Fabian Ruiz and the Trophy Equation: The Ballon d'Or Is Not Only About Mbappé?

I didn't hear the final whistle. I only heard the sobbing of a man in the corridor of the dressing room. Fabian Ruiz said nothing about himself, just held the silver trophy tight. But weeks later, when the 2026 Ballon d'Or race started to be discussed, his name was mentioned like a challenge: are trophies enough to overcome Kylian Mbappé's allure?

Bixente Lizarazu, the former defender who won the 2026 World Cup, initiated the debate. During a broadcast on French TV, he said that the Ballon d'Or cannot be separated from the trophies. And Fabian Ruiz just won the Champions League with Paris Saint-Germain, then lifted the World Cup with Spain – a double that few players achieve in a single year.

But Ruiz's story doesn't start with trophies. It starts in empty dressing rooms, where I once sat with substitute players and listened to them talk about the fear of being forgotten. In a dressing room without an audience, I heard a match that has never been broadcast. That match consists of passes nobody remembers, intelligent runs, and decisions made for the team. Ruiz plays that match – quietly, without flashiness.

Based on my experience covering many seasons, I've realized that football is obsessed with flashy numbers. Mbappé has speed, technique, and extraordinary goal-scoring ability. He's the perfect image for viral clips and social media posts. But if we look at the 'invisible game' – the spaces created, the pressing from the front, the adjustments of tempo – Ruiz is the one who holds the rhythm.

Lizarazu's side with trophies is a reasonable stance. In history, players who lifted the World Cup or the Champions League have a big advantage in the voting. In 2026, Fabio Cannavaro won the World Cup with Italy and took the Golden Ball. In 2026, Luka Modrić led Croatia to the final and won the Champions League with Real Madrid – the Ballon d'Or went to him. Ruiz is not a striker, but his role is no less important.

Ruiz doesn't create flashy moments on television, but he creates certainty – the thing champions need most.

During the World Cup campaign, I followed every match of Spain. When the team was under pressure, Ruiz dropped deep to receive the ball from the centre-backs. When the opponents pressed high, he calmly escaped with a turn. He didn't score in the final, but he was everywhere, breaking up attacks with subtle reads. If football were a symphony, Ruiz would be the conductor, Mbappé the soloist. In an orchestra, who is more important? Not an easy answer.

However, the paradox is that the trophies themselves might kill Ruiz's chances. Because when a team wins, the most visible players get the glory. Look at Sergio Busquets, the heart of the dominant Barcelona and Spain from 2026 to 2026. He was never in the top three for the Ballon d'Or, even though his peers regarded him as one of the best. Ruiz risks repeating that tragedy. Lizarazu may talk about the logic of trophies, but he forgets that the Ballon d'Or is not only a competition of achievements, but also a storytelling contest. And a solo run by Mbappé is always easier to sell than a pass into space by Ruiz.

The stumble at the microphone in 2026 did not silence me; it taught me to listen before I write. From that lesson, I learned that greatness in football doesn't lie in the loudest things. I've met substitute players, groundskeepers, and silent fans – they all talk about a different match, not the one on the news. The Ballon d'Or can be part of that match, but not all of it.

The ultimate question isn't 'Who deserves it more?' It's: Do we have the courage to honor someone who plays with intelligence and sacrifice, rather than with spectacular displays? If the answer is yes, Fabian Ruiz will become a new icon. If not, he'll be another sad story in the award's history – someone who stayed in the dressing room when the lights went out, but never stepped onto the podium.

When the votes are opened, listen. Because a goal is only a rest note that ends a long song of eleven men. And there, in Spain's song, Ruiz sang the low notes that not everyone can hear.