The Golden Ball is a Chinese tale that brings together many of the ills of football: the cult of the individual in a collective sport, titles sold as a solo lone feat, marketing and show business, the importance of the dressing room now that it There are no changing rooms, and the goal, always the goal, as a big complaint.
The Golden Ball is the award that, in 60 years, has only rewarded three defenses (Beckenbauer, Sammer and Cannavaro). Baresi and Maldini may not have had anything to do with the successes of one of the best teams ever, the Milan of Sacchi; Nor the Englishman Bobby Moore, champion of the World in 1966; Or the Dutchman Ronald Koeman, foot of iron, head of architect. Corpachon where Cruyff discovered perfection.
What about the goalkeepers. The Golden Ball always despised them. Banks, Maier, Kahn, Zoff, Buffon, Casillas, Neuer … All extras, all simple scarecrows stuck in a stick. “Fabulous exotic beings who compose verses in a language that no one understands,” wrote Nabokov. At least somebody had to remember Lev Yashin. It was 53 years ago.
To look back, blush. Gento was not enough six European Cups. Nobody picked up Kubala, Puskas or Mazzola from the gutter. While the rules disabled the South Americans until 1995, so Pele or Maradona were holograms.
Spanish football will continue to remember Luis Suárez Miramontes as the only Golden Ball (1960). He made a couple of photos and got back to kick the ball. Lineuer and Belanov were passed over to Butragueño; Raul, a mirage named Owen; While Xavi and Iniesta, like the Italians Del Piero, Pirlo or Totti, did not manage to make football a wonderful spectacle.
And now? In Messi’s time, every individual prize is meaningless. An unnecessary comedy.
