Messi, Ronaldo and football's endless arguments

“I’m a reformed football hooligan, but if this continues I’ll have to take up violence again.” That was my completely sensible response to a colleague from the sports section after yet another debate about football threatened to derail an otherwise productive working day. Before anyone alerts security, it was a joke. The only thing ever in danger was office harmony, and perhaps a coffee mug.

Football has this remarkable ability to turn perfectly rational adults into highly qualified experts on everything from pressing systems to hamstring injuries. Every fan believes they know more than the manager. Every referee is blind and VAR decisions are part of an elaborate conspiracy designed specifically to ruin their weekend.

Our newsroom has become its own little World Cup stadium. The colleague in question happens to be a good friend. We probably spend more time discussing football than work. Before anyone starts questioning our work ethic, no, we are neither lazy nor jobless. It is because football somehow manages to sneak into every conversation. We are also united by one uncomfortable fact. We are both failed footballers.

I once attempted to make my college football team. I became extremely familiar with the substitutes’ bench. If they had given trophies for enthusiastic warming up, I would have retired undefeated. My friend actually played recreational football until an injury forced him to slow down. He still speaks about matches with the authority of someone who has seen things the rest of us cannot possibly understand.

Club football has never been our problem. He supports Chelsea and I support Real Madrid. We disagree, we exchange a few sarcastic remarks, then we move on with our lives. International football is equally peaceful. He supports Argentina and I support Portugal. Again, perfectly manageable. Then somebody mentions Lionel Messi and Cristiano Ronaldo. Civilisation immediately collapses.

My problem has never been Messi. The man is a football genius. Watching him is like watching someone solve advanced mathematics while everyone else is still looking for a calculator. My complaint has always been directed at certain fans who seem to believe that appreciating Messi requires a public trial of Ronaldo. That is where I draw the line.

One afternoon this turned into a full-scale newsroom debate. My sportswriter friend championed Messi. I flew the flag for Ronaldo. Voices rose, hands waved and statistics were produced with alarming confidence. Then another colleague, who also happens to belong to Team Ronaldo, joined the discussion. Suddenly it became two against one. Poor fellow never stood a chance.

The rest of the office abandoned whatever important tasks they had been doing and settled in to enjoy the spectacle. Nobody interrupted. Not even the bosses tried to restore order. They simply watched with the delight usually reserved for penalty shoot-outs. I suspect some were secretly hoping furniture would become involved.

I sometimes describe myself as a football hooligan, though only those who know me realise it comes with a large disclaimer. I grew up in Goa, where football is practically another language. During the football season, weekends belonged to local matches, noisy stadiums and passionate supporters filling every available seat. We shouted ourselves hoarse. We argued with rival fans. We also became armchair managers convinced that our tactical advice, delivered from Row G, would somehow reach the players through the power of enthusiasm alone.

“Pass the ball!”

“Move!”

“What are you doing?”

As though professional footballers had simply been waiting for instructions from an exasperated fan. At one match I received an unexpected kick in the back from the spectator sitting behind me. For one glorious second he forgot he was in the stands and not playing centre forward. His foot completed the movement before his brain reminded him he had actually paid for a ticket. That is commitment!

We football fans are fascinating because we happily suffer emotional damage every single week. We voluntarily watch our teams miss open goals, argue with referees through television screens and insist the coach should have listened to our advice despite having no idea we exist.

Then there is social media, where I occasionally transform into what I like to call an online football warrior. Somewhere on the internet there is probably a stranger who still remembers the detailed explanation I once gave him about why Ronaldo’s movement inside the penalty area deserves greater appreciation.

Did I change his mind? Absolutely not. Did he change mine? Not a chance. We both logged off convinced we had won. That’s football. It rarely changes anyone’s opinion. It gives us something far more entertaining — a reason to argue passionately and return for the next match convinced that this time everyone else will finally see sense.