Dembélé's Ballon d'Or is a human victory amid the toxic theatre of football

Even after a few hours of sober reflection it was still hard to identify exactly which bit of the reliably nauseating 69th Ballon d’Or ceremony was the single most nauseating bit of the reliably nauseating 69th Ballon d’Or ceremony.

- Barney Ronay

Dembele cried on the podium and hugged his mum

One thing is certain. We have a powerful shortlist here. The competition is generational. But this is also the elite, the god tier. And as ever there must be a winner.

Was it the first nauseating thing at the Théâtre du Châtelet; the crowd of otherwise normal Parisians transformed into fame-zombies, thronged against the barriers four hours before the ceremony, whooping and gawping as bored-looking blokes moved broadcast boxes around, baying at passing female TV presenters, spectating the buildup to an awards do in a state of celebrity delirium?

Or was the most nauseating thing the pre-ceremony outrage in the French media, who railed at this soiree de folie because Paris Saint-Germain had to play an actual football match the same evening, postponed from Sunday because of storms, rather than being present at a fancy party, a state of fomo that seems at odds with the new humble non-ego PSG.

Was it just the wider phenomenon, the sense of some peak moment of personality cult, the confusion of talent with virtue, the superhero-ising of people who just happen to be very good at sport? Or is it the way awards culture coincides perfectly with the model that football's owners want to impose, the move towards names, brands, individualism, that are so much easier to buy and sell than the old anchor points of place, culture and badge-loyalty?