THEY DON’T WANT YOU TO SEE THIS
They want you to think this is just another game. Another quarterfinal. Just a simple matchup between two of Mexico’s “big” teams in the so-called Apertura 2025 Liguilla, a sterile, corporate-sponsored tournament designed to sell you more beer and more broadcast subscriptions. They are lying to you. The suits in their skyboxes, the soulless commentators reading from their teleprompters, the league officials who care more about TV ratings in the United States than the heart of the game in Jalisco… they all want you to swallow the same old narrative. But we won’t. Not this time.
This isn’t a game. It’s a referendum on the soul of Mexican football. A line has been drawn in the sand, and on one side stands the Guadalajara Sporting Club—Chivas. The Sacred Flock. The last bastion of a beautiful, defiant idea: that a team can compete at the highest level using only Mexican players, a testament to the nation’s own blood, sweat, and talent. And on the other side? The Cruz Azul Football Club. La Máquina. The Machine. A perfect name for a cold, calculating, corporate entity that represents everything that is rotting the game from the inside out: big money, foreign mercenaries, and a soul-crushing pragmatism that values a spreadsheet over a beating heart. A sad joke.
The Illusion of a Rivalry
The media will tell you these two don’t have a real rivalry, that they’ve only met three times in the playoffs since 2006. That’s because they don’t understand. They can’t. They measure rivalries in head-to-head stats and championship matches, not in ideology. Our rivalry with them isn’t born of shared history; it’s born of a fundamental, irreconcilable difference in philosophy. It is the eternal struggle of the people against the powerful, the organic against the synthetic, the community against the corporation. Every single time Chivas, with its roster of kids from Guadalajara, from Sinaloa, from Michoacán, steps on the field against a team like Cruz Azul, a team built with a checkbook and a portfolio of international agents, it is a battle for our very identity.
Think about what it means for a young Mexican player to pull on that red and white striped shirt. It means he is carrying the hopes of 40 million fans and the legacy of a hundred years of tradition on his shoulders. He isn’t just playing for a paycheck (though the suits try to make it about that); he’s playing for his family, his neighborhood, his country. Now think about what it means to play for Cruz Azul. It means you were the best available asset on the market that the cement company’s board of directors could afford. You are a line item on an expense report. A cog in the machine. One goes out, another one comes in. It’s all the same to them. Who can truly play with passion under those conditions? Only a mercenary.
THE BATTLEGROUND: A LIGUILLA FORGED IN FIRE
The path here tells the whole story, doesn’t it? Chivas had to fight through the mud of the Play-In, a brutal gauntlet designed by the league to manufacture drama but which, in reality, forges warriors. They didn’t glide into the Liguilla on a cushion of easy wins and pampered stars. They earned their spot with grit. They are battle-tested. They are ready. Cruz Azul, on the other hand, likely coasted, resting their expensive assets, calculating the easiest path forward, treating the regular season as a mere formality before the “real” business begins. It’s the difference between a soldier who has seen combat and an officer who has only ever read about it in a book.
And now we have the supposed lineups, the chess pieces the “experts” love to analyze. Look at the names. For Chivas, you’ll see players who rose through the club’s own ranks, players who understand what it means to play in Guadalajara, who feel the pressure and the pride of the jersey because it is a part of them. For Cruz Azul, you’ll see a list of foreign stars, talented professionals, no doubt, but what do they know of Mexico? What do they care for the history of the league beyond their contract’s expiration date? They are here for a job. Our boys are here for a crusade.
This is where the fight is won or lost. Not on the tactic board, but in the heart. The Machine can have its precise passing triangles and its physically imposing foreign striker, but it can never replicate the sheer force of will that comes from 11 Mexicans fighting for a cause bigger than themselves. That is our secret weapon. That is the one variable their algorithms can’t account for. They can scout every pass and every run, but they cannot quantify passion. They cannot put a price on courage.
A Prophecy Written in History
Let’s not forget that first clash in the modern playoff era back in 2006. What a time that was. Football felt different then, purer. And even then, the battle lines were the same. Chivas, the people’s team, against a Cruz Azul that was already starting down this path of corporate sterility. We remember what happened. We remember the passion that overcame the odds. That spirit never died; it was just sleeping. And this Apertura 2025 quarterfinal is the alarm clock. It’s a chance to remind the entire country, the entire world, what Mexican football is supposed to be about.
The very structure of the Liguilla, a chaotic, unpredictable knockout tournament, favors the brave. It’s not for the timid or the careful planners. It’s for teams that are willing to risk it all, to leave everything on the field, because they know there is no tomorrow. That is Chivas. That is our way. For Cruz Azul, there is always tomorrow. There’s always the next transfer window, the next big check to sign. For them, a loss is a disappointment. A financial setback. For us? A loss is a tragedy. It’s a blow to the very idea we represent.
So, as you watch this match, look past the ball. Look at the players’ eyes. In the Chivas players, you will see the fire of a revolution. In the Cruz Azul players, you will see the dull reflection of a time clock. This is more than just 90 minutes of football (or 180, over two legs). This is a moment of choosing. A moment for every fan to decide what they want the future of this beautiful game to be. Do you want a league of soulless, interchangeable corporate franchises, or do you want a league of authentic clubs, rooted in their communities, representing real people and real dreams? The answer will be given on the pitch. And the people will be watching.
This is our stand. We are not just a team; we are an idea. And ideas, as they say, are bulletproof. The Machine can be unplugged. Its gears can be jammed. All it takes is a little bit of heart, a little bit of fight, and the unwavering belief that we are on the right side of history. This isn’t Guadalajara versus Cruz Azul. This is the People versus the Machine. And the Machine is about to break down.
