Aritra Roy

[Aritra Roy @royaritra006]

Thank you leo

[Aritra Roy @royaritra006]

#messi #MessiAdiós #GOAT

[Aritra Roy @royaritra006]

Thank you leo

[Aritra Roy @royaritra006]

A Letter to Leo
There are no words to describe what you mean to me. As a child, as a teenager, and now as an adult, you have taught me the value of hard work, humility, compassion and leadership, but above all, how to be a better human. You are the greatest idol anyone could ever hope for, and you have led by example in every single way. I have never seen anyone receive as much hate and ridicule as you did, day after day, from your own countrymen. Yet you never stopped loving them, and every single time, you came back and gave it your all. Fate is a funny thing. She can be stupendously cruel, but perseverance bends even the staunchest of enemies.
I could not believe my eyes when I saw that you had retired. It felt like the world had crashed down around me. I could only imagine the filth and garbage that must have been thrown at you to make you walk away from something you loved so much, from the one thing you had dreamt of since you were a child, having failed despite giving it everything. All I wanted to do was hug you and console you. I wanted to tell you that even if everyone back home hated you, to us fans, to Barcelona and to football, you were a gem, and that no matter what you could or could not do for your country, you would always have a special place in our hearts.
You were a magician. You could pass, shoot and take free kicks better than almost anyone, and you could dribble past whoever stood in your way, however many of them there were. Your vision made it look as though you were watching the game from the top of the stadium, tracking every player, knowing exactly when to dribble, where to pass and when to move. Any one of these gifts would have made you one of the many greats to have played this game. Having all of them at once made you one of the greatest ever, if not the greatest.
When you came out of retirement, you were Argentina's saviour. You took a horrendous team on the verge of missing the World Cup and dragged it there almost single-handedly. Even at the tournament you kept impressing: that sublime touch against Nigeria was one of many moments, and a 4–3 defeat to France, the eventual champions, showed how far you had lifted a side that had nearly not qualified at all.
To your critics, it was just another failure, more proof that you would never reach Maradona's heights. Despite a stellar season with Barça, you finished an inexplicable fifth in the Ballon d'Or.
Whenever Argentina let you down, you could always fall back on your club, my club. No team in history has come close to the dominance that Barça side had over its opponents. But with Bartomeu in charge, Neymar gone, and a board that cared more about big fees and big salaries than about talent, desire or whether a player even fit the team, things slowly began to unravel. I watched in shock as a side that had won everything started losing to Atlético, to Juventus, to Roma, to almost everyone in its way. As much as I hated admitting it, your own level had dipped a little too. I cannot imagine the pressure you were under in those years, but once again, you persevered.
Then came 2019. You exploded, broke every record in sight, and became the complete player we know today. That free kick against Liverpool was footballing perfection, something I will never forget. But even with you back at your best, a fragile defence and a poor coach meant we fell short again. A disastrous Copa América followed, and when you were sent off for only the second time in your Argentina career, it felt like the pressure and the insults were finally getting to you.
A new manager brought a brief moment of hope, and then came the 8–2 against Bayern in 2020. After everything you had suffered with your country, a humiliation like that at club level should have been the final straw, the point where you walked away from it all and simply rested.
In your final season, the team was built more and more around you, and the weight looked too heavy for anyone to carry. Dragging a side with that defence to a Champions League final was impossible, and asking anyone to do it was unfair. Still, you found moments of magic, like that rocket against PSG in Paris.
Then came the 2021 Copa América. You were brilliant from the first match to the last, and for the first time in years your teammates truly stepped up around you. Raw messages and pure, simple patriotism turned you into a leader the world had never seen before. Nobody expected you to have that kind of effect on the national team, let alone become a captain whose teammates were ready to give everything on the pitch for you. The dribbles and the goals became routine, and with Di María and Dibu at their best, you reached the final.
And the final was against Brazil, the same team that had knocked you out two years earlier, when Argentina finished third, one of their worst finishes in years. That team had the power to do it again. To crush the one dream you still had left. The one that meant more to you than anything. The one that had always stayed just out of reach.
I will never forget the talk you gave before that final. It was one of the best speeches I have ever heard. Short and simple. You reminded them how hard they had worked to get there and what it would mean to their country to finally win something after losing so many times. Then the whistle blew, and the fire you had put in those players was unreal. They fought for every ball. They fought to keep it. They ran and ran and left everything on the pitch.
Then came the ball from De Paul, and Di María scored. I was so happy for him. He was the only one who came anywhere near your level, and for years he had been the one soldier fighting by your side. The remaining seventy minutes were a war, and the players gave everything they had.
Brazil kept coming. For what felt like forever, they kept coming. Hard tackles, shoving, players going down, time being wasted, every second dragging. But our defence would not move. They fought and fought and fought, and they held on to that one goal until the very end.
And then, suddenly, the final whistle blew.
It happened in a few seconds. Not hours. Not even minutes. Seconds. A weight I had carried for years was lifted off my shoulders. The sick feeling that had dragged at me through every lost final just dissolved into thin air. I was happy. Just happy. Everything seemed nicer. The air felt fresher. I swear I could hear the birds chirping outside.
Then came the shock. Then it sank in. We had won. You had won. Nobody could call you a Spaniard anymore. Nobody could say you had no heart for Argentina, that you were a pecho frío. Never again.
I ran around the house like a madman. I hugged everyone I could find. I shouted, I screamed, I could not stop.
Your teammates ran to you. They hugged you and they cried for you, because they knew what you had been through. They knew. Taking even a little of that pain away from you must have meant almost as much to them as winning the Copa itself. What I would not give to have been one of them.
I was so happy. For days, I was happy. I watched the highlights again and again. I watched you on your knees. I watched them throw you into the air. And every time, I cried.
And then came the biggest heartbreak of all. To go from the happiest I had ever been to the most heartbroken I had ever been in less than a month was cruel. It was barbaric.
When I first saw Barça's statement, I did not believe it. I could not. There was no way they would let you leave. Not you. Not over some stupid financial rules that were enforced so strictly on us and on no one else, with no leeway at all, not even after COVID. I thought the league would never let it happen either. Then came the press conference. You cried. Everyone in that room cried. And I realised what a fool I had been.
