In January 1986, a squad of Mexican footballers ascended La Malinche, a dormant volcano towering 14,600 feet above sea level. Under the command of Serbian coach Bora Milutinović, they ran through dense fog, gasped in thin air, and shivered in bone-chilling cold. The grueling camp was more than physical conditioning; it was a crucible of shared suffering that forged an unbreakable bond. That team became a family, and their unity propelled Mexico to its joint-best World Cup finish—the quarter-finals on home soil. Forty years later, with the 2026 tournament again on Mexican turf, national team coach Javier Aguirre is betting on a similar recipe: isolation and collective struggle to rekindle old magic.
Aguirre, who played for Milutinović in 1986, has convinced the Mexican Football Federation to pull a dozen players from their clubs during the decisive phase of the Liga MX playoffs. The result is a 30-day sequester, with the selected players first undergoing forced rest and then training at Mexico City's High-Performance Center ahead of the World Cup's June 11 kickoff. The move echoes Milutinović's controversial 1985 decision to withdraw players from their club sides for an entire year, a period Mexico used to tour the globe and play over 20 friendlies. While the current isolation is far shorter, it has sparked fierce debate about the cost to domestic competition and the readiness of the national team.
The immediate fallout hit Liga MX hard. Chivas de Guadalajara, renowned for fielding only Mexican players, lost five starters to national duty, effectively gutting their lineup. They slumped to a semi-final defeat against Cruz Azul, who had only surrendered midfielder Érik Lira. The final, won by Cruz Azul over Pumas, was widely criticized as a lackluster affair drained of star power. Fans of the affected clubs voiced anger, feeling the integrity of the season's climax had been sacrificed for an uncertain World Cup gamble. The departure of key figures turned the playoffs into a footnote, overshadowed by what one analyst called a 'lackluster affair.'
Former Mexico goalkeeper Félix Fernández, now a ClaroSports analyst, gave voice to the skeptics. 'I think there's no better way for a national team player to reach the World Cup than after playing in the [playoffs], because those are the most intense, most demanding matches,' he argued, acknowledging that injury risks exist in any setting. Fernández also lamented the shifting culture of modern footballers, pointing to vast salaries that detach players from reality and a dressing room atmosphere where camaraderie has been 'greatly diminished.' 'Today's footballer is constantly on his cell phone, watching TV series and movies,' he added. 'It's not like before when you'd get together in a room with four or six of you to talk. This lack of interaction ends up affecting them on the field.'
Milutinović, now 81 and traveling in China, remains steadfast in his old-school philosophy. 'In my time, the only way we could accomplish anything was to be together,' he said. 'Thanks to that time spent together, we created a suitable environment where we were mentally prepared, and it was so effective that we played a very, very successful World Cup in '86.' He recalled the two weeks on La Malinche, where players crawled on all fours, terrified of heights, and even got lost in the fog—episodes that strengthened their trust in one another. Yet he cautioned that a month of isolation in 2026 is 'nothing' compared to his year-long project, though he concedes such an approach is 'impossible' in the modern game.
Beyond the philosophical divide, Mexico's squad faces hard questions about form and fitness. The team's two best performers—Genoa captain Johan Vásquez and Fulham striker Raúl Jiménez—carry the heaviest burden, while others are in poor shape. Santiago Giménez, the Milan forward, is recovering from a string of injuries that have dried up his scoring touch. Midfielders Edson Álvarez (Fenerbahçe), Luis Chávez (Dynamo Moscow), and the inconsistent rookie Obed Vargas (Atlético Madrid) have all missed significant time at their clubs. With only three full-strength matches played this year, the cohesion that Aguirre desperately hopes to build in isolation has yet to appear on the pitch.
Deeper structural issues also threaten to undermine Mexico's ambitions. Since crashing out in the group stage of Qatar 2022—their worst World Cup in 40 years—the national set-up has failed to address fundamental flaws. The domestic league's insular nature means young talent rarely migrates to top European clubs, depriving players of the highest levels of competition. The controversial decision to end promotion and relegation in Liga MX has removed the survival instinct that once forged resilient competitors. Fernández did not mince words: 'The Mexican national team today doesn't have the level to be among the top 17 in the world. Terrible decisions have been made, and nothing has been done. It never crossed their minds that Mexico was hitting rock bottom.'
Amid the gloom, Milutinović clings to the transformative power of the Mexican crowd. He pointed to the aftermath of the 1985 earthquake, when the country rallied behind the team and pushed them to historic heights. 'The fans and everything else had a huge influence on Mexico achieving that result in '86,' he said. He also sees a silver lining for clubs like Chivas, whose five call-ups will return with invaluable World Cup experience, potentially making them a stronger side in the long run. 'For me, Chivas is the champion,' he asserted, emphasizing the long-term benefit of exposing young players to the tournament.
As Mexico retreats behind closed doors, the 30-day isolation represents a calculated gamble. It is a throwback to a romanticized era of mountain treks and shared hardship, but it arrives in a world of multimillion-dollar contracts and digital isolation. Whether Aguirre can forge a team from disparate parts in a month remains the central question hanging over El Tri's World Cup hopes. If the echoes of 1986 are to resonate once more, they will have to overcome not just the skepticism of a nation but the hard realities of a sport that has changed beyond recognition. Based on reporting from The Guardian.