There are two Messis
FED UP with international football? Heartily sick of the tedium of the meaningless friendlies and neverending qualifiers that FIFA have foisted upon us? Then you might begin to fathom at least part of the Lionel Messi conundrum.
As we long for the return of normal service that is the club game, we should remind ourselves that we don’t have to circumnavigate the globe and carry the hopes of an expectant nation on our shoulders. The monkey of international failure could once again be about to leap onto the little Argentine’s.
Today Messi finds himself in the rarified 4,000m air of La Paz, the highest altitude of any international ground but recent graveyard for Argentina. His firmly struck penalty against Chile on Friday restored flagging hopes of World Cup qualification but that monkey is never far away.
Last week the Albiceleste were outside the automatic places and the unthinkable prospect of him missing out on a fourth and, surely, final shot at World Cup glory was looming. A slip-up in La Paz and you’ll know the rest.
Argentines can be forgiven for their pessimism – three successive final defeats (two Copas and one World Cup) were too much for their
prodigal son to bear – he threw in the towel and retired.
There was a swift change of mind but when it comes to international football, the contrast between the dazzling genius of Barcelona and the labouring mere mortal for his country almost makes you think there are two Messis. Not since Dr Jekyll took his own medicine has there been a starker contrast in the same individual than when Messi swaps the blaugrana for the albiceleste.
Known by one sycophantic commentator as the “Medicine Man” for his magical concoctions in La Liga, he is no more than a dutiful paramedic for his country. No longer going through massed defences like “smoke though a keyhole”, he is simply banging forlornly on a closed door. And that “gravity thing”? The theory still belongs to Isaac Newton. Thirty in June, Messi is surely in the Last Chance Saloon as far as the World Cup is concerned. And with it, any chance of deification in his homeland. For one reason or another, the greatest prize in football has eluded him three times which is why immortality has yet to be bestowed. There is also the small matter of comparison with one Diego Maradona. No matter what Messi achieves with Barcelona, he will never reach the same lofty pantheon as the man who cheated and charmed his way to World Cup glory in 1986 and then single-handedly cajoled a mediocre side to the final four years later. He still has to do it for Argentina and time is running out. So just why is there such a difference between Messi in blue and red and Messi in light blue and white? Why is his goalsper-game ratio for his country (58 in 117) half what it is for his club (337 in 373)? Why is his trophy cupboard – Olympic gold medal apart – bare compared to bulging? Alas, there is no solution of Newtonian simplicity. It was once felt that Messi, who left for Barcelona at 13, didn’t feel like a true Argentine and the fans didn’t feel he was either. They were slow to embrace him although he chose to represent them instead of Spain for whom he was also qualified. As late as 2010, by which time Messi was well into his mesmeric pomp in Europe, Argentine fans had yet to be convinced. National coach and exteammate of Maradona’s Sergio Batista observed at the time: “To heap so much responsibility on Lionel seems unfair to me. What happens with Lionel is that he is burdened with many things, like having to be the team’s saviour. To play for Barcelona is one thing and in the national team another.” But why? It is probably a combination of factors. Perhaps, because he feels more Spanish or Catalan and had to prove himself to his compatriots, he tried a bit too hard thereby inhibiting the natural ebb and flow of the genius we see in Europe. There’s also the shadow of Maradona. A quiet, retiring sort, Messi is an archetypal introvert to Maradona’s extrovert, a shy man to a showman, who was never going to compete with such an outlandish character. And not when his patriotism was being questioned. And as one of nature’s home birds, he does not enjoy travelling which is necessary every time he pulls on his country’s jersey. He’s been at Barca since puberty and has known nothing else. The type of football is the same throughout the club and he fits in seamlessly with every academy graduate. The only time he resented players was when they came from outside and tried to occupy his space – such as Zlatan Ibrahimovic. He even fell out with Pep Guardiola until Ibra was removed. At Barca, he also had lieutenants who were almost as brilliant as he was, most notably Andres Iniesta and Xavi, with whom he developed an understanding to which telepathy does scant justice. And now he has similar in Luis Suarez and Neymar. The argument that Argentina also have world-class players for him to play with does not hold water. Yes, on Friday alongside were Angel Di Maria, Sergio Aguero and Gonzalo Higuain, all with lofty pedigrees albeit a notch or two below his club mates. But two are out-and-out strikers and the kind of intuitive slide-rule passing to which he is accustomed is never going to materialise with players he trains with occasionally and only for a few days. Even if Messi presides over victory in Bolivia to set Argentina on course for Moscow, you feel that a World Cup triumph will still be beyond his reach. Whereas at Barcelona he is The Man and is relaxed in his imperial clothes, outside of that comfort zone he visibly shrinks. He lacks the audacity to overcome the difficulties over which Maradona rode roughshod – including teammates on the same high-frequency wavelength. And having to emulate Marco Polo in the meantime doesn’t help. He remains the greatest club player of all time, but for his country, although most fans have now been won over, it looks like a goal too far. Maradona will still be The One.