Play at Wembley. Score at Wembley. Score again. Go back to Wembley again. Yeah. Did I mention Wembley? Eberechi Eze has had a fairly decent last five days of his footballing life, bookended here by a performance of supreme incision on a crisp, boisterous day in south-west London, when he was the very obvious point of difference between Crystal Palace and Fulham.

Not just in his numerical contribution to Crystal Palace’s 2-0 win: a jaw-dropper of an opening goal, all thrilling, controlled power; followed by a proper, actual high-skill assist. But also in terms of style and a Palace system that leans right into its own strengths when all the parts function like this.

Fulham had the ball here but not the chances. Palace had a compact defence and quick transitions. Best of all they had Eze, by some distance the most luminous presence on the pitch. The second goal on 38 minutes killed the game. It was a perfect miniature, Eze taking the ball far out by the left touchline, surging inside, then producing just a tiny flash of the razor’s edge as Sander Berge blocked his path to goal.

There were no step-overs or feints, just a switch of feet, Eze passing the ball to himself, one foot to the other, creating the space and delivering the cross in two rat-a-tat touches, with just enough deception – did you think I was a rightie? Here’s my left – and with nothing wasted, even the cross placed just right for Ismaïla Sarr to head into the corner of the net.

It was Eze’s 10th assist of the season to go with six goals. The last of these had arrived four minutes earlier from the same pocket of space. This time it was more obviously spectacular, Eze gliding inside, then gliding inside again, like a dancer hitting his mark, before shooting thrillingly hard and flat, the ball curling from outside the line of the far post before finding itself suddenly fizzing about in the back of the net.

Those two pieces of skill settled the game. Best of all they were basically pulled out of the air, entirely distinct from the 86 minutes of noise either side. Eze has often been called a cage-baller or street player, with an idea his skills are homemade, maverick, unorthodox.

In the early days at Palace, when Ray Lewington would come marching up to the touchline in his shorts just to yell at Eze, making sure he was running and covering, he did look a bit raw. Although, to be fair, it was hard to tell how much of this was just a function of having a man in shorts constantly yelling at him.

Here he seemed utterly in control, physically stronger, and basically a nightmare to play against, sniping both ways with that startling lateral spring, the 360-degree scan in operation even as he’s easing past you. It is an elite level of skill. This real step up is, of course, to apply it every game, to be relentless, as Eze was here.

‘Eberechi Eze has often been called a cage-baller or street player, with an idea his skills are homemade, maverick, orthodox’. Photograph: Justin Setterfield/Getty Images

This was a lovely English football occasion. Craven Cottage, which always feels like a boat trip or a picnic, was washed with chilly spring sunshine before kick-off. The perimeter was lit with tongues of fire, the air crackling with early day excitement. The Palace end had even brought its red and blue balloons, a nice birthday-party-ish touch.

For both sets of payers, both clubs and both managers this was a flag day, with no too-cool-for-school team rotation, no plates spinning on grander stages elsewhere. Fulham may have Europe on their minds. But this was basically everything for everyone here in that moment, a self-contained moment of theatre.

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For half an hour it was a messy adrenal game, all flying collisions, lunges, Cup stuff. This is what the cup demands. Find a way to win. Shake the day by its lapels. But even here the distinction between the two teams was clear. Fulham were vigorous but blunt, buzzing against the surface of the game like a fly on a window pane. For long periods their version of urgency was to play patient, passing football slightly more quickly.

There were moments of mild disorder, There was also the reassuring sight of Jean-Philippe Mateta back on the pitch, albeit wearing a protective device described pre-match as a helmet. In reality this was something more pared back, of a minor head-gusset, a low denier stocking with bespoke ear-pad feature.

Mateta played with energy and led the Palace breaks in that misleading style, a little rangy and loose, but always quicker than his frame suggests. Adam Wharton had an unusual afternoon behind him. He was combative and buccaneering, occasionally just making the game seem easy with the speed and accuracy of his passing, all the while looking like he might actually be playing with his hands in his pockets. But Wharton was also lucky not to get a second yellow card after a minor, harmless but still verboten kick that the referee missed.

It was comfortable for Palace by the end. Afterwards, as journalists asked questions about Eze, as Oliver Glasner answered questions about Eze, a knot of children could be heard simultaneously chanting Eze’s name outside the press room. There was only one outstanding presence here, expertly deployed in that hard-running system. On this form Palace will be a match for any team left in their way. And Eze does like Wembley.