The debate that has raged in a million living rooms has been settled in ours at least.

We’re no longer arguing about who is the best footballer on the planet.

Move over Messi. The verdict from the Parker jury is a unanimous shout for Cristiano Ronaldo.

I’ve thought it for a while but watching the last two Portugal games removed any doubt.

The European Championships are shaping up to be my favourite tournament since Italia ’90 – and far more entertaining.

It is also proving to be the stage when the ultimate show pony matures into the world-beating thoroughbred.

Ronaldo is destroying the field with the same powerful surge as Frankel. Nobody, it appears, can get within touching distance.

The Czech Republic certainly tried. Defender Theodor Gebre Selassie trailed him round the Warsaw pitch like a lap dog.

Ronaldo normally loves such attention but eventually grew bored of his constant companion, nonchalantly upped a couple of gears to slip the leash and proceeded to run the rest of the game.

He single-handedly booked a pretty average Portugal into their fourth semi-final. I bet his team-mates cannot believe their luck.

Let’s face it, they are a one-man team. Should Ronaldo manage to drag them into next Sunday’s final, his achievement would be up there with that of Diego Maradona steering Argentina through the 1986 World Cup on his own.

It would surely also remove any doubt that Ronaldo is numero uno.

Critics will scoff at the X-box goals tally in La Liga. As brilliant as Ronaldo and Lionel Messi have performed, the obscene figures demonstrate the cavernous gulf between Real Madrid and Barcelona and the rest of Spain.

But doing the business on the highest stage – and the Euros are much tougher than the World Cup – and doing it without superstars around him to share the load, must convince even his biggest doubter.

Yes, it’s difficult to like him. Nobody could possibly love Ronaldo as much as himself and he plays the pantomime villain so well with his constant preening, gesticulating and questioning of the football Gods when they dare to conspire against him.

Looking at the way his barnet was so perfectly coiffured like a 1950s matinee idol, you could imagine he probably carries a mirror in his sock. No need for any of Andy Carroll’s hair product there … While the Polish audience booed and jeered his antics in the quarter-finals, Ronaldo twice clipped Czech woodwork. Hands were thrown dramatically into the air, his anguish exaggerated by a frustrated stare towards the heavens.

But we all knew his moment would come. The winning header was an emphatic statement; a superbly-timed run and a thumping connection.

For a winger who can fall down at the slightest brush, he’s remarkably sturdy on the end of a cross.

He can head a ball as well as any centre forward. There’s a lot more to his game than the high-speed dribbles, mesmerising step-overs and nonchalantly struck free-kicks.

And that’s what makes him the complete player.

Whatever drama unfolds from eastern Europe between now and next Sunday night, this tournament already has its poster boy.

It would be foolish to dismiss Portugal as genuine contenders, however average the other ten may play.

Ronaldo has already proved himself king of Europe – and beyond.