Amid Fear and Fireworks, a Homecoming for Alejandro Gutierrez Mora

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Dispatch: a series dedicated to immersive storytelling, where our photographers and writers journey to chosen places, combining evocative imagery with long-form editorials to uncover and share unique football cultures.

Amid Fear and Fireworks, a Homecoming for Alejandro Gutiérrez Mora

WORDS AND PHOTOGRAPHY Alejandro Gutiérrez Mora

December 10 2025

The First Time I Experienced My Homeland

It was October 30, 2013, when, for the first time in what was still a very short career as a photojournalist, I covered the Mexican National Team at the now-demolished Qualcomm Stadium in San Diego, California. At that point in my life, I was trying to reconnect with myself. I carried a quiet resentment toward football that was slowly beginning to heal, so that assignment became more than just professional experience: it brought emotion, growth, and forgiveness.

It was an afternoon of firsts: my first time crossing the border to cover a football match, my first time watching Mexico’s national team in person, my first time seeing fellow paisanos singing the national anthem, chanting Cielito Lindo, shouting “Olé,” and celebrating goals inside a stadium that felt like a boiling cauldron, even without being sold out. That day, Mexico defeated Finland 4–2 in an international friendly less than a year before the 2014 World Cup in Brazil.

After that autumn evening, I realized that living so close to the United States would give me many more opportunities to cover Mexico whenever they played there and that proved true. Over the years, I experienced those same emotions away from home in Los Angeles, San Diego, Santa Clara, Phoenix, Seattle, and Houston. In none of those cities did Mexico ever feel like the away team. Mexico is always at home in the United States; its people make sure of that. Yet despite the nostalgia and nationalism that draw Mexican supporters to friendlies and Gold Cup finals, something never fully connected with me. It wasn’t home.

For years, my visual reference point was the order and modern design of American stadiums. The smoke from tailgate grills drifting through carefully monitored parking lots, security personnel often dressed in bright yellow watching over the scene. I often wondered: would it feel the same in Mexico?

Since I began covering football, one question echoed constantly in my mind: When will I experience covering the Mexican National Team in Mexico? It felt distant, almost unlikely, especially living in Tijuana, geographically separated from much of the country yet so close to the United States.

A few weeks ago, that opportunity finally arrived: an international friendly between Mexico and Iceland at Estadio La Corregidora in Querétaro.

And then Sunday happened.

On the morning of February 22, while covering youth matches for Club Tijuana, I opened my phone to find my social media feeds consumed by a single story: Nemesio Oseguera Cervantes, leader of the Jalisco New Generation Cartel (CJNG) and one of the most notorious drug lords of the modern era, wanted in both Mexico and the United States, had been killed in Tapalpa, Jalisco, after being wounded in a federal operation involving the Mexican Army and the National Guard.

Soon after, clashes erupted. Roadblocks, vehicle fires, and looting spread not only across Guadalajara, a World Cup host city, but throughout much of the country. Authorities advised against highway travel and recommended limiting movement within cities. In Tijuana, public transportation was suspended, and several supermarket chains closed early. We had to prepare for the worst.

That afternoon, the Liga MX Femenil Clásico Nacional between Chivas and América was suspended, along with the Liga MX match between Querétaro and Juárez, in order to guarantee safety for players and fans. Doubts quickly emerged, not only about whether Mexico’s friendly would go ahead, but about the country’s ability to maintain its status as a World Cup host.

In the end, the match would be played. Despite the uncertainty. Despite the tension. What had been a routine friendly suddenly became the most significant rehearsal ahead of the World Cup, just three days after the death of the country’s most wanted criminal.

Mexico vs. Iceland — Standing Firm

February 24. Flag Day. No delays. No cancellations. I boarded my morning flight to Querétaro.

Although the news reported no new incidents, my thoughts were crowded with questions. What would the journey to my hotel be like? Would violence erupt again? What atmosphere would await us inside the stadium? What kind of security operation would be in place?

Originally, I had planned to focus my photography on folklore, memory, and the identity of a what once were a World Cup stadium. But my mind was wrapped in a dense fog, one that replaced all those ideas with a single concern: security.

That afternoon, I arrived in Querétaro, took a bus to my accommodation, dropped off my belongings, grabbed my camera, and walked through the historic center, hoping to clear that mental haze before match day.

Finally, the day arrived. There I stood in front of Estadio La Corregidora, a venue from the 1986 World Cup. The fog lifted instantly. It was time to experience my homeland, its people, its colors, its freedom.

After collecting my credentials, I explored every corner I could. “It’s like a miniature version of the Azteca,” a friend once told me. I have never set foot in the Azteca, but simply being in a stadium that preserves the memory of football’s greatest moments felt special. Querétaro carries those echoes too.

It may not be the most modern or architecturally striking stadium. Fresh paint and repaved parking lots reflected the golden afternoon light in shades of sky blue, yet the old pillars and metal gates designed to contain rival supporters remained. Security convoys circled the stadium every fifteen minutes, while the thunder of helicopters occasionally drew fans’ eyes to the sky. Members of the Mexican Army, the National Guard, and state police were visible everywhere ensuring not only the safety of the supporters, but also the country’s standing as a World Cup host.

As the sun set, my attention sharpened toward the smallest details. For some, it may have seemed like any other match. For me, it was something entirely different. It wasn’t an atmosphere of fear quite the opposite. It was a crowd eager to see their national team play on home soil, under watchful authority but without restriction. It felt like a quiet calm at the closing of the longest chapter of Mexico’s narcoculture.

The Mexican Celebration and Tribute to the Fallen

After exploring every walkway, corridor, and section of the stands, one of the most powerful moments of this night arrived. The stadium announcer introduced both national teams as they stepped onto the pitch. At the same time, members of the Armed Forces took part in the flag ceremony, while at midfield a group of children presented flowers to the soldiers who had accompanied the players, a gesture of tribute woven into the opening ritual.

What was meant to be a minute of silence for those who lost their lives in the operation to capture the Mexican crime leader transformed into a minute of applause that washed over the pitch. It felt less like mourning and more like a collective acknowledgment, a celebration of what many considered one of the country’s most significant victories in recent years.

The flag stretched across the field as the Mexican National Anthem began to echo through the stadium. That anthem has accompanied not only me, but millions of Mexicans throughout our lives: from early school days to nights abroad, heard on television or on the radio at midnight. Yet that evening in Querétaro remains one of the most meaningful moments I have ever documented. It was an ode to freedom. I was not standing on borrowed ground. I was home.

The opening whistle unleashed the Mexican celebration. With every goal, the atmosphere inside the stadium grew closer to its perfect form. A sea of arms rose like wild Pacific waves. Cries of “Olé” fueled the confidence of the Tricolor players. Applause thundered for “Tala” Rangel with every save against the Nordic attack. And from the stands, the familiar chorus of Cielito Lindo carried through the night.

For the first time, I felt I was truly living this experience rather than observing it from afar. My eyes absorbed with wonder what I had once only witnessed in other places.

I don’t know whether the match statistics were what mattered most, or whether Mexico’s performance satisfied the commentators who often question the national team’s playing style.

What I do know is this: Mexico defeated Iceland 4–0. Each goal was celebrated in every corner of the stadium, and fireworks crowned a magical night the first time I truly experienced my homeland.

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