Can you remember the first time you saw a Dons team with both Peter Weir and Gordon Strachan in it?

That choir-of-heavenly-angels-sheer-nectar-like-winning-the-lottery day?

I think Real Madrid just had their equivalent moment.

If you watched the absolutely barnstorming European Supercup win on Tuesday, when the Champions League holders and Sevilla wrestled each other to a standstill and a mazy, daring run and goal from Madrid’s right-back won it, it’ll help.

If not, then I’ll talk you through the tapestry of talent that was on show.

But let’s focus on three men in particular – Jack Whitehall impersonator extraordinaire, Isco, Lucas Vázquez and Marco Asensio.

Don’t worry if you’ve not heard too much about the latter two – read on. These guys are going to light up your season and make you purr with joy when you watch Zinedine Zidane’s team.

Zidane confirmed something thrilling on Tuesday – for the moment it’s him, not that Spanish Captain Mainwaring (Florentino Perez) who’s in charge of football decisions.

Back in November Rafa Benitez looked over his shoulder at Madrid’s interventionist president, played Danilo at right-back, dropped Casemiro from midfield and was thumped 4-0 at home by Barcelona for pledging allegiance to the whims of Florentino.

Reward? Sacked.

Last season Zidane took the job and with immediate effect began to show that because Danilo could go into a phone booth on his own and he’d still not be the best right-back in there, let alone live up to Florentino ridiculously dubbing him “the best right-back in the world”, the Portuguese would be played sparingly.

Then he prioritised several players ahead of James Rodriguez, president’s pet and vastly expensive under-performer.

One of whom was Lucas Vázquez. I met the winger several times during the summer while on Spain duty at their Ile de Ré training camp just off France’s north-west Atlantic coast and he’s an impressive, articulate, confident kid.

But, more importantly, he can play.

[graphiq id=”28g76FnjVmR” title=”Lucas Vázquez” width=”500″ height=”750″ url=”

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Okay, okay – I know you’re already spluttering the crumbs of your rowie into your wee cuppy: ‘Himmin! He’s nae Peter Weir, like!’

I know. Who is?

Still and all, this guy has old fashioned wing-talent, he’s gallus and he won Madrid that epic 3-2 victory over Sevilla in Norway.

Zidane’s second trophy in eight months in charge.

It’s easy to watch on YouTube but here’s the gist. Even though he was pegged to the right wing Lucas ran nearly 15km throughout the match – the hardest working Madrid player and only superceded by two Sevilla defensive midfielders.

From the outset he forced new Sevilla coach Jorge Sampaoli to alter his daring 3-4-3 formation and revert to 4-4-2.

How hateful it must have been for the Argentinian to plan things for his first showpiece match in charge of the Europa League holders and then have to rip up the strategy after seven minutes.

Kudos to Madrid’s right winger.

Lucas ran and dodged and dribbled and shot.

Then the key moments which turned the game came when, first, he feinted one way and then dodged the other so that Sevilla’s left-back, Kolo, stamped on his boot. Second yellow, Sevilla down to 10 tired men.

Then Lucas showed that lovely ability to make time stand still around him when the ball is at his feet – lofting it across the six-yard box for Sergio Ramos to nod home the 94th minute equaliser.

Superb. So, there’s your Peter Weir comparison.

Wee Gordon? Well, again, I’m not saying that Asensio’s the finished article but, boy, he can play too.

A year and a bit ago Barcelona complacently thought they had this wonderful kid all sewn up. So they haggled with Mallorca on the price.

Madrid battered the door down, scooped him up from under Barça’s nose, bought him, loaned him back to Mallorca and then put him out to Espanyol for a season last summer.

This is a guy with immense technical skills, daring, chutzpah, dribbling, goals, assists and the ability to make a crowd involuntarily gasp as they rise off their seats. Special.

Recognise the description. Recognise what Gordon used to do for us.

Fair play though, this was Asensio’s full debut for Madrid. There’s a distance to travel before he’s the finished product.

But there’s nothing wrong with recognising something special while it’s just beginning.

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Given his age, experience and the state of Madrid’s midfield and attack the logical thing might be for Asensio to take one more year on loan at a club where he’ll play every week, cut his teeth, learn, grow and return in triumph to his parent club just as Lucas Vázquez has done after a short exile with Deportivo La Coruña.

No, no, Says Zidane. This is what I really like. Zidane saw the need for Madrid to leave James, Modric and Benzema on the bench because they lacked the pre-season fitness to last 90 minutes.

And because he knew Kovavic and Asensio were in better nick. The Frenchman chose horses for courses, never worrying if he might end up with a horse’s head on his pillow sent from Don Florentino.

It worked. Asensio scored an absolute peach of a goal, lasted the full 120 minutes and barely put a foot wrong.

“He’s staying with the first team.” manager Zizou said afterwards.

So, you remember the fad in the 1980s for wacky students to see how many of them could all fit inside a Mini.

That’s what Madrid’s midfield looks like.

Modric, Casemiro, Kroos, James, Isco, Kovacic, Lucas, Asensio – eight guys fighting for three starting slots.

Now James, lazy though he is, can play. And he’s Florentino’s pet.

So, what of Isco. This is a gem of a footballer. Worth watching every single time he plays. Gifted, so, so gifted.

Only 24. This will be his fourth season at Madrid. He’s played 150 times, won six trophies – including two Champions Leagues and the World Club Cup – – but now he’s under threat.

Just when Spain need him to step forward too.

Time to leave, son. Time for Manchester City to buy him if they’ve any sense. Unless he fancies a season at Pittodrie, of course.

New yellow alert at Villarreal

I know that columnists are supposed to pick sides and write with a stentorian voice – but that’s just a lazy, immature tendency which has become voguish.

Better to try to set out the truth, analyse accurately and encourage the reader to draw his or her own conclusions.

So, the apparent madness at Villarreal.

The Yellow Submarine is one of the most well-run, forward thinking, likeable, generous and – pound-for-pound – most successful clubs I’ve ever encountered.

Terrific president, wise board, exemplary signings, fabulous football philosophy, extremely nourishing to its community – a template for all small-to-medium clubs to follow.

Notwithstanding all that, they hit a rocky patch a few years ago and were relegated. During a season which they began by playing Champions League football too!

Marcelino was the coach who turned that around. Firm, not to say dictatorial, he marched Villarreal straight back up to La Liga – accompanied by a vast armada of buses which ferried thousands of fans up to the promotion match against Barça B – put them right back into UEFA football and then, last May, back into the Champions League.

It was an utterly exceptional, stand-out achievement.

So important for this small community in which unemployment has been hovering around the 28% mark since the economic crisis first hit.

They play Monaco next week for the chance to reach the lucrative group stages.

But Marcelino has been rubbing the board up the wrong way for some weeks and, recently, not only banished central defender Musacchio from training with the first team while he tried to make his move to AC Milan, but had a massive dressing room bust-up with him this week during a friendly against Deportivo La Coruña.

Villarreal have ‘solved’ the bad atmosphere, on a day when it emerged Roberto Soldado will be out for months because of ACL surgery, by sacking Marcelino and all his staff.

I can’t take sides. I just can’t see clearly the rights and wrongs of this crazy situation – which may yet see the return of the Engineer, Manuel Pellegrini, to Villarreal.
‘Football, bloody hell!’ – as an honorary Aberdonian once said.