The Beautiful Goal: “A great goal is remembered. A transcendent goal becomes part of culture”

“The Beautiful Goal” is a series of articles where we explore why some goals fascinate us more than others. Through expert interviews, we explore what makes a strike truly beautiful. From how our brains react to a perfect curling shot to the emotional impact on players and fans, we’ll uncover the deeper meaning behind the game’s most unforgettable moments.

Few people understand the intersection of football and culture as deeply as Roy Thomas, the Head of Research and Insight at Copa 90. Thomas has spent his career analyzing modern culture, crafting narratives, and shaping the way brands, communities, and individuals engage with the beautiful game. He offers a fresh, deeply considered take on why certain goals captivate us more than others.

In this conversation, Thomas delves into what makes a goal truly beautiful, how and if different football cultures define greatness, and why grassroots football might hold the last vestiges of pure expression in the modern game.

Roy Thomas, what is a beautiful goal?

A beautiful goal isn’t just seen, it’s felt. It can be an electrifying solo run, weaving through defenders as if guided by instinct alone. It can be the slow, deliberate poetry of a 36-pass sequence, culminating in a moment of pure clarity from a breakout star. Or it can be a desperate, defiant strike from 40 yards, a thunderbolt that etches itself into memory, breaking hearts and igniting others.

What unites them is their ability to transcend the game itself, to stir something deep within us, admiration, awe, elation, disbelief. A beautiful goal isn’t just about skill or circumstance. It’s a fleeting moment of magic, a reminder of football’s rare ability to make us feel something profound.

Football culture is different across eras and geography. Do different football cultures have different definitions of a beautiful goal, or is there a universal aesthetic?

The beauty of football, and the culture that surrounds it, is that there is no singular aesthetic, no fixed belief system, no universal definition of what makes a goal beautiful.

The game is too vast, too fluid, too deeply rooted in different histories and styles to be bound by one shared perspective. A goal that embodies perfection in one culture, a delicate chip, a display of raw strength, a moment of pure opportunism, might not carry the same weight elsewhere.

And that’s precisely what makes football, and its goals, so captivating. Each culture sees beauty through its own lens, shaped by the way the game is played, talked about, and passed down. There is no definitive script, only the emotions a goal evokes and the meaning we assign to it.

Sometimes, an iconic goal is remembered more for its story than its technical brilliance. What role does narrative play in making a goal truly beautiful?

Narrative is everything when it comes to truly feeling a goal. The madness, the illogical twists, the sheer unpredictability of football’s storytelling is what makes it so compelling.

What’s more beautiful than a player returning to his boyhood club and scoring the goal that keeps them up on the final day?

What’s more beautiful than the least likely player on the pitch stumbling into a moment of unexpected brilliance?

What’s more beautiful than the sound of the ball clipping the underside of the bar after 94 minutes of exhausted, desperate prayers to the footballing gods?

What’s more beautiful than seeing the villain of your team’s story, the player who has tormented your side for years, unwittingly deflecting the ball into their own net as karma finally has its say?

Some goals are beautiful because of their technique. Others, because of their meaning. The best ones? The ones we never stop talking about? They’re the ones with a story to tell.

Some goals transcend sport and become cultural touchstones (Maradona’s ‘86 goal(s), Bergkamp vs. Argentina, Messi’s solo runs). What makes certain goals live on beyond football?

Some goals don’t just belong to football, they belong to history. They transcend the sport, becoming cultural touchstones that are revisited, reinterpreted, and replayed for generations.

If we were to break it down, it might look something like this:

(Beauty + Stage + Importance) × Scale of Viewership = Immortality

Beauty – Whether it’s a moment of individual genius, flawless teamwork, or sheer improbability, the goal itself has to be visually or emotionally arresting.

Stage – The bigger the occasion, the more weight a goal carries. A World Cup knockout game? A Champions League final? These are the arenas where moments become legend.

Importance – Not all great goals matter, but the ones that live on tend to define eras, break hearts, or change the course of history.

Scale of Viewership – Some goals are witnessed by millions in real-time, others gain mythic status over decades. The bigger the audience, the greater the cultural footprint.

Some goals tick every box, Maradona’s run against England in ’86 was stunning in execution, came on the World Cup’s grandest stage, held deep geopolitical significance, and was seen by the world. Others become immortal because of what they represent, Michael Thomas’ last-minute winner at Anfield in ‘89, Aguero’s title-clinching goal in 2012, or Zidane’s volley in the 2002 Champions League final.

A great goal is remembered. A transcendent goal becomes part of culture.

When we see a grassroots wonder goal, we might think, ‘I could do that,’ whereas the professional game can feel increasingly distant, with tactical discipline, out-of-this-world salaries and transfer sums, and VAR. Has the amateur game become a space where spontaneity and pure expression are more appreciated? And can grassroots goals capture something professional football has lost?

In many ways, the grassroots game is the perfect antidote to the increasingly sanitised elite professional game.

At its highest level, football is now a hyper-optimised, meticulously controlled spectacle, where every movement is tracked, every decision scrutinised, and every outcome influenced by data and marginal gains. But at grassroots level, the game remains raw, unpredictable, and often chaotic. It’s where football’s most natural qualities, instinct, spontaneity, and pure joy, are still at their most unfiltered.

This is why grassroots goals can feel so special. An improvised bit of skill in a five-a-side cage, a goal so outrageous it would never happen in a professional game, these moments feel real, unshaped by systems and unaffected by pressure beyond the simple desire to play and enjoy.

In that sense, grassroots football hasn’t just become a space where spontaneity is more appreciated, it’s where it still thrives. It reminds us that football, at its core, isn’t about perfection, but about moments of magic that belong to anyone, anywhere.

Amateur football used to be about what happened in the moment, but now, goals from local games can go viral overnight. Has this changed what we value in a goal?

For the purists, what we value in a goal hasn’t really changed. Technique, audacity, context, these things still matter. But the fact that goals from local pitches can now go viral overnight has reshaped how we experience and celebrate them.

We touched on this earlier, but part of football’s beauty lies in its variety. A Myles Lewis-Skelly goal can appear on the timeline alongside a People’s Puskás contender, each appreciated on its own terms. The idea that a moment of brilliance, whether from a rising star, a veteran playing Sunday league, or a kid in a garden, can be seen, shared, and admired globally is something new, and something special.

In many ways, the internet has democratised football’s greatest currency: the goal. No longer confined to stadiums or TV broadcasts, the most outrageous, improbable, or technically perfect strikes can now exist in the same cultural space as those scored by the game’s elite. And that, in itself, is a beautiful thing.

What’s your favourite People’s Puskás goal?

First off, massive respect to everyone shortlisted, so many incredible goals, and each one deserves recognition.

For me, my favourite has to be Theo Barbara’s twisting, turning run for BW Gottschee. The combination of technique, audacity, and sheer confidence to score a goal like that was outstanding.