top of page

Football is Love. Football is Messi. Messi is Love.

If we allowed the fairytale to unfold, then it would be Argentina that takes home the pride of being crowned the champions of the world. There’s a player that my eyes have yet to doubt. Doubt that I’m watching a soul that doesn’t think. It just becomes one with the ball. Like a child running with its teddy bear.

Messi is the name that was given to this soul. So freely running through the field. We never know what Messi will do next, because he doesn’t know either! He lets his soul play. And we never know what the soul will do. Coaches usually tame those souls. But Messi’s touch is always for the greatest of all. Messi doesn’t play for himself. That’s why we love him. He loves what he’s doing but he does it for the rest of us humans. He does it for his family and God and the whole universe.

When he falls, he gets up again. He wants to keep going. He wants to play more. He was made to play. Messi’s soul LOVES football. He is just playing. He doesn’t care. And he won because of it. But then the expectations came. Winning is not enough if you don’t win again. And again. And again. And again. No, for real. It eats your soul. It might want to rest, but no! There’s more winning. It just gets tiring. It sounds tiring. It is tiring.

They named him the greatest and he had to deliver. But he didn’t (2014). And the booing began. The booing in his own brain, telling its soul that it’s a “loser”. So, then it lost again (2015), and again (2016). And then downhill. The end of an era.

But if the soul’s not dead, it will rise again. With the help of all of his compatriots from back home where he grew up. The young children watching him come from nothing and be the absolute greatest artist this sport has produced, have now become men. He was their inspiration, and they also made their dreams become true because of him. Because of him. Of that Soul. In those locker rooms, Messi is not the leader. He’s the oldest brother that loves and cares for all his siblings. They love him. Get it? Love. They will fight for love. They will fight for him. They will die for him. They will die for Argentina. They will die for the country that produced Messi and Maradona. These kids are now professional football players. Those are the men they look up to. And they have him in the flesh. In the lockers’ room.

That team went unbeaten for 30 games. Then they lost to Saudi Arabia. If they had won or drawn, they would have thought they would have it easy. Someone really good would come in and knock them out, as comfort builds when one sits at the top. They were knocked down by Saudi Arabia and learned a lesson. The greatest lesson of all: They are NOT as good as they thought. Now the souls are back out. They came out in the game with Mexico when Messi fired the first goal. This team is fighting for a World Cup trophy that would make the hearts of billions be a bit chippier. Personally, my own soul would rise above. Having the greatest artist of all time, having his own greatest story of all? It would paint the most beautiful picture.

But this is life. Loss is also there. When you fight, you might also lose. Unfortunately, in the World Cup, neither Messi, nor Maradona are actual Gods. Flawless. They can’t be. Every single organism is different to each other because of DNA mutations. Mistakes. We’re all mistakes. But within that mistake, there is a soul. A soul that is guided by the Love for Football.

From now and until forever, I hope Messi wins this World Cup.

Recent Posts

See All

Jungle of Memories

Whose fault is it all? Is it time? Is it genes? Is it fear? Is it all? Is it none? Whatever it is, it's fast. It's gone. It's no longer even an excuse. Pondering in the faraway jungle of memories, rec

Good Morning

Wait. She said Good morning. And she made me ponder. I wondered. Does she really care to say that? Why to me? Does she like me? Could she love me? Already? Wow. I love you. I certainly do. If you love

Changing Lives

It's so stressful. It's a billion broken pieces waiting. But not all will fit the flesh. The weight of the pain revealed itself. Without letting it go, taking off is hard. Leaving it behind. It's a ne


bottom of page