The truth is that I don't have a favourite goal. I remember

Lionel Messi, the quiet master of the game, once confessed with humility and wisdom: “The truth is that I don't have a favourite goal. I remember important goals more than I do favourite goals, like goals in the Champions League where I had the opportunity to have scored in both finals I have played in. Finals in the World Cup or Copa del Rey are the ones that have stayed with me for longer or that I remember more.” These words are more than the reflection of an athlete; they are a lesson on greatness, memory, and meaning. For Messi teaches us that what endures is not the beauty of a single moment, but the weight of a moment that mattered for others.

The origin of this saying lies in Messi’s life as one of the greatest players the world has ever known. He has scored hundreds of goals, some dazzling, some simple, some miraculous. Yet when asked for a “favourite,” he turns not to artistry alone, but to importance. A goal is remembered not for how it looks, but for when it comes—whether it turns the tide of a final, lifts a nation in the World Cup, or crowns years of sacrifice. In this, Messi reveals the heart of true greatness: it does not seek glory for itself, but meaning for the many.

History echoes with this principle. Consider the ancient warriors of Marathon, who stood against the Persian tide. It was not the elegance of each sword stroke that mattered, but the decisive blow that saved their homeland. So too with Messi: his joy lies not in the perfect curve of the ball alone, but in the decisive moment, the strike that carries the hopes of millions. Such moments transcend individual beauty; they become eternal because they serve a greater cause.

Even within football’s history, we see this truth. Pelé’s goals in the World Cup finals are remembered not because they were the most spectacular of his career, but because they came in moments that defined nations. Maradona’s run against England, though breathtaking, is remembered because it carried the weight of history and pride. Messi’s words place him in this tradition: that the goals which endure are those woven into the story of people, not merely into the highlight reel of an individual.

The lesson is profound: in life, as in sport, we must not chase only what dazzles, but what matters. Your most important achievements may not be the ones that earn the loudest applause, but the ones that come when others most needed you. It is not the brilliance of the act alone, but the timing, the courage, the service behind it that grants it weight. To live meaningfully is to aim not for favourites, but for importance.

Messi also shows us humility. By refusing to exalt one “favourite,” he reminds us that greatness is not about feeding the ego, but about remembering the collective. The Champions League finals, the World Cup, the Copa del Rey—these were not his moments alone, but shared moments, binding teammates, nations, and generations together. Thus, the true measure of success is not what glorifies oneself, but what uplifts the whole.

Practically, this means that in our own lives, we must ask: which of my actions carry meaning for others? What moments, however small, will remain in the memory of my family, my community, or my nation? Let us not spend ourselves chasing fleeting brilliance, but devote ourselves to important moments—acts of kindness, courage, service, and truth. For these, like Messi’s goals in great finals, will be remembered long after the noise has faded.

Thus, Messi’s words stand not only as a reflection of a footballer’s journey but as a philosophy for life: remember not the favourite, but the important. Live not for the applause of a moment, but for the weight of a legacy. For in the end, it is not how beautiful the act was, but how meaningful, that secures its place in eternity.