You’ve seen it a thousand times. Every time the ball hits the back of the net and the stadium erupts, Lionel Messi does the same thing. He doesn't do a backflip. He doesn't slide on his knees or rip his shirt off like a madman. Instead, he just walks toward the center circle, looks up, and lifts both index fingers toward the heavens. It’s quiet. It’s consistent. Honestly, Messi pointing to the sky has become as much a part of football’s visual language as the Nike swoosh or the Champions League anthem. But if you think it’s just a generic religious gesture, you’re actually missing the most human part of the greatest player to ever lace up a pair of boots.
It isn't about theology. Not really. It’s about a grandmother named Celia Olivera Cuccittini.
The Grandmother Who Fought for a Legend
To understand why he does it, you have to go back to Rosario, Argentina, in the late 1980s. Picture a dusty local pitch and a kid who was way too small for his age. Messi was four. His older brothers were playing, but the coach of the local team, Grandoli, didn't want to put Leo in because he looked like he’d get snapped in half. It was Celia, his maternal grandmother, who basically got in the coach's face and demanded he let the "pulga" (flea) play.
She won the argument. He scored two goals.
Celia was the one who walked him to training every single day. She was his biggest advocate before Barcelona, before the growth hormone treatments, and before the world knew his name. Sadly, she passed away in 1998, a few years before Messi made his professional debut. She never saw him win a Ballon d'Or. She never saw him lift the World Cup in Qatar. So, every single time he scores, he’s telling her, "This is for you." It's a private conversation happening in front of 80,000 people.
Why Messi Pointing to the Sky Isn't Your Typical Celebration
Most footballers use celebrations to build a brand. Think about Cristiano Ronaldo’s "Siu"—it’s designed for impact, for the crowd to join in, for the cameras to catch the perfect mid-air silhouette. It’s brilliant marketing. But Messi’s gesture is almost internal. He isn't looking at the fans when he does it. He’s looking through the roof of the stadium.
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There’s a weird kind of discipline to it. He’s scored over 800 goals in his career. Whether it’s a tap-in against a bottom-tier La Liga side or a solo run in a World Cup final, the ritual remains the same. Consistency is a hallmark of his game, but this ritual is the heartbeat of his motivation. It’s a reminder that even at the pinnacle of global fame, he’s still that kid from Rosario who just wanted to make his grandma proud.
The rare exceptions to the rule
Occasionally, he breaks character. We saw it during the 2022 World Cup against the Netherlands when he did the "Topo Gigio" (hands behind ears) toward Louis van Gaal. That was pure, unadulterated spite. Then there was the iconic moment at the Santiago Bernabéu where he held his jersey up to the Real Madrid fans. Those moments are legendary because they are so rare. They represent Messi the Competitor. But the Messi pointing to the sky gesture represents Messi the Grandson.
The Physics of a Moment
Football moves fast. When a goal is scored, the adrenaline is usually off the charts. You see players losing their minds, screaming, and sprinting toward the corner flag. Messi often does a quick hug with teammates first—he’s a team guy, after all—but there is always that beat where he detaches. He finds a pocket of space, slows his breathing, and performs the ritual.
It’s a grounding mechanism.
Sport psychologists often talk about "anchoring." It’s a technique where an athlete uses a specific physical movement to trigger a state of mind. For Messi, this gesture likely acts as a reset button. It brings him back to his roots, stripping away the pressure of being "The GOAT" and returning him to the simple essence of the game. If you watch closely, his eyes often close for a split second. He’s not here; he’s back on that dusty pitch in Grandoli.
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Debunking the Misconceptions
A lot of people assume it’s a standard "thank you, God" gesture. While Messi is Catholic, he’s been very vocal in interviews—specifically with Argentine outlets like Ole and TyC Sports—clarifying the tribute to his grandmother. It’s a distinction that matters. It makes the gesture more specific and, frankly, more tragic.
There's also this idea that he does it to show off his humility. I don't buy that. When you’re as good as he is, you don’t need to perform humility. You just are who you are. The gesture has survived his move from Barcelona to PSG, and now to Inter Miami. It’s the one constant in a career that has seen him change continents, clubs, and tax brackets.
Why fans connect with it
People love a narrative of loyalty. In an era of football where players switch allegiances for the highest bidder every season, seeing a man honor a woman who died nearly thirty years ago strikes a chord. It suggests that despite the private jets and the billion-dollar contracts, the core of the man hasn't actually changed that much.
The Global Impact of a Simple Gesture
Go to any youth soccer tournament in the world. Look at what happens when a seven-year-old scores a goal. You will see kids—who weren't even born when Messi was at his peak in 2012—looking up and pointing their fingers at the sky. They might not even know about Celia. They just know that’s what greatness looks like.
It has become a universal symbol of dedication. It’s also a nightmare for sports photographers. Every photographer at a Messi match is tasked with getting "The Shot." You know the one: Messi from behind, the number 10 on his back, his arms outstretched, framed against the lights of the stadium. It is the definitive image of 21st-century sports.
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What This Tells Us About Success
There is a lesson here that goes beyond sports. Most people who reach the top of their field eventually lose their "Why." They get burnt out by the grind, the politics, or the sheer weight of expectations. Messi has managed to stay at the top for two decades.
How?
Maybe it’s because he isn't playing for the trophies anymore. Maybe he’s playing to keep a memory alive. When your motivation is external—money, fame, spite—it eventually withers. When it’s internal and tied to someone you loved, it’s an infinite fuel source.
Actionable Insights: Learning from the Ritual
If you’re looking to apply the "Messi Method" to your own life or career, don't just start pointing at the ceiling after a successful Zoom call. That would be weird. Instead, look at the mechanics of why it works for him:
- Identify your "Celia": Who is the person or the reason you started your journey? When things get stressful, reconnecting with that original "Why" can prevent burnout.
- Create a "Reset Ritual": Find a small, physical gesture that helps you center yourself after a big win or a high-stress moment. It keeps you grounded.
- Value Consistency over Flash: You don't need a new "celebration" for every success. Find what is authentic to you and stick to it, regardless of the stage you're on.
- Acknowledge your roots: No one gets to the top alone. Remembering the people who helped you when you were "too small" or "not good enough" builds a legacy that people actually respect.
Messi's career will eventually end. The jerseys will be retired, and the highlights will be grainy clips we show our grandkids. But that image of Messi pointing to the sky will endure as the ultimate tribute to the woman who told a skeptical coach to just give the kid a chance.
The next time you see it, don't just see a goal celebration. See a man saying thank you to the person who saw the legend before the rest of the world did.