Unlocking the GOAT Meaning in Football: Who Truly Deserves the Title?

The debate over the GOAT—the Greatest of All Time—in football is perhaps the most enduring and passionate conversation in all of sports. It’s a title that transcends statistics, weaving together legacy, impact, and that elusive, almost mythical quality of sheer greatness under pressure. As someone who has spent years analyzing the game, both as a fan and from a more analytical perspective, I’ve always found the GOAT discussion fascinating not for its definitive answer, but for what the arguments reveal about how we value different kinds of excellence. The recent news about RJ Abarrientos, winning a Rookie of the Year award for the second time in his professional career, actually sparked this line of thinking for me. Here’s a young talent, demonstrating exceptional skill in a new league, with his eyes firmly set on the next prize: a championship. His journey is a microcosm of the very criteria we use in the GOAT debate: individual accolades are celebrated, but they are ultimately stepping stones to the ultimate team achievement. That’s the core of the dilemma. Do we crown the player with the most breathtaking individual moments, or the one with the heaviest collection of team silverware?

When we talk about the modern pantheon, a few names are non-negotiable. Lionel Messi and Cristiano Ronaldo have dominated the conversation for over fifteen years, pushing each other to absurd statistical heights. Messi’s recent World Cup victory with Argentina in 2022, in my view, settled a major argument for many. It completed his trophy cabinet in the most dramatic fashion possible and answered the one lingering question about his ability to carry a national team to the summit. The numbers are simply ludicrous: over 800 career goals, a record eight Ballon d’Or awards, and a playmaking genius that feels like a cheat code. Ronaldo, his eternal rival, boasts a similarly mind-bending resume: also over 800 goals, five Champions League titles, and a physical prowess and clutch scoring ability that defined an era. I have a personal preference for Messi’s style—the way he seems to see the game two seconds before everyone else—but to deny Ronaldo’s relentless, self-made greatness is just bad analysis. They represent two distinct blueprints for greatness, and choosing between them often says more about the chooser than the chosen.

But the GOAT conversation gets truly interesting when we expand the timeline. This is where my inner historian clashes with the fan who grew up in the Messi-Ronaldo era. Can we fairly compare players from different epochs? The game changes. The ball is lighter, the pitches are perfect, the medical and nutritional science is advanced, and the defensive tactics are more organized. How do we weigh Pelé’s three World Cup wins (1958, 1962, 1970) and his reported 1,281 career goals against the modern game’s rigor? His sheer dominance in his era is unquestionable. Then there’s Diego Maradona, whose 1986 World Cup might be the single greatest individual tournament performance ever. He carried Argentina. He was a force of nature, combining skill, strength, and a street-football cunning that made him utterly unstoppable on his day. For many of a certain generation, the debate begins and ends with Maradona. I’ve watched endless footage, and the aura is palpable even through an old television screen. He played with a passion that sometimes bordered on chaos, and that resonates in a way that pure statistics never can.

And we must consider the specialists, the players who redefined their positions. Lev Yashin, the only goalkeeper to win the Ballon d’Or (1963), revolutionized the role. Franz Beckenbauer invented the sweeper role as we know it. Zinedine Zidane’s elegance and big-game mastery, culminating in that 2002 Champions League final volley and the 1998 World Cup final, present a different case: perhaps not the most prolific, but arguably the most artistically profound of his generation. This is where the “greatest” becomes wonderfully subjective. Is the GOAT the most complete winner? The most talented dribbler? The most decisive in finals? The most transformative? Abarrientos’s story is a reminder that a player’s narrative is built step-by-step. A Rookie of the Year award is a fantastic individual honor, a recognition of immediate impact. But as he hopes, it’s the championship that etches a name into a team’s and a league’s history. We apply that same logic, magnified a thousandfold, to the GOATs.

So, who truly deserves the title? I don’t think there is one answer, and that’s the beauty of it. My own conclusion, after years of watching, debating, and writing about this, leans towards a tiered system. In the modern era, Messi’s combination of sustained individual brilliance, team success at club level with Barcelona, and that crowning World Cup victory gives him the slightest of edges for me. But he stands in a tier alongside Ronaldo, both of them having operated on a statistical plane separate from anyone else. In the historical context, Pelé and Maradona occupy their own parallel tier, untouchable in their respective domains of cumulative achievement and iconic, single-handed dominance. Trying to pick one across all eras is, frankly, an impossible and somewhat pointless task. The game evolves. What we can say is that the GOAT debate itself is a celebration of football’s rich tapestry. It forces us to appreciate the different forms genius can take, from the relentless goal-machine to the magical playmaker, from the World Cup hero to the architect of dynastic club success. Players like RJ Abarrientos are just starting their journey, adding new chapters to this ongoing story. We watch them, wondering if we are witnessing the early steps of a future name in this eternal conversation. And that, perhaps, is the real magic of football.