You grow up watching gods. You copy their stutter steps, their left-foot flicks, their arrogance disguised as grace. Messi did exactly that — and still does.
The Early Years: A Sickly Kid and a God on TV
Messi was born in Rosario, Argentina, in 1987 — just six years after Maradona lifted the World Cup almost single-handedly in 1986. By the time young Leo was old enough to kick a ball, Maradona was already myth. Not just in Argentina. In Naples. In Barcelona. Everywhere. But especially in the cramped apartment on Pasaje Las Heras where a frail 5-year-old Messi struggled with a growth hormone deficiency.
That changes everything. A child who couldn’t afford treatment, whose family scraped together money for injections, found escape in grainy VHS tapes. One tape in particular: Maradona weaving through five defenders in the 1986 World Cup quarterfinal. The “Hand of God,” yes — but then, five minutes later, the goal from midfield, a 60-meter sprint past England, the ball glued to his feet like it was an extension of his body. That goal — not the hand — is what Messi rewound again and again.
And that’s where the idol wasn’t just admired. He was needed. Not as a role model in the textbook sense, but as proof: small guys could dominate. Frail bodies could carry the weight of nations. Because size didn’t matter when your mind saw the game three steps ahead. Because perfection wasn’t required — Maradona was flawed, chaotic, brilliant — and that made him more real.
Maradona’s Shadow: More Than Just a Number
When Messi joined Barcelona’s youth academy at 13, he was already wearing No. 10 unofficially in his mind. But officially? He didn’t get it right away. He played as a No. 9, then a No. 7. The No. 10 — that sacred jersey — was retired in tribute to Ronaldinho, who himself had inherited it from Rivaldo. But when Ronaldinho left in 2008, Messi took it. And never looked back.
Yet even then, he was hesitant to be compared. “Comparisons with Maradona hurt me,” he said in 2010. “He is a unique player, a legend. I’m just trying to do my best.” That humility wasn’t just politeness. It was genuine awe. Maradona wasn’t just a player. He was a force of nature. A cultural phenomenon. A man who once said, “I don’t want to die, because I don’t want to stop living.”
More Than a Player: The Emotional Anchor
And then, November 25, 2020. Maradona dies of a heart attack at 60. Messi posts a simple black-and-white photo: two arms, one sleeve tattooed with Maradona’s face, the other holding a football. Caption: “He left us.” No grand speech. No lengthy tribute. Just grief. Raw. Silent.
But that’s exactly where the idol shifts from football to something deeper. Because Messi didn’t just lose a legend. He lost a father figure — one he’d met only a handful of times. In 2004, when Messi was 17, Maradona told Telam: “Messi is the one who will make us enjoy football for many years.” That endorsement, from the man himself, meant more than any trophy.
People don’t think about this enough: Messi grew up in a country where Maradona was both saint and sinner. Revered. Condemned. Loved. Hated. Yet through all of it, he remained Argentina’s truth-teller — a man who never pretended to be perfect. And Messi, who’s spent his career being called “robotic,” “cold,” “too quiet,” found courage in that imperfection.
But Was Maradona the Only One?
Let’s be clear about this: Maradona looms largest. But idols aren’t always singular. Sometimes they’re a mosaic. Sometimes they surprise you.
In a rare 2017 interview with TyC Sports, Messi was asked who else inspired him. He didn’t hesitate: “Romário. I loved how he played. The way he moved in the box, the simplicity. He wasn’t flashy, not like Maradona — but he was deadly.” That’s unexpected. Romário — the Brazilian striker, 1994 World Cup winner, known for napping before games and scoring anyway. A man who once said, “I only train when I have the ball at my feet.”
And that’s interesting. Because Messi’s game — the sudden bursts, the minimal backlift, the way he kills space — has more Romário in it than people realize. He doesn’t dance for 40 meters. He waits. Then, in a flash, he’s past you. Just like Romário.
Club Influences: The Quiet Mentors
Then there’s Ronaldinho. Not an idol in the childhood sense — Messi was already 17 when they played together — but a mentor. “When I arrived at Barça, he made me feel like I belonged,” Messi said. “He laughed, he played, he made everything easy.”
That matters. A shy kid from Rosario, homesick, overwhelmed — and Ronaldinho, the reigning Ballon d’Or winner, is inviting him to his house to play FIFA. Is that mentorship? Is that friendship? A bit of both. Ronaldinho didn’t teach Messi technique — he already had that. He taught him confidence. Joy. The freedom to express himself. And that’s worth more than any drill.
