El Magnifico: David Ginola’s Legacy in the Negative Space of Greatness
“Winning is important. But to have your own style, for people to copy and admire you, that is the greatest gift.”
— Johan Cruyff
The game is so back.
Neymar at PSG. Hazard at Chelsea. Clips flooding the timeline.
People remembering not just the trophies they won, but the feeling they gave us.
Football is healing from the Messi-Ronaldo stat war.
And with it, we’re finally giving flowers to those who made the game look like poetry.
Whose greatness wasn’t in numbers, but in moments and memories.
So let’s talk about a player who was ahead of his time, and maybe out of place in it.
Let’s talk about David Ginola.
A Beautiful Curse
Ginola wasn’t just good. He was magnetic.
Johan Cruyff once called him the best player in the world.
But no matter what he did on the pitch, the conversation always circled back to the shampoo ads, the modelling gigs, the hair.
many people hated him because he was too beautiful.
And not in a mythological way like Baggio or Zidane, Ginola was tangible.
The kind of beauty that makes men uncomfortable.
His existence forced people to confront their insecurities.
He was punished not just for being different, but for being effortlessly different.
That hate followed him everywhere, all the way to a single cross, a misstep that changed his life for the french national team. Ginola became a scapegoat, punished not for a mistake, but for the myth he represented.
But we’re not here to talk about that…
Redemption in the Wrong Places
At PSG, he made the Parc des Princes fall in love.
Ginola arrived when the club was still finding its identity, not yet the superclub it would become, but desperate for magic.
And Ginola gave them that. He didn’t just wear the shirt, he electrified it.
Defenders couldn’t handle him. Fans couldn’t take their eyes off him.
In his first full season, he helped deliver the league title, just PSG’s second in their history and sparked a run to the Champions League semi-finals that felt mythical. Along the way, they beat Johan Cruyff’s Barcelona and outplayed Real Madrid.
The press in Spain, called him “El Magnifico.” Because how else do you describe a player who looked like he belonged on the big screen but played like he was born for the floodlights?
Ginola wasn’t just the best player in France, he felt like the most important. That season he won French Player of the Year, not just for stats or silverware, but for spectacle. For the feeling.
He gave PSG glamour before the Qatari billions. Style before the superstars. He made Paris feel like the football capital of the world, even if just for a moment.
But it was never enough to silence his critics
So he left France behind and followed the Cantona trail to England.
First at Newcastle, where he became the face of the Premier League’s most entertaining side. Sunglasses. Stepovers. Chaos.
Then went to Tottenham
Ginola lit up the Lane in the late ’90s. With his movie star looks and style, both on and off the pitch. He was pure box office. All while playing for a mid-table club.
Skill, pace, strength, both feet, and that French flamboyance everyone loved.
If anyone doubts how good Ginola was at his peak in 1998/99, just look at the honours.
Manchester United won the treble: Premier League, FA Cup, Champions League.
But Ginola, in a team that finished 11th, won both PFA Player of the Year & FWA Footballer of the Year awards. That’s how good he was.
He even inspired Spurs to knock United out of the League Cup, the only trophy Sir Alex’s men didn’t win that season.
The First Player-Brand
What makes Ginola truly special, and maybe tragic is that he was the first modern footballer. He was David Beckham before David Beckham. He understood the power of image, of personal narrative.
He didn’t just play football, he lived it, wore it, embodied it.
Hair. Charisma. Defiance.
Ginola was a walking story.
But the world wasn’t ready for that, at the time.
Ginola’s crime wasn’t underperforming, he was punished for being unapologetically brilliant. In today’s game, Ginola would be a Ballon d’Or nominee and a runway model in the same week, and celebrated for it. But in the ’90s? He was called “vain.” “Selfish.” “Difficult.”
Legacy Without Conclusion
He could’ve gone to Barcelona.
He could’ve played in a World Cup.
He could’ve been remembered as one of the greats.
But the beauty of Ginola is that he existed in the negative space of greatness.
A player whose legacy lives in the memories and the sighs of those who watched him.
He made football look beautiful.
He made you watch, even when your team was losing.
“I'd speak to the supporters and they'd tell me, ‘We're playing such bad football, but it's worth going to the stadium just to watch you.’ And that responsibility fuelled me.”
— David Ginola
This one’s for the football romantics. The misunderstood.
This one’s for El Magnifico.
