The Ballon d’Or: Prestige, Politics, and the Price of Individual Glory

Few trophies in football carry the aura of the Ballon d’Or. Since its creation in 1956 by France Football, the golden ball has been held up as the ultimate individual accolade — the shimmering symbol of a player’s superiority over all others in a given year. Lift it once, and you join a lineage of legends; collect it multiple times, and you are forever etched into the sport’s mythology.

But for all its prestige, the Ballon d’Or has always been accompanied by questions. What does it really measure? Who does it leave behind? And in a sport so defined by teamwork, does an individual award distort the game it claims to celebrate?

This critique looks at the Ballon d’Or in its full complexity: its power to shape football history, its biases and blind spots, and the cultural weight that ensures it remains both celebrated and contested in equal measure.

The Magnetic Pull of the Golden Ball

The Ballon d’Or has a gravitational force like no other personal award in football. Its winners define eras. Think of George Best dazzling the world in the 1960s, Michel Platini in the 1980s, or the almost two-decade duopoly of Lionel Messi and Cristiano Ronaldo, who elevated the trophy to near-mythical status. For fans, debates about “GOATs” almost always circle back to Ballon d’Or tallies — as if greatness could be tallied like goals.

The trophy also serves as a marker of time. Look back through the winners, and you see the arc of football itself: from European dominance to a more globalized game, from technical midfield maestros to today’s super athletes. In that sense, the Ballon d’Or isn’t just an award; it’s a narrative device, a way of writing football’s collective story.

And yet, as much as the Ballon d’Or amplifies football’s magic, it also exposes the fault lines in how we measure greatness.

The Subjectivity Problem

The first and most enduring criticism is subjectivity. The Ballon d’Or is voted on by journalists (and in some years, also coaches and national team captains), which sounds democratic until you realize how much bias creeps into the process.

Attackers — the scorers of goals, the stars of highlight reels — dominate the history of the award. Midfielders with more subtle influence, defenders whose work is invisible to the casual fan, and goalkeepers who can decide entire seasons with their saves are all left in the shadows. Lev Yashin, the Soviet goalkeeper, remains the only keeper ever to have won, all the way back in 1963. Players like Paolo Maldini or Xavi Hernández, who defined their generations, never claimed the prize.

There’s also the issue of recency bias. A player who delivers heroics in the Champions League final or a summer tournament can leapfrog another who spent the entire season carrying a club on his back. Moments outweigh consistency, and storylines often matter more than steady brilliance.

The Trophy Bias

Another glaring flaw is the overemphasis on team trophies. The Ballon d’Or is supposed to celebrate the best player, yet time and again, it rewards those who happen to play in the most successful teams.

This creates a hierarchy: players at Real Madrid, Barcelona, Bayern Munich, or Manchester City are far more likely to win simply because they compete for and win the competitions that voters value most. Players who thrive at “smaller” clubs — even if their performances are more impressive relative to context — are penalized.

It raises a question: is the Ballon d’Or measuring individual brilliance or simply team success in disguise? When Luka Modrić won in 2018, it was partly in recognition of his heroic World Cup run with Croatia, but also because Real Madrid lifted yet another Champions League. In other years, players like Robert Lewandowski, who broke goal-scoring records with Bayern, found themselves snubbed when his team’s narrative wasn’t as shiny.

Transparency, or Lack Thereof

Critics also point to the opaqueness of the process. While France Football lays out voting mechanics, there is no clear rubric for what “best player” means. Is it raw statistics? Is it influence in decisive matches? Is it artistry, leadership, consistency? The lack of clarity leaves the award vulnerable to accusations of politics and popularity contests.

This ambiguity fuels controversy every year. Fans argue endlessly because the terms of debate are never fixed. One voter may prize Champions League goals, another may reward World Cup heroics, another may simply fall back on reputation. The chaos keeps the award in headlines, but it also erodes its credibility.

The Cultural and Commercial Weight

Beyond footballing merit, the Ballon d’Or has become deeply intertwined with culture, religion and commerce. A win boosts sponsorships, strengthens personal brands, and even inflates transfer values. Players openly admit to chasing it, tailoring their seasons toward maximizing visibility and goal tallies.

But that pursuit can distort priorities. An attacker might go for a low-percentage shot to pad statistics rather than pass. Clubs may market players more aggressively to build their Ballon d’Or campaigns, echoing how Hollywood studios chase Oscars. The award becomes not just a recognition of greatness but a prize to be won strategically.

The Women’s Game: An Afterthought?

The Ballon d’Or Féminin, launched in 2018, was a welcome step — belated but necessary — toward recognizing the best women players. Yet even here, execution has stumbled.

In both 2023 and 2024, scheduling conflicts meant nominees couldn’t attend the ceremony because of international fixtures. The message, intended or not, was clear: women’s football was secondary. For an award meant to celebrate equality of excellence, the lack of coordination undercut its legitimacy.

There are also echoes of the men’s award’s flaws: attackers dominate, and the global spread of women’s football means those in less-covered leagues struggle for recognition. Until these structural issues are fixed, the women’s award risks becoming more of a gesture than a true global benchmark.

The Counterarguments

Of course, defenders of the Ballon d’Or argue that its flaws are part of its magic. Football is not played in spreadsheets — it is a game of moments, of stories, of myth-making. The Ballon d’Or, in this sense, is not about objectivity but about capturing what football felt like in a given year.

That’s why debates rage every autumn. Was Messi really the best in 2021, or did Lewandowski deserve it? Should Virgil van Dijk have beaten him in 2019? Should Xavi or Iniesta have been recognized during Barcelona’s tiki-taka peak? These arguments endure precisely because the Ballon d’Or is less a scientific ranking than a cultural artifact.

And perhaps that’s its true function: not to decide once and for all, but to give fans, pundits, and players a common stage on which to debate greatness.

Toward a Better Ballon d’Or

Still, improvements are possible. Greater transparency would help — publishing voters’ reasoning, clarifying weighting of criteria, or introducing categories that reward different types of excellence (such as best defensive player, or best young talent, given equal prestige).

The award could also adapt to the modern era of data and analytics, integrating advanced metrics alongside traditional storytelling. That wouldn’t strip away the narrative, but it would anchor it in evidence.

Most importantly, the Ballon d’Or must reckon with its responsibility to the women’s game, ensuring scheduling respects players and building a platform that elevates women’s football on equal footing.

Final Word

The Ballon d’Or endures because it is more than a trophy. It is a mirror — reflecting not just who played the best football, but what the football world values in that moment. Its prestige is real, but so too are its flaws.

If we treat it as gospel, it will always disappoint. If we treat it as theatre — a ritual that sparks debate, celebrates stars, and captures the spirit of each year — then the Ballon d’Or retains its magic.

Greatness in football can never be contained in a single golden ball. But perhaps that is the point. The Ballon d’Or is not an answer — it is an argument; one we will never tire of having.