There can only be one: Why Diego Maradona still tops Messi and Ronaldo for a generation of football fans

Lionel Messi’s international retirement brought an emotional end to one of football’s greatest careers, with the 39-year-old Argentina captain bowing out in front of more than 85 000 fans in Buenos Aires.

At the same time, Cristiano Ronaldo, 41-year old, was in a very different situation with Portugal, having left the national team camp after a dispute with the coach. The contrasting paths of the two icons have once again shone the spotlight on their place in the pantheon of football greats.

But, for me, both can find a place in the queue — because the best I have seen is Diego Maradona.

This is not to argue or debate. I appreciate the modern generation’s preference for Messi or Ronaldo. In the end, it is largely about generational bias and historical perspective. The era in which you grow up shapes your perception of who is "the best", because you experience things from a particular perspective.

Someone who grew up watching Maradona in the 1980s, as I did, will naturally consider him the greatest because we personally experienced his performances, his cultural impact, and the historical context in which they took place.

Someone who grew up watching Messi or Ronaldo may naturally place greater value on what they witnessed. Neither perspective exists in a vacuum; the era in which a person lives inevitably influences their opinion.

I grew up in an era with no TV. In our downtrodden, working-class neighbourhood, kids would gather at a local house, pay a few cents, and watch films shown on old projector reels. The flickering images on the screen, accompanied by the familiar whir of the projector, transported us into worlds far beyond our everyday surroundings and the daily struggle under apartheid.

While other kids were captivated by Bruce Lee’s kung-fu films or John Wayne westerns, my footy-mad mates and I would head to another local place down the block, where international and English football was screened. That was my first introduction to the greats of the sport.

In 1976, TV arrived in South Africa. Two years later, I watched my first World Cup final on a black-and-white screen, and it was my first glimpse of a real football rock star: Argentina’s Mario Kempes. But Kempes’s appeal only served to pave the way for the ultimate football god: Maradona.

Over the years, I have seen many greats, and they all have their place in football’s aristocracy of greatness — Garrincha, Pelé, Johan Cruyff, Franz Beckenbauer, Ronaldo Luís Nazário de Lima, Lothar Matthäus, Zinedine Zidane, Thierry Henry, Messi and Ronaldo.

But Maradona … man, he was just something else.

He did not simply play football. He made you feel something.

When Maradona exploded onto the football scene, football was becoming increasingly tactical and physical, but he brought a level of individual brilliance that was almost impossible to defend against. He was not simply a gifted player. He possessed an extraordinary ability to control a match through technique, imagination and sheer personality.

He could change direction instantly, accelerate past opponents, and squeeze through spaces that appeared too small to enter. His low centre of gravity gave him remarkable balance, allowing him to absorb tackles, stay on his feet and continue moving forward.

What separated Maradona from many great players was the extent to which he could influence a match. He demanded the ball, carried it forward, created chances, scored goals and attracted multiple defenders, creating space for his teammates.

The 1986 Fifa World Cup will always remain embedded in my memory, when Maradona almost single-handedly inspired Argentina to victory.

He had that same ability to inspire people at Napoli, where he transformed the club into a major force in Italian football. Before his arrival, Napoli had never won the Serie A title. With Maradona, they won the league in 1987 and again in 1990, along with other major honours.

For the people of Naples, Maradona became more than a footballer; he became a symbol of hope, pride and identity.

Unlike the polished image often associated with sporting superstars, Maradona was intensely human. He celebrated passionately, argued with authority, showed emotion and openly acknowledged his flaws.

He wasn’t perfect — we all know that — but his imperfections made him relatable. They reminded us that he was human, like us, with flaws, like us, and that greatness does not require perfection.

Messi and Ronaldo appeal strongly to the modern generation because they represent two different but equally compelling versions of football greatness. Messi’s appeal lies in the seemingly effortless nature of his genius. Ronaldo’s greatness is built on ambition, discipline and relentless self-belief.

Unlike Messi’s quieter brilliance and humility, Ronaldo openly embraces the pressure of being regarded as the best, something that resonates with a generation accustomed to social media and personal branding. But Maradona adds another dimension to the debate because his appeal is rooted not only in extraordinary football ability, but in his common-man persona.

His rise from poverty, his triumphs with Napoli and Argentina, and his imperfections away from the pitch, Maradona represented the raw, unpredictable and emotional side of football.

In 2017, I had the privilege of interviewing Liverpool’s John Barnes at the Kelvin Grove Club in Cape Town. The last question I asked him was about who he rated as the best-ever footballer.

He said: "Rodney, I can answer that in three words: Maradona, Maradona, Maradona."

So, for us Baby Boomers, as the writer William Faulkner said, "the past is never dead, it’s not even past". We carry our experiences, what we have seen and what we have lived, into the present.

Which is why, for me, in that immortal line from the movie Highlander: "There can be only one."

Maradona.