Messi Mania: Delhi's Frenzied Welcome for the GOAT

It’s not often that godliness gets nudged aside in India. But when word spread of the God of football, Lionel Messi, touching down in New Delhi, even the gods seemed momentarily forgotten. Almost three years to the day since he completed football itself — lifting the once elusive FIFA World Cup with his beloved Argentina — the legend finally made his way to the capital of India. This was not just another stop on a global tour; it was the culmination of a pilgrimage that had already wound its way through Kolkata, Mumbai and Hyderabad, leaving behind echoes of chants, tears, and disbelief in its wake. By the time the GOAT Messi Tour reached Delhi, the country was already spellbound. Kolkata, the spiritual heartland of Indian football, had set the tone weeks earlier. There, Messi’s mere presence felt like destiny fulfilled — banners draped across streets, murals springing up overnight, and generations of fans who had grown up whispering his name finally seeing flesh and bone. A controversial and unfortunate trip panned out, though — as a city, its fans and their beloved and holy home for football, Salt Lake Stadium, were left in shambles. But the next stop made up for it. And then came Delhi. It’s no secret that La Pulga is revered everywhere. Just take Delhi for instance — or perhaps, in hindsight, don’t. Though Messi was scheduled to arrive only in the afternoon, and despite a delayed flight that stretched the wait even further, nothing fazed his devotees. Thousands flocked to the gates of the Arun Jaitley Stadium hours early, standing shoulder to shoulder in near-silence, patient and uncomplaining, hoping — praying — for even a fleeting glimpse of the wily Argentine who had brought them here on what felt like a holy pilgrimage. Local bystanders, oblivious to the scale of the moment, looked on in confusion, asking aloud, “Is the Prime Minister coming today?" It wasn’t just the fans who rejoiced. For local businesses and street vendors, Messi’s arrival was nothing short of a windfall. Cricket merchandise vanished almost instantly, replaced by a sea of Argentina jerseys, scarves, flags and face paint. Delhi bled blue and white. Even residents of the narrow galis surrounding the stadium — usually irritated by crowds gathering near the lone tapri selling cigarettes and water — were converted. They joined in, helping the shopkeeper squeeze every possible rupee out of this brief, golden window before the police shut things down. Prices were hiked, order was enforced with a stick wielded like a schoolteacher’s ruler, and nicotine-starved fans queued obediently as everyone worked in unspoken coordination to make the most of Messi-mania. For many, though, there was no need for any external highs. The company alone was enough. Raucous chants of “Visca Barca!" and “Campeones, Campeones, Olé Olé Olé!" tore through the crisp Delhi morning, cutting through the cold like a promise. But as the fog lingered and the hours dragged on, reality began to bite. The delay gnawed at nerves. The sun crept out, warming shoulders and tempers alike, and frustration slowly — but surely — settled in. Then, at half past four, almost two painstaking hours later than scheduled, it finally happened. Lionel Messi. Luis Suárez. Rodrigo De Paul. The trio stepped onto the Arun Jaitley Stadium turf for the very first time. A crowd that had stood frozen for hours exploded into chaos. The walk of honour began — footballs kicked casually into the stands, smiles exchanged — as the Delhi faithful lost themselves completely in the moment, impossible to hush in the now-chilly evening air. And then came what we all dread: the formalities. The parade of dignitaries. The inevitable PR procession. Rekha Gupta. Jay Shah. Bhaichung Bhutia. And a handful of others whose only credential seemed to be proximity to power. Messi stood centre stage, polite, patient, distant — and the crowd responded in unison with boos that needed no translation. Yet Delhi got its own, priceless caveat. Leo Messi took the microphone. Addressing the faithful, he spoke softly, simply, to a crowd hanging onto every word, every gesture, every step he took on the hallowed grounds of the Feroz Shah Kotla. Here, it didn’t matter that Leo spoke Spanish — for his faithful who had gathered in masses, it was his football that had spoken far more than enough over the last two decades which brought them all closer to their idol for those fleeting moments. 35 minutes, to be exact — just 35. And within those moments, Delhi lost itself completely in the essence of La Pulga. Every second was soaked in, treasured, stored away like something sacred. And then, with one final wave goodbye — poof. He was gone. Swipe Left For Next Video Just like that, it was over. Perhaps the last time India will ever witness the GOAT in person, in their own backyard.