Three days ago a historic event took place. No, I’m not referring to Leo Messi’s crowning as the best footballer on the planet once again. That is no longer surprising. Nor should we be alarmed by the criticism that surrounds this award and that surrounds the always envied winner. For me, and forgive my boldness, what was extraordinary is to see the eternal superiority of a player in front of the rest of his guild mates. How someone extremely sparing in words is capable of reinventing himself and silencing in unison countless fans year after year. Let’s not fool ourselves, Leo is light years ahead of the other players of this era so, despite not giving us one of his best campaigns, he is still the king. Twelve years ago he claimed the throne of world soccer after winning his first Ballon d’Or. Now, after his seventh, he is the owner of the whole kingdom.
Recognition. In a society corroded by materialism, only the number 1 seems to be worthy of praise. However, I would like to pause to appreciate the dedication and self-respect of Robert Lewandowski, the best among mortals. I find his mettle utterly admirable, despite knowing that by cancelling the award ceremony last season, he was robbed of an award that deservedly bore his name and surname. It would not seem unreasonable to me that, given the social pressure exerted, France Football, the magazine that organized the event, might reconsider giving it to him in the near future.
Finally, the gala stood out partly for its elaborate script and intriguing plot, but mainly for representing a new illusion. From collective awards to the well-deserved spotlight on women’s football, to seeing young stars shine under the watchful eye of the stars of the past.
Foot Renegades 