In the world of football, words carry weight.
If there is anyone who knows how to measure them, it is Fabio Capello.
The Italian champion, a veteran fox of the bench, and owner of a sharp tongue, is not one to be swept away by the latest trends.
This time, he was called upon to pour cold water—or perhaps a bucket of reality—on the comparisons that many have begun to make without anesthesia.

The names in question: Lamine Yamal and Lionel Messi.
Yes, you heard right.
In an era when a couple of highlights on TikTok are enough for a 16-year-old to be compared to the footballing gods of Olympus, Capello came forward to break the spell.
He declared, “He will not be like Messi or Maradona.
He’s a star, but he doesn’t have the same genius that Pelé had.”

And he didn’t say it in a bar.
He said it in a suit and tie, at the Laureus Awards gala, surrounded by stars and flashes, like someone making a statement in marble.
Of course, many frowned because Yamal has been shining in a Barça that mixes nostalgia with need—a club searching for its new identity, its new idol, its new hope.

In the middle of all this appears a 17-year-old boy, left-footed, skillful, with a dribbling style that inevitably recalls the young Messi.
But Capello doesn’t buy into the hype.
“He lacks that,” Capello said.
That magic word, that sacred fire, that right amount of madness, that genius that appears when the match is slipping away, when no manual is enough.

He didn’t say that Lamine wouldn’t be great—on the contrary, he praised him, calling him extraordinary with a great future.
But Capello stood firm on something many avoid for the sake of political correctness or fear of public opinion: “There are few geniuses.”
And on his list there are three: Messi, Maradona, Pelé.
At most, an honorable mention for Ronaldo Nazario, the “Phenomenon,” whom Capello himself coached and, in his own words, helped shape.

Because if Capello has something, it’s that mix of conviction and nostalgia that comes from having seen it all.
Why is it so hard for us to accept that Messi has no replacement?
Why, every time a talented youngster appears, do we measure him with a stick that’s not even human?
Perhaps it’s because the idea that there will never be another like him pains us.

After living 20 years with Messi performing magic every three days, football seems a bit more plain, more earthly, as if being good is no longer enough.
You have to be immortal, like Leo.
Lamine Yamal is everything a fan could want in a star prospect: daring, technical, young, with swagger and composure.

But he’s also at that stage where exaggerated applause can be as dangerous as fierce criticism.
And Capello knows this.
That’s why he steps in, why he warns, because he doesn’t want another broken toy or another inflated idol who can’t bear the weight of expectations.
Messi himself was, for years, the target of comparisons with Maradona.

How many times was he told he lacked character, that he didn’t sing the anthem, that he didn’t feel the shirt?
Until time, three lost finals, two Copa Américas won in tears, and a World Cup conquered with an epic performance in Qatar, put him where he always belonged: among the geniuses—not for numbers, but for soul.

Here lies the other part of the matter.
Today’s football consumes idols at a speed that leaves no room for maturation.
Media pressure, social networks, labels like “the new Messi” or “the jewel of the future” do not come free.
If there’s something that distinguishes a genius, it’s what he does when there are no cameras, when the leg trembles, when all seems lost.

Capello doesn’t belittle Lamine; he acknowledges everything, but takes him off the podium.
Like someone who protects more than criticizes, like someone who remembers that the Messis, the Pelés, the Diegos, do not appear in every generation.
They are happy accidents of history, and no matter how much you want it, they cannot be manufactured in academies or with marketing campaigns.

That’s why Capello’s phrase resonates: “One like that appears every 20 years, so we’ll have to wait another 20.”
Painful, yes, but real.
Because while Yamal is just beginning to write his story, Messi is already on the last pages of his.
And it’s not fair to measure them with the same yardstick.
It would be like comparing a sunrise to a shooting star.
Both are beautiful, but one needs time and the other eternity.

In my opinion, in the world of football, comparisons are inevitable.
When a young talent emerges with certain visual characteristics—a similar dribble, an elegant left foot, a way of playing that evokes memories—we automatically measure him against the idols of the past.
It’s part of sports narrative.
We look for heirs, successors, continuities, but it’s also a trap.
What Capello did at the Laureus Awards gala was nothing more than putting a healthy limit on that emotional impulse to compare too soon.
His phrase was clear and direct: “Lamine Yamal will not be like Messi or Maradona.
He lacks that.”

He’s extraordinary, but not a genius.
And while many may see this as a harsh opinion, it’s actually a defense of football, of its history, and of the real processes that create a legend.
Capello doesn’t take merit away from Yamal—on the contrary, he calls him a star, extraordinary, and recognizes his potential.
But he also knows—because he has seen hundreds of promises—that football has something that cannot be trained: that divine spark, that genius that turns a good player into a symbol of an era.

Messi, Maradona, and Pelé were not just stars; they were artists, visionaries, spiritual leaders on the pitch, and that cannot be inherited.
You either have it or you don’t.
Lamine Yamal is young, just starting out.
He has notable tools, technical and mental qualities that position him as an elite project.

But demanding that he be on Messi’s level is not only unfair, it’s counterproductive, because it burdens him with excessive expectations and prevents his own journey from being valued.
His story is different, his talent as well.
In an era dominated by immediacy, where a good match goes viral in seconds and labels stick like tattoos, Capello reminds us of something fundamental.
Geniuses do not appear every day.
“One like that appears every 20 years,” he said.
And while that phrase may sound pessimistic, it’s actually an invitation to have patience, to let time and the field decide.

Messi is an unrepeatable figure, not only for what he did with the ball, but for the context in which he did it, the consistency, the resilience, and the global impact he generated.
Comparing any youngster to Messi is to put a shadow over him—a shadow that not even Messi had when he debuted.
Football needs new stories, but it also needs memory.
And Capello, with his experience, brings that balance.
It’s not about devaluing young people, but about giving them space to be themselves.

Because if history has shown anything, it’s that the greats are not born to imitate, but to invent.
Lamine Yamal is not Messi and doesn’t have to be.
His challenge is different: to build his own legend.

What do you think?
Do you agree with Capello?
Is it fair to say that Yamal “lacks that” or is it too soon to draw conclusions?
Tell us in the comments who was the last number 10 who made you feel the way Messi or Maradona did.
Do you think any current player can reach that category of genius?
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The debate continues in the comments, because on this channel, football is discussed with memory and compassion.