Josko Gvardiol, the Croatian wall of Manchester City, did not turn heads on the training pitch this time, but rather in the car park. On a bright morning in Manchester, where the CFA training ground buzzed with cameras and luxury engines, the 23-year-old defender arrived in something that made football fans around the world stop and talk—not because it was flashy, but because it wasn’t. The man who cost Manchester City nearly £77.6 million and earns a reported £200,000 every week, chose to drive a simple Volkswagen Golf 8R, a car worth about £45,000. In a team full of Lamborghinis, Rolls Royces, Ferraris, and Range Rovers, that sight alone was enough to set the internet on fire. People called him many things that day, but one phrase stood above all others—“the humble king.”
Manchester City players are known not only for their brilliance on the pitch but also for their taste off it. When you earn hundreds of thousands of pounds every week, it’s normal to see exotic cars parked outside training grounds. That morning, the cameras from fans and reporters lined up by the gates caught glimpses of familiar faces driving into the facility. Jeremy Doku arrived with his signature smile, Phil Foden rolled in smoothly, Omar Marmoush waved from behind the tinted glass of his luxury ride, and then came Erling Haaland. The Norwegian goal machine drove a matte green Lamborghini Huracan Sterrato, one of the rarest and most beautiful beasts in the car world—a 602-horsepower monster that screams power and money. The car alone is worth nearly £250,000, and its sound echoed through the training ground like thunder. It was exactly what you would expect from a superstar who breaks Premier League records for fun.
Then came Gvardiol. No roaring engine. No fancy design. No glow of an elite badge. Just a clean, simple Volkswagen Golf 8R. It was the kind of car you might see in a university car park or a quiet suburban neighborhood. But there he was, the £77 million man, pulling up next to his teammates’ supercars like it was the most normal thing in the world. It was a quiet moment, but one that spoke volumes. In a world where footballers are often judged by their luxury, Gvardiol’s humility became his loudest statement.
The fans didn’t miss it. Within minutes, clips of him arriving in the Golf spread across X (formerly Twitter), Instagram, and TikTok. People from all over the world commented with shock, pride, and admiration. “My humble king,” one wrote, “he drives my kind of car.” Another fan said, “If I had to judge a person by their car—Josko Gvardiol elite human being.” Someone else joked, “Gvardiol’s car is like the cheapest there but can still do 0-60 in four seconds. Rapid those Golf R’s.” Others said they felt connected to him for the first time. “I drive the same car as Gvardiol,” one fan proudly wrote, as if sharing the same vehicle suddenly put them on the same level as one of Europe’s best defenders. Another person summed it up perfectly: “Josko Gvardiol humbly drives a Volkswagen, but is a Rolls Royce on the pitch.”
It wasn’t the first time Manchester City’s car park had caught attention, but this time the story had a different tone. It wasn’t about who had the most expensive car—it was about character. In May, Phil Foden had also turned up in one of the cheaper cars among his teammates, and that had earned him some love from fans too. But Gvardiol’s case felt deeper. Maybe it was because of how calm and serious he always seemed, or maybe because fans already saw him as a grounded, disciplined player who never lost focus. When you consider the culture of modern football, where many young players spend their first big paycheck on expensive cars or watches, Gvardiol’s decision to stay modest stood out even more.
On social media, a viral post by a user named @DavidPattt captured the moment when the cars drove in. His video, showing Haaland’s Lamborghini followed by Gvardiol’s Volkswagen, quickly gathered over 18,000 likes in hours. “Bro, football money >>>>>>” he captioned, and the contrast between the two players’ rides said everything words couldn’t. People laughed, praised, and admired at the same time. But underneath the jokes was a wave of respect—for the defender who didn’t need a shiny car to prove his worth.
