A duck wearing the Mexican national team jersey walks among thousands of people along Paseo de la Reforma avenue. His name is Merlin. He accompanies a family that sells fresh fruit drinks on the streets of Mexico City and, without even trying, has become the unofficial mascot of the 2026 World Cup. People stop to hug him, ask for pictures, and cheer for him as if he were a star. FIFA eventually names him ambassador of the capital’s Fan Fest. In any other country, it would be a quirky anecdote, but in Mexico it is a statement of principles: here, soccer is played on the field, but it is lived in the streets.
That explains why, just over a week after the tournament began, one phrase has started to echo among fans and foreign journalists alike: “Imagine if they had given us the whole World Cup.” Because while FIFA distributes matches among Mexico, the United States, and Canada, the heart of the tournament seems to beat strongest on Mexican soil.
Mexico has not only thrown itself behind its national team. It has fallen in love with the entire tournament.
It has embraced South Korea, whose fans receive applause and hugs even after a 1-0 loss to El Tri. It cheers for Japan, a team that inspires longstanding affection and that recently crushed Tunisia 4-0. It has surrendered to Colombia, which turned the streets of the capital into an extension of Bogotá after defeating Uzbekistan. And it has opened its arms to Iran, whose players have been welcomed with affection, photographs, and spontaneous displays of support, despite the political tensions and restrictions they have faced in other tournament venues.
That difference is palpable. While the United States is hosting a World Cup marked by immigration controls, security concerns, and political debates, Mexico offers a different narrative, that of a collective celebration where anyone can feel at home.
And, of course, it helps that El Tri is delivering on the field as well.
Mexico opened the World Cup with a 2-0 victory over South Africa and then defeated South Korea 1-0, becoming the first team to secure a place in the Round of 32 of the expanded tournament. The entire country poured into the streets. The Angel of Independence became a human river. There were giant flags, mariachis, children riding on their parents’ shoulders, and people crying without knowing exactly why. Perhaps out of joy. Perhaps because soccer can still inspire such an outpouring.
FIFA President Gianni Infantino eventually surrendered to the evidence and publicly praised the “extraordinary Mexican fans.” And it is difficult to ignore a country capable of filling the Zócalo square in downtown Mexico City to watch a match on giant screens, of turning a duck named Merlin and a dog named Osito into viral sensations, of praying to a Baby Jesus dressed in the national team’s colors, and of celebrating a Mexican goal with the same passion as a Japanese victory or a strong performance by Iran.
Because Mexico does something that few countries can achieve. It does not wait for its own team to play in order to love the World Cup. It loves the sound of vuvuzelas, Korean drums, Scottish bagpipes, Colombian chants, and the colors of any flag carried by fans eager to celebrate.
And perhaps that is why the rest of the world is beginning to suspect what is obvious: FIFA may have divided the tournament among three countries, but the party — the one that turns a duck into a symbol, makes crowds sing, and makes every visitor feel at home — Mexico has made entirely its own.
