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Hegel was one of the most grandiose, self-important philosophers of all time. He believed that he had literally unlocked the secrets of the universe and devised a system for understanding history, politics, morality and human psychology. He inspired thinkers from Marx to Sartre and enraged others from Nietzsche to Russell. He would be spinning in his grave if he knew I was using his overblown theories to analyse football. But that’s what I’m doing, bitches.

Football is a beautifully simple game. However, upon its basic template of three main rules – foul, offside, and handball – arises a myriad of different philosophies. The lumpen long-ball cavemen of Stoke, the crowd-pleasing teamwork of Swansea, the flash-bang artistry of Real Madrid – football is one of the few sports in which it’s legitimate, meaningful and accurate to speak of genuinely different approaches to the game. There doesn’t appear to be any “best” style – read Jonathan Wilson’s articles and you’ll start seeing football tactics and formations as an elaborate game of paper-scissors-rock.

But is there ever a genuine “clash” of styles? Hegel thought that all reality could be understood by examining the clash between opposites (for instance, opposing views of politics or humanity). He believed that if you did so, you would come to realise that there are no such things as true opposites: each opposing idea is simply an incomplete understanding of some larger truth, a truth that would encompass both opposing ideas and resolve the tension between them. The notion that there is one ultimate, grand truth was of great comfort to numerous twentieth-century dictators.

If there is one grand truth to football, it lies in the ability of teams to dictate games by creating and controlling space, an ability that largely transcends formations and mentalities. Hungary in the 1950s, Ajax in the 1970s, and Barcelona and Spain today all exemplify this approach despite widely different methods. Hungary would pummel opponents with pure skill; Ajax relied on tactical awareness and athleticism; and while Barcelona and Spain are both obsessed with retaining possession of the ball, Barcelona look to move the ball around as quickly as possible while Spain are methodical and conservative (and boring).

What unites them is that on their day they are, or were, more or less impossible to beat. Barcelona in particular presents a dizzying whir of highly-skilled midgets, playing piggy-in-the-middle against their ruddy, clomping foes, and no sooner does a cursing Neanderthal lumber out of position than the Catalans scythe through the gap and score. Try to get the ball back and you’ll run around in circles for hours; succeed and you’ll be exhausted, isolated, and mobbed by scurrying five-foot ball thieves. Channelling Hegel, Barcelona are the image of football as totalitarianism.