My world came crashing down. Everything I loved was being destroyed in front of my eyes, and there was nothing I could do. I cried for days. I cried myself to sleep. I was shocked, then empty, then angry. Angry at Bartomeu and his board. Angry at the league. Angry at everyone.
I had always told myself that Barça was bigger than any one player. Bigger than you, even. So I accepted it and tried to move on. I really did try. But I could not. I watched Barça and you were not there. I watched you at PSG and it was not home. I did not know who I was supporting anymore. I kept watching old videos of you at the Camp Nou late at night and kept telling myself it was only football. It was not.
Then came the World Cup.
You were now a true leader of men, a captain whose players would have run through walls for him. After the Copa, Argentina had become a team that simply did not lose. Match after match, they won. For the first time in my life, I went into a World Cup believing we would win it.
And then we lost to Saudi Arabia.
Same story. Same dread. The same feeling in the pit of my stomach that I knew so well. Maybe it just was not meant to be. Maybe it never would be. I started to accept it. You had given us the Copa. That was enough. I kept telling myself that was enough.
Even against Mexico, nothing was working. No chances, no ideas, nothing, and it looked like we were going home. Then, out of nowhere, that low, thunderous strike from your left foot. Just like that, there was hope again. That goal flicked a switch in the team. The Argentina from before the World Cup was back, and when Enzo curled in the second, it felt like a sign of everything that was coming.
From there, you swept past everyone. Player of the Match after Player of the Match, leading from the front with a team of warriors behind you who would give everything for you. At 35, you were beating and knocking over players who were younger, taller and stronger than you, and none of them had an answer for your intelligence and your movement. It was the most incredible football I had ever seen.
Then came France.
Two goals up. We were going to win. Everything said we would. Then, in two minutes, both goals were gone. The same fear came rushing back. We were cursed. We were always going to lose this. Then you scored again, and for a while I let myself believe. Then they scored again. Back to square one. I could not watch. I could not look away.
And then there was Dibu. The boy from Mar del Plata, who spent the best part of a decade at Arsenal on the fringes, sent out on loan after loan, close to giving up. Loved by his own fans and hated by everyone else. When he finally got his chance with Argentina, he took it, and he became the missing piece that turned you and Argentina into a team that won trophies. In the last minute of extra time, with Kolo Muani through on goal, he made one of the greatest saves the game has ever seen.
That save was for everyone who had waited so long. Everyone who had hoped, and been hurt, and hoped again. It told us that this time, the dream would not be taken away.
Then the penalties. I could not breathe. Every kick took forever. Every save was a miracle. And then Montiel. The last kick. The ball in the net.
It was not relief. It was joy. It was fulfilment. You had done it. You had done everything. You had won the World Cup.
2024 felt almost routine. Argentina were dominant, and once again Dibu dragged us through a shootout, this time against Ecuador. But something in that tournament stayed with me. In the final, you went off injured, your ankle swollen, and you sat on the bench and cried. That same night, Di María played his last game for Argentina. And for the first time, I properly understood that I would not get to watch you forever. One day you would call it a day too, just like him.
But you had won everything. Everything. So I was okay with it. Happy, even. Whenever that day came, I would let you go.
I expected it before this World Cup. Nobody can do what you were doing at 39. I was stupid. After all those years, I still had not understood how great you were.
What we saw in 2026 was something else. Argentina were older and a little weaker, and maybe the hunger had faded after everything they had already won. But you were superhuman. Through a rollercoaster of a campaign, you carried them through every single match, and you were the best player on the pitch every time.
Against Egypt, we were 2–0 down with ten minutes left, and you had already missed a penalty. Everyone had written us off. I had written us off. In a World Cup knockout, with that much pressure and those nerves, coming back from there should have been impossible. Then Romero scored. Then you scored, a strike of pure will. Then Enzo, at the death. I could not believe it. I still can't.
Then England, in the semi-final, the one great rival you had never faced. Behind again. Hope fading again. And again, you brought us back, setting up Enzo and then Lautaro, two assists like the great you are. Again. You did it again.
And all this while, your father was fighting for his life back home. He could not be there to watch you. You carried that into every single match and still led us. What strength. What a leader. What a man. What tenacity.
In the final against Spain, we were bad. They were better all night, and we just held on. Dibu kept us alive and we got to extra time, but we were poor. You tried so hard. You kept trying even when your legs would not let you. For the first time, age had caught up with you. The runs you would have made a few years ago were simply not there anymore. For a man who had made the impossible look normal for twenty years, they had finally become impossible.
Then, a few weeks later, your father passed away. The man who worked in a steel factory in Rosario, who left everything behind to take you to Barcelona when you were thirteen, who was there for every step. I cannot imagine how much that hurt, and I will not pretend to. I just hope you know how many people around the world were thinking of you then, and how many of us wished we could take some of that pain from you.
I had hoped you would go on and on and never retire. But when I saw your letter, I had to face the part of me that had always known this was coming. You had won everything there was to win, and still I wanted more. More matches. More goals. More of you. Because Messi the player is only part of who you are. Your humility, your authenticity, your modesty, your hard work, your leadership, your integrity and your loyalty make you the least imperfect among us mere mortals. These are things most of us can only dream of having. You have changed what I think a good person is. What a man is. What a leader is. Not some false idea of masculinity, but someone people look up to, admire and want to become.
Following you all these years has taught me so much about life. So, so much. Out of all the people in the world I could have chosen as my idol, I am glad I chose you. You gave me so much joy through the club and the sport I love, and you made me a better person. More compassionate. More humble. Always trying to be a better version of myself.
Thank you. Thank you for everything you have given me. I know this is not the end. You will keep playing, and I will keep watching. But I will miss you in the albiceleste. I will miss you with the armband. I will miss you singing the anthem. I will miss you pulling us through matches we had no business winning. I will miss you so much.
Gracias por todo, Leo. Siempre.
Aritra
#MessiAdiós #GOAT

