There are different paths to beating your opponent in a football match. You can outrun them, and you can outmuscle them. You can out-will them, and you can outwit them. All of the above are probably more satisfying to a coach whose job is to prepare, condition and motivate his players. After all, it shows he's done his job well.

From a neutral perspective, the most pleasing is when the margin between defeat and victory is down to technique (maybe with a smattering of smarts and a dollop of street). That's the treat the Champions League fairy brought out this week in the form of Luis Suarez and Robert Lewandowski, two men who have defined the gold standard for center-forward play over the past decade.

Both popped up with moments of extreme aesthetic pleasure -- twice, in Suarez' case -- and both turned the tide for their respective teams. Both have been coping with the winged chariot of time galumphing at their back, each in his own. (And, to be fair, Lewandowski better than Suarez.) But above all, both reminded most of us about why we fell hook, line and sinker for the beautiful game. Before we learned about rivalries and tifo, about tactics and defending, about movement and pressing systems, there was the simple unadulterated bliss of a forward scoring a goal in the most spectacular way.

Let me refresh your memory.

Spurs fail to clear, the ball caroms between white and red, Lewandowski sprints to the edge of the box and somehow, twisting his body like Stretch Armstrong, creates enough space between himself and Vertonghen to rifle a shot in the bottom corner with enough power to beat Hugo Lloris.

Predatory? Yeah, just a little. More like red-eyed robotic condor swooping down from 80 feet to steal the baby and the dingo.

Between the two of them, three goals of the sort that get you off your backside. (Lewandowski, of course, scored another in garbage time at White Hart Lane, though it doesn't rank with the others.) What those two share, of course, is tremendous basic technique, coupled with a spatial awareness that has only refined itself over time.

I asked Gianluca Vialli, himself a top-drawer striker at Sampdoria, Juventus and Chelsea in his playing days, about being an aging center-forward, particularly since conventional wisdom has it that a forward's productivity nosedives once you get into your 30s.

"You lose stamina, quickness, speed and agility, that's true," he told me. "But you still have your technique. That doesn't go away -- in fact, maybe it even improves over time. And, in other ways, you're actually stronger. There's experience and understanding, of course. But also your own mindset.

"When you're young and breaking through you're fearless because you don't know any better. When you're at the peak of your powers, you sometimes feel the weight of responsibility. You can have a bit of angst about making the wrong decision. By the time you're in your 30s, that's gone. You're comfortable with who you are and what you can do, and there's a certain tranquility and calmness that comes over you. That helps you in key moments."

You wouldn't ordinarily put Suarez and "calmness" in the same sentence, but you get what he means. After more than 1,400 games as professionals, these two know what they can and can't do.