So Lionel Messi wins his sixth ballon door, out on his own, never done before, and the great

debate will still rage and fair, let it ring. But please indulge me a moment for an ode to the

king. See, for me, it's not always about losing or winning, it's about players that can instantly

start my heart singing, and it's not unreal statistics that set them apart,

but the fact that the game is not science, it's art.

I'm talking Totti, Joaquin, Eymar, Ronaldino, Raquelme, Gooty, Nedved, Janino.

For the finest of them all, the Queen Bee, the Sacred Cow,

wears the number 10 shirt at Barcelona's camp now, skipping, dancing, laughing through tackle,

see as he scampers away, electricity crackles round his feet, and opposition can only applaud and sigh

as the ball hits the net and both hands point to sky, creator, finisher, playmaker, technician,

artist, poet, wizard, magician. This is a player who it seems on repeat makes me gasp, inhale,

reach the edge of my seat who defies logic and gravity, physics and law and leaves me

scrabbling for words, simply and all, it's not about clutch or stats or winning and defeat,

but the fact that most weeks my heart skips a beat as he continues to redefine impossible and not

with a twirl a drop shoulder a free kick a snapshot and this won't be a shock no cradles of rocked a poet loves a

poet pretends to be shocked but i thought it would be remiss unfair to let pass a chance to raise a toast

to simply raise a glass to a man who continues to make the game sing

long may he reign long live the king that was good mo that was really good i like that that was

really good it was yeah well told us to get excited and i wasn't sure we would but that was good really

please welcome ladies and gentlemen to your very own award-nominated, B-R Football Ranks.

My name is Jack Collins.

I'm with me, fresh home in London from the Ballon Door Ceremony last night.

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