wild sorcery. By the conclusion there was a note of melancholy surrounding Lionel Messi, New Jersey and a World Cup final that granted Spain the triumph of a fully merited second title while Argentina provided little more than a tough and stubborn display of defiance.

This is an Argentina squad built on belief, passionate drive and trust in the frankly unpredictable brilliance of your lone scurrying 39-year-old star. At times that brilliance will abandon you. The dramatic intervention will fail to materialise. And he may now be absent from this arena for good, a Prospero delivering his final words to the audience from a clanky metal bowl outside New York.

Messi's third World Cup final was always likely to mark his last appearance regardless of events in New Jersey. For the finest player of this or any era there was something more here, the strains of farewell music beneath the background sounds, the awareness across 120 minutes that what you witness are the patterns, the forms, the actions yet without their essential spark. England in Atlanta, that half hour when Thomas Tuchel's side simply diminished, consumed by a presence, might prove to have been Messi's final stand.

He was always going to resist it. The distant corner of the New York New Jersey Stadium pitch lay in evening shade as the match reached the third minute of added time at the close of extra time, the grass a rich autumnal green, the final countdown nearly complete. Trailing by a goal and a man after eight tournament fixtures. Six World Cups in, 39 years of age, and facing opponents who had spent the previous two hours carrying out a precise and disciplined containment. How much remains? How slender is that connection?

Messi was present nonetheless, dashing toward the corner flag, head nodding, legs spinning in that recognisable rodent-superhero manner. He took Argentina's last corners of the contest, extracting the final traces, the last hint of dip and swerve and strike.

Fifteen minutes earlier Messi had stood near the halfway line, observing with a familiar look of quiet attention when the decisive moment arrived in this physical World Cup final. As Ferran Torres set his stride and struck the ball high into the net for the sole goal, as the red shirts jumped and celebrated by the corner flag, the stands twisting and tumbling, Messi leaned forward and gazed at the grass.

The goal came from Spain's 20th attempt, against Argentina's none. The cut-back to Torres marked Spain's 715th completed pass. At the close Spain are not merely champions but plainly the strongest side at this World Cup, the expression of a system, a unified sporting approach made real. The route here has included victories over both finalists from Qatar, plus banishing a phantom, neutralising England's force and quelling the spark that had carried Argentina to this point.

All morning New York had been warm and chaotic, crowded and stifling, essentially a constant barrage on the senses. Or put another way, not markedly different from any other Sunday. Yet the stadium seemed somewhat like a terminus in several respects, the gentle disarray of this World Cup reaching its peak in the huge sun-baked lines waiting to enter.

This has been an unpopular site at this World Cup, emerging from and spreading across New Jersey asphalt like a vast discarded alien hubcap. Inside however it is a traditional stark arena, the stands a surging barrier of sound an hour before kick-off. And this ought really to have been a closer contest. Most clearly in tactics and approach. Spain represent the ultimate organised side. Spain embody method and skill, the game of some advanced Star Trek civilisation on a world where robed figures speak thoughtfully of collective work and mutual gains.

By contrast Argentina, well, what does this represent? Sport as emotional patriotism. Yet European-influenced as well. Nothing captures Argentina like its football. Still Argentina's football draws heavily from Europe. Messi, its central figure, could have represented Spain, absorbed his craft in Spain, and stands as the peak of modern European club football.

From the outset Argentina played with restraint here, as they had against England in the opening period. Slow the tempo, tighten the space, reduce the gaps between you and the line. Provide Messi with something controllable.

Spain completed 35 passes before Messi advanced beyond a walk. He spent most of the early stages simply clearing space, easing away from the cluster like a lesser relative at a celebration. It is well known Messi prefers to assess and observe in these phases, to gauge the flows and the lines. He certainly enjoyed a clear view of Spain circulating the ball, another privileged spectator from the prime position, somewhat more engaged overall than Sarah Jessica Parker and Matthew Broderick.

By half-time Argentina had already started to wither in the heat, a dried-out remnant, footballing jerky. At that stage the World Cup gained a close look at another vision of the game. On one side a confused, physical, uneven goalless encounter with an air of immovable powers, of pausing while some complex equation is worked out.

On the other Madonna twisting energetically on a screen, followed by the rotating Korean pop phenomenon BTS. The Ted Lasso actor, as Ted Lasso, performed a sketch with Justin Bieber, who then played a guitar and delivered a track of near complete lack of vigour, strolling slightly stooped and awkward, long shorts, white footwear, essentially mimicking Messi.

Shakira performed her usual role effectively. Hundreds of people in vivid attire emerged and waved tarpaulins. It was a spectacle. Not a strong one. But then we already had one, did we not?

"YuRRR score at HAFF time. SpAAAiinnnn Zero, Aggrrnetina ZrSerro," the possessor of the world's most grating tone declared as the players returned. At which stage the afternoon and the match kept draining toward their conclusion. In their non-Messi phases Argentina are a side that will cause you to lose focus, perform poorly, overlook what football serves.

Yet Spain are too accomplished for this. They will seize the ball before you can act. From the 70th minute onward Argentina were simply placing themselves before the flow, halting proceedings, a team with no prospect of winning this final except by extending it to penalties. Two minutes into added time at the end of the 90 they lost Enzo Fernandez, dismissed for a second yellow card within 10 minutes. And that was always destined to settle it.

Messi will keep playing for Inter Miami, and maybe even for Argentina for a period. Yet this remains his arena, the domain he has shaped. Let us acknowledge, he is unlikely to return. It seemed fitting that he was strolling as the final whistle sounded, and from there simply continued walking, without altering pace as Spain's players and staff rushed on and the stadium erupted around them.

Messi's exceptional gift, even in his nimble, rapid prime, has centred on generating his own instants of peace and quiet, a trait that has grown more compelling as the area has tightened on the pitch and the sound and glare intensify away from it.

Even in his later years at this World Cup Messi has been a pleasure, still capable of summoning those bursts where he renders the space around him balanced, gentle, receptive to his influence. Spain may have mastered him, yet they have not produced a player of his kind. Then again, we may never encounter another.