Julián Quiñones scored in the ninth minute of the World Cup opener and a bar full of strangers became family. That's the thing about this tournament. Every four years, cynicism doesn't stand a chance.
Raúl Jiménez added a second for Mexico in the 67th minute. The joy was real, visceral, and — for many Latinos in the U.S. watching in 2026 — something that felt almost defiant. Wearing a Mexico jersey and feeling pride instead of anxiety. That's not a small thing right now.
The politics don't disappear just because the football is good
This World Cup carries more baggage than most. FIFA is co-hosting with three governments, including the U.S. under an administration whose immigration enforcement has rattled Latino communities across the country. Workers at SoFi Stadium in Inglewood — many of them Latino — had to fight for contractual guarantees that ICE wouldn't be able to access their personal information, and that they could walk off the job without penalty if federal agents showed up at the venue. That's the world this tournament is being played in.
FIFA, for its part, has pledged to work with host governments on "safety and security" — language vague enough to mean everything and nothing. Trump officials have claimed ICE won't conduct raids at World Cup events. Whether that holds is another matter entirely.
Then there's the money. Smith College economics professor emeritus Andrew Zimbalist puts it plainly: FIFA takes all the ticket revenue, while host cities absorb costs that can run well over $100 million each, hoping tourism fills the gap. "None of them will benefit economically," he said. That's the deal cities sign when they chase the World Cup dream.
Mexico has its own version of this tension. Advocates have called their government's involvement "sportswashing" as thousands of people remain disappeared due to organized crime, and educators continue to protest for better conditions in the capital.
Why people show up anyway
None of that makes the football less compelling — and pretending otherwise would be its own kind of dishonesty. The World Cup does something that almost no other sporting event can replicate: it gives children of immigrants a stage to claim their heritage loudly, publicly, and without apology. In the current climate in the U.S., that carries genuine weight.
As Nico Aviña, owner of L.A. apparel shop Espacio 1839, put it: "We need to reclaim that power. This is a people's sport and it belongs to us."
He's right. FIFA will take the money. The politics will grind on. And the football — Mexico's pressing, Jiménez's run, Quiñones's opener — will belong to the people who stayed up, showed up, and felt it.
Co-hosts Mexico enter the tournament with genuine ambition and home advantage across multiple venues. Whether that translates into a deep run remains to be tested, but their odds as tournament dark horses deserve attention. A squad that can open with a multi-goal performance on the world stage isn't one to dismiss lightly.
