The debate over football’s GOAT—Greatest Of All Time—is one of those glorious, endless conversations that fuels sports bars, social media threads, and the very soul of the game. It’s more than just picking a favorite player; it’s a philosophical discussion about legacy, impact, and what we truly value in the sport. As someone who’s spent years analyzing games, writing about players, and even editing manuscripts on sporting legacies, I’ve come to see the GOAT title not as a definitive crown, but as a lens through which we view football’s evolving story. The term itself, GOAT, has transcended its acronym status to become a cultural benchmark, a shorthand for a level of excellence that seems almost untouchable. But when we apply it to football, a sport with such diverse positions, eras, and styles of play, the conversation immediately splinters into a dozen fascinating directions. Is it purely about statistics and trophies? Is it about transforming the way the game is played? Or is it about that intangible, clutch quality that defines the biggest moments?
Let’s ground this with a current example that, on a smaller scale, touches on the themes of recognition and legacy. I was reading about RJ Abarrientos recently, the talented guard who just won a Rookie of the Year award for the second time in his young professional career. The article mentioned his hope that a championship comes next. That small story is a microcosm of the GOAT debate. Individual accolades—like MVP awards, scoring titles, or in Abarrientos’s case, Rookie of the Year honors—are the building blocks of a reputation. They signal exceptional talent. But for most observers, and certainly for the players themselves, those individual honors crave the context of team success. A championship ring is the ultimate validator. This is where the GOAT debate gets its tension. You have players with mind-boggling personal statistics whose trophy cabinets might be relatively light, and you have winners whose individual numbers might not top the charts, but whose leadership and performance in decisive games are legendary. My own bias, I’ll admit, leans heavily towards the latter. I value impact over accumulation. A player who elevates his team’s ceiling, who makes everyone else better in pursuit of the ultimate prize, that, to me, carries more weight than a player who puts up historic numbers in a system built entirely around him.
When we talk contenders, the modern conversation inevitably orbits around Lionel Messi and Cristiano Ronaldo. Their numbers are frankly absurd, a two-decade duel that redefined excellence. Messi, with his 7 Ballon d’Or awards and his recent crowning achievement—the 2022 FIFA World Cup with Argentina—has perhaps the most complete resume. Ronaldo, with his 5 Ballon d’Ors and being the all-time leading scorer in men’s international football with 123 goals (at last count), embodies a relentless, physical dominance and clutch scoring. Statistically, they are peerless. But is the GOAT only a 21st-century title? To think so would be a disservice to history. Here’s where my perspective as an editor and researcher kicks in: you have to contextualize eras. Diego Maradona’s 1986 World Cup was a level of single-handed carry-job that might never be replicated. Pelé’s three World Cup wins (1958, 1962, 1970) and his reported 1,281 career goals, while debated in terms of opposition, speak to a mythical status that defined the sport for generations. Then you have the transformative figures: Johan Cruyff, who didn’t just play football but implemented a philosophy, or Franz Beckenbauer, who literally invented a new role as the attacking sweeper. Their GOAT claim isn’t just in silverware, but in permanently altering the tactical DNA of the sport.
So, who truly deserves the title? I don’t believe there is one answer, and that’s the beauty of it. The "true" GOAT depends on your criteria. If your metric is the sheer volume of goals and consistent individual brilliance across leagues, Ronaldo has a compelling case. If it’s about artistic genius, playmaking, and achieving every possible team and individual honor, including that elusive World Cup, Messi’s case has become overwhelming for many. If it’s about cultural impact and representing the soul of the game in its purest, most joyful form, Pelé’s name is invoked. For me, personally, the GOAT is the player who combines technical mastery with an undeniable, legacy-defining moment of triumph on the very biggest stage. That’s why, in recent years, my view has solidified. Lionel Messi’s career was always a masterpiece, but it had a conspicuous, haunting blank space. The 2022 World Cup in Qatar was the final, breathtaking brushstroke. To lead his country, under immense pressure, through that tournament, delivering decisive moments and a legendary final performance, completed a narrative arc that feels almost scripted. It provided the ultimate team validation for a career of individual magic. It answered the last remaining critique. That doesn’t diminish Ronaldo’s insane achievements or Pelé’s timeless legacy, but in the modern, hyper-analyzed era, Messi’s story achieved a kind of narrative and statistical perfection that is incredibly rare.
In the end, the GOAT debate is football’s gift that keeps on giving. It connects generations, forces us to compare the incomparable, and celebrates the sport’s rich history. It’s about more than just naming a king; it’s about appreciating the different ways greatness can manifest. Whether it’s the relentless pursuit of goals, the creation of a beautiful playing style, or the delivery of glory when it matters most, each contender offers a different definition of what it means to be the greatest. As for RJ Abarrientos, his journey from Rookie of the Year to chasing a championship is a humble reminder that every legendary career is built step by step, accolade by accolade, with the hope that team success will one day crown the individual effort. That pursuit, in itself, is what makes watching football—and arguing about its GOAT—so perpetually compelling.
