So here we are, staring into the abyss of yet another World Cup controversy, this time with a distinctly morbid twist. The recent deaths in Mexico City, directly linked to the qualifying frenzy for the 2026 tournament, have, predictably, sent the British tabloids into a paroxysm of alarm. “Safety fears for British fans planning 2026 trip,” they wail, as if the average English supporter’s holiday planning involves anything more than a pint of lager and a foam finger. But beneath the headlines, a deeper question lurks: have we, as a nation, learned nothing from the Hillsborough inquiry, the Heysel disaster, or the casual violence that punctuates our own domestic game? The answer, I suspect, is a resounding no.
Let us first dispense with the facts, such as they are. The report tells of multiple deathts in Mexico City during a match between Club América and a visiting side, though the precise number remains contested. What is clear is that the fatalities were not the result of a seismic structural failure or a sudden flood of biblical proportions. They were, instead, the consequence of a familiar cocktail: overcrowding, inadequate security, and a toxic brew of nationalism and alcohol. To the casual observer, this might seem like an unfortunate but isolated incident. But to anyone with a passing knowledge of the history of football—or, indeed, the history of Mexico—this is merely the latest stanza in a very old song.
Mexico City, as I have written before, is a metropolis built on a drained lake bed, a city where the ground literally shifts beneath your feet. It is also a city where the wealthy live in gated compounds and the impoverished live in cardboard shacks that cling to the sides of mountains like barnacles. The idea that you can drop 80,000 football fans into the Estadio Azteca, a venue of legendary but increasingly decrepit grandeur, and expect them to behave like polite guests at a church fete is not merely naive; it is a form of cultural amnesia. The British fan, of course, will view this with a mix of horror and smug superiority, forgetting that our own stadiums were once venues for the worst kind of human degradation. We remember Hillsborough, but we forget Heysel, where 39 people died, many of them crushed under the weight of their own hooliganism.
But let us not dwell on the past; the future is what matters, and the future is 2026. The World Cup, in its infinite wisdom, has decided to spread its tentacles across three nations: the United States, Canada, and Mexico. This is a logistical nightmare disguised as diplomatic unity. The distances between venues are vast. The cultural differences are profound. And the security apparatus? Well, if Mexico City’s current record is anything to go by, I would not trust it to secure a school play.
The British government, of course, will issue the standard platitudes. “We advise all fans to exercise caution,” the Foreign Office will drone, before adding a few boilerplate lines about respecting local customs and avoiding political demonstrations. Meanwhile, the same fans who ignored these warnings in Marseille, in Lisbon, in Saint-Denis will blithely book their flights, pack their flags, and descend upon Mexico City like a horde of red-faced Vandals. They will drink too much. They will become embroiled in arguments with locals who are equally drunk. And some of them, inevitably, will not come home.
I do not write this to terrify you. I write this because we have a responsibility to stare at the abyss without flinching. The deaths in Mexico City are not a tragedy: they were an inevitability. The only way to prevent the British fans from experiencing a similar fate is to treat them not as innocent bystanders but as participants in a system that is inherently dangerous. This means demanding higher standards from FIFA. This means forcing the FA to issue real warnings, not the sanitised versions we have seen in the past. And this means, above all, acknowledging that our own culture of casual violence at football matches is not something we have left behind: it is something we have merely exported.
So, by all means, plan your 2026 trip. Watch the matches. Wave your flag. But remember this: the Aztec gods were cruel for a reason, and they demanded sacrifices. If you are not willing to be a sacrifice, then stay home. Or better yet, learn from the past. Because if we do not, the only thing we will be remembering in 2026 is the sound of a crowd stampeding in the dark.