It’s easy to forget how young Gvardiol still is. At just 23, he’s already played in a World Cup semifinal with Croatia, moved to one of the biggest clubs in the world, and cemented himself as one of the most promising defenders of his generation. With his wages at Manchester City putting him among the club’s top earners, nobody would have blinked if he arrived in a Ferrari or a McLaren. But that’s not who he is. Those who’ve worked with him at Leipzig and in the Croatian national team often describe him as quiet, disciplined, and deeply respectful. He plays with aggression, yes, but off the pitch, he is reserved. That balance is what makes him such a unique personality in a dressing room filled with different characters.
While the internet debated over Gvardiol’s car choice, another angle of the story gained traction—the reality of footballers’ car insurance costs. A 2021 study by MoneySuperMarket had revealed that footballers pay up to five times more in insurance premiums than the average driver, simply because of their salaries, car types, and the risks involved. For some players, insurance alone can reach tens of thousands of pounds per year. That study made fans joke even more: “Maybe Gvardiol is just smart with his money. Imagine the insurance on Haaland’s car!” someone wrote, gathering hundreds of likes.
But what the story really showed was how rare humility has become in football culture. In an era when young players showcase their success through Instagram stories, designer clothes, and million-pound garages, Gvardiol’s decision felt refreshing. It reminded fans of older football generations—players like N’Golo Kanté, who became famous for driving a Mini Cooper long after winning the Premier League. Football fans love luxury, but they love authenticity more. And in that sense, Gvardiol gave them something to connect with—proof that not every superstar needs to show off.
Inside the Manchester City camp, his teammates probably found it amusing too. Imagine parking a Golf between a Lamborghini Urus and a Ferrari Roma. But those who know City’s culture understand that Pep Guardiola values modesty and professionalism above showmanship. Guardiola himself has often spoken about keeping players grounded, warning them about distractions that come with fame. Maybe Gvardiol’s simple car fits perfectly with that philosophy. It’s not just about money—it’s about mindset. And for a defender whose job is to stay calm under pressure, drive through chaos, and keep control, maybe the Golf is the perfect reflection of who he is.
For the fans, though, it became more than a simple car choice—it became a symbol. It was about how a young man, earning more in a week than most people would in a decade, could still choose normality. It showed that humility isn’t weakness—it’s strength. And in a world obsessed with image, that was a powerful thing to see. “This is why I love Gvardiol,” a Croatian fan wrote. “He hasn’t changed. Fame hasn’t changed him. He’s still one of us.” Others agreed, calling him the kind of role model modern football needs—successful, talented, but still human.
In Manchester, stories like these travel fast. Reporters picked it up, fan pages reposted the video, and soon, Gvardiol’s name trended online for something far from football tactics or defensive stats. He was trending for his humility. Some joked that Volkswagen should sponsor him, others called for him to start a campaign promoting normal cars for normal people. But for Gvardiol himself, it was probably just another day. He likely didn’t even think twice about it. He came to training to work, to improve, to prepare for the next game—not to impress anyone with what he drove.
What stood out the most in all of this was how his small decision resonated so deeply. In a sport that constantly celebrates extravagance, a simple act of modesty reminded people that greatness doesn’t always need glitter. It can sit quietly behind the wheel of a Golf 8R, listening to music, thinking about defending the next counterattack, and driving into training just like anyone else going to work. Josko Gvardiol didn’t make a statement that morning, but he didn’t have to. The world made it for him.
And maybe that’s what makes him truly elite. Because humility, in football and in life, is a kind of power. The kind that doesn’t fade when the cameras go off. The kind that builds respect, not just applause. While others chase attention with shiny toys, Gvardiol showed that class has nothing to do with luxury. His football speaks loudly enough. His car? Just another reminder that sometimes, the most beautiful thing about success is not showing it off.
The Volkswagen Golf 8R might not roar like a Lamborghini, but in that quiet arrival, it said something Haaland’s engine never could: you don’t need to flash wealth to show worth. You just need to know who you are. And that morning, Manchester City’s “humble king” showed the world exactly that.