[Aritra Roy @royaritra006]

We needed a better keeper as I had previously said. Kaith or Gill both aren't good enough though.

[Aritra Roy @royaritra006]

We need better keepers. Every time they took a long shot Gurpreet seemed very vulnerable. His on the ball skills, passing are non-existent. Sure he has good reflexes, is a good ball stopper for shots from inside the box, but this is not sufficient in the modern game.#INDvsPAN

[Aritra Roy @royaritra006]

We need better keepers. Every time they took a long shot Gurpreet seemed very vulnerable. His on the ball skills, passing are non-existent. Sure he has good reflexes, is a good ball stopper for shots from inside the box, but this is not sufficient in the modern game.#INDvsPAN

[Aritra Roy @royaritra006]

How are we playing so well?😭😭😭
#indvspan

[Ritika Chopra @RitikaChopra__]

The Election Commission of India is under fire like never before.

The SIR has struck 13 crore names off draft rolls, putting the EC at the centre of intense public debate over its role in deciding who gets to vote — and who doesn’t.

HOWEVER, what nobody knew: through that same period, some of the sharpest questions were being asked from inside.

Out today, after months of work. Our #ExpressInvestigation 🧵
(1/10)

[Aritra Roy @royaritra006]

@ReshadRahman We need to separate ball playing from defending. Eric might be good on the ball, is an excellent passer but he has not defensive sense or positioning whatsoever. He is always caught on this wrong side and then beaten on pace. We cant win anything with such horrendous right backs.

[Aritra Roy @royaritra006]

@BarcaUniversal We need to separate ball playing from defending. Eric might be good on the ball, is an excellent passer but he has not defensive sense or positioning whatsoever. He is always caught on this wrong side and then beaten on pace. We cant win anything with such horrendous right backs.

[Aritra Roy @royaritra006]

@BarcaUniversal Dont understand why he was playing so high up before the drinks break
He is best when playing in front of the defense during attack and slotting in as a third cb while defending

[Aritra Roy @royaritra006]

@IAPolls2022 unreal😭😭

[Aritra Roy @royaritra006]

@theMadridZone @partidazocope read the laws dude, it clearly states "if the player is touching the ground" and the next frame will show you clearly that bartra didn't

[Aritra Roy @royaritra006]

Sure we have to do some renewals but if we manage to sell off players we dont particularly need any longer like Balde or De Jong, and take these hard decisions, really dont see why not. Also keep in mind the ffp space will only increase from now on as Camp Nou nears completion.

[Aritra Roy @royaritra006]

70m in ffp space surely gets us someone like haaland in the future. 150 m over 5 years + 30-35 million salary is a net 60-65 million.

[Aritra Roy @royaritra006]

@FabrizioRomano last 2 seasons, by minutes only 24 full matches

[Aritra Roy @royaritra006]

@NealGardner_ last 2 seasons, by minutes only 24 full matches

[Aritra Roy @royaritra006]

@ReshadRahman just look at this stretch

[Aritra Roy @royaritra006]

Okay

[Aritra Roy @royaritra006]

I think Gerard Martin has shown today why we need to buy an elite cb to win the Champions League #fcbvsath