Family: The Unsung Influence
But the deepest influence might not even be a footballer. It might be his uncle, Oscar Cejas — the man who first taught him to kick a ball in the backyard. Or his father, Jorge Messi, who worked at a steel factory and sold spare parts to pay for hormone treatments. Or his grandmother, Celia — the one person, Messi said, who truly understood him. She died in 2013. He still dedicates goals to her.
Because here’s the thing: when you’re dissecting “idols,” you focus on the famous. But sometimes, the quiet figures — the ones who held your hand during injections, who drove you to training at 5 a.m., who believed when no one else did — that’s where the real inspiration lives.
Maradona vs. Messi: A Comparison Beyond Stats
Let’s compare: Maradona scored 31 goals in 91 appearances for Argentina. Messi? 106 in 180+. Maradona won one World Cup. Messi finally did in 2022 — aged 35. Maradona’s peak was short, explosive. Messi’s has lasted nearly two decades.
But does that make Messi greater? The issue remains — greatness isn’t arithmetic. Maradona carried Napoli to two Serie A titles in an era when Italian football was the hardest in the world. Messi had Barcelona’s machine. Maradona played through injuries, addiction, media witch hunts. Messi has had stability, structure, medical care.
Which explains why comparing them feels almost disrespectful. They’re different. Not better or worse — just shaped by different times, different systems, different demons.
Playing Style: Chaos vs. Control
Maradona was fire. Unpredictable. One moment he’d be laughing, the next screaming at a teammate. His dribbling? Explosive, angular, defiant. He’d take on three men not because he had to, but because he wanted to.
Messi? Ice. Calculated. He picks his moments. His dribbling is smoother, more economical — a series of micro-movements, like a scalpel. He doesn’t waste energy. He conserves it. And then — when the moment comes — he strikes.
Legacy: What They Represent
Maradona represents rebellion. The underdog who fought the system. The man who beat England not just on the pitch, but in the shadow of the Falklands War. He wasn’t just a player. He was a political statement.
Messi represents mastery. Perfection through repetition. He’s the quiet kid who studied the game, improved every season, and outlasted everyone. He’s less myth. More machine. (Though calling him a machine misses the point — there’s poetry in his precision.)
Frequently Asked Questions
Did Messi ever play with Maradona?
No. Messi made his Argentina debut in 2005, at 18. Maradona’s last international match was in 1994. Their paths never crossed on the field. Messi did play under Maradona briefly during the 2010 World Cup, when Maradona was Argentina’s manager. It was a rocky tournament — Argentina lost 4–0 to Germany in the quarterfinals — and Messi looked uncomfortable at times. The relationship was professional, not close.
Does Messi wear Maradona’s number?
Yes — No. 10. It’s not officially “Maradona’s number,” but in Argentina, it might as well be. Maradona made it iconic. Messi inherited it — not just on club teams, but with the national side. He’s worn it since 2008. When he lifted the World Cup in 2022, he did it with No. 10 on his back. Symbolism? Undeniable.
Has Messi ever said who his biggest influence is?
Repeatedly, he’s named Maradona. In 2020, after Maradona’s death, he said, “I was lucky to get to know him, to hug him, to play under him. I couldn’t ask for more.” But he’s also praised others — Romário, Ronaldinho, even his grandmother. The full picture? It’s not one person. It’s a constellation.
The Bottom Line
So who is Messi’s idol? The clean answer is Maradona. The honest answer is more complicated. Maradona was the first face he saw on tape, the first voice that told him small players could change history. But idolatry isn’t static. It evolves. The boy who worshipped Maradona’s magic grew into a man inspired by Romário’s efficiency, Ronaldinho’s joy, his family’s sacrifice.
I find this overrated — the idea that every great player has one defining influence. Life doesn’t work that way. Neither does talent. Messi’s genius isn’t just imitation. It’s synthesis. He took Maradona’s intensity, Romário’s lethality, Ronaldinho’s flair, and folded them into something entirely his own.
And maybe that’s the real tribute. Not tattoos or tears, but the fact that Maradona’s spirit lives — not in imitation, but in evolution. Because Messi didn’t become Maradona. He became Messi. And that changes everything.