BREAKING (and I use that word loosely): Ousmane Dembélé has remembered how to play football at the exact moment PSG need him most, and I genuinely don't know whether to file this under "good omen" or "classic trap." The man scored twice in the first half against Toulouse on Friday night, PSG won 3-1, their Ligue 1 lead is now four points, and everything is set up perfectly for him to either destroy Liverpool or run directly into Andrew Robertson's shinpad seventeen times on Tuesday. There is no in-between with this man. There has never been an in-between.

Sources close to sources tell me that Dembélé's form tracker over the past decade looks less like a graph and more like an EKG readout from someone who's just been told their flight has been cancelled and then immediately uncancelled and then cancelled again. He is the most talented player alive who also makes you want to scream into a pillow at least once every ninety minutes. And now he's HOT. Right before a Champions League knockout tie. Against Liverpool. I need everyone to understand the psychological warfare this inflicts on both sets of fans.

Let me walk you through the three possible Dembélé timelines for Tuesday night.

TIMELINE A: Big-Game Dembélé

He glides past Trent Alexander-Arnold like Trent's boots are nailed to the floor. He cuts inside, outside, and then inside again for good measure. He scores one goal that makes you rewind it four times. He assists another with a pass so disgusting it should come with a parental advisory warning. PSG win. Luis Enrique does that thing where he smiles but it looks like he's solving a differential equation. Pundits say "we always knew he had this level in him" as if they haven't spent years begging him to stop shooting into Row Z. In this timeline, Sources close to sources tell me at least four Premier League clubs will immediately enquire about his availability, despite having watched him for years and knowing full well what they'd be getting into.

TIMELINE B: Ghost Dembélé

He touches the ball nine times. Seven of those are kick-offs after Liverpool goals. He dribbles into a cul-de-sac so dead that Google Maps removes it from satellite view. He gets substituted at 58 minutes and the camera catches him on the bench looking like a man who has just been told the restaurant is out of chips. PSG lose. The post-match discourse is unbearable. Someone digs up his Transfermarkt injury history and tweets it with the caption "reminder." I cry.

TIMELINE C: Both At The Same Time

This is the most likely outcome and also the most infuriating. He scores an absolute worldie in the 12th minute, then misses three one-on-ones so badly that Alisson starts checking his phone between them. He skins Virgil van Dijk, VIRGIL VAN DIJK, and then five minutes later passes it directly to Alexis Mac Allister like he's doing him a favour. PSG draw 2-2. Nobody knows what to think. He trends on Twitter for nine hours. Half the tweets say "generational." The other half say "I can't do this anymore." Both are correct.

BREAKING (and I use that word VERY loosely): Sources close to sources tell me that at least two unnamed clubs have already made "tentative enquiries" about Dembélé's summer availability regardless of which timeline materialises. Because that's the magic of this man. He is simultaneously worth €120 million and a free transfer. He is a highlights reel that plays in both directions. He is the only footballer who can make you fall in love and file for divorce in the same passage of play.

The Toulouse brace was beautiful, genuinely. But if you've followed Dembélé for more than six months, you know that a pre-big-game purple patch is not evidence. It's a warning. It's the football equivalent of the sky going green before a tornado.

Tuesday night, 8pm. Parc des Princes. I'll be watching through my fingers. And so will Luis Enrique, probably.