What Mexico is witnessing in the wake of the killing of “El Mencho,” the leader of the largest drug cartel, has brought back to the forefront a sharp sporting question a few months before the start of the 2026 World Cup: Could the security crisis cast a shadow on Mexico’s chances of retaining its full quota as a co-host in the World Cup? This question is justified, especially after the turbulent events, fires, and roadblocking that Guadalajara, one of the host cities, witnessed, and the postponement of local matches, which placed the sports file directly at the heart of the security scene.
The hypothesis presented does not mean that Mexico “lost” the right to host, or that “FIFA” took a decision in this regard. So far, the tournament has been officially confirmed in three host countries: the United States, Canada and Mexico, within a historic edition that includes 48 teams and 104 matches. The sporting importance of Mexico in this edition is very great, as it is not just a symbolic partner, but rather an essential pillar in the tournament narrative, whether in terms of fan history, the three host cities, or the opening match scheduled in Mexico City according to updates in the match schedule. Therefore, any major security deterioration in a city like Guadalajara is not seen only locally, but is seen as a test of the host nation’s ability to protect a critically important global event.
In this context, the most important point from a legal and organizational standpoint is that the 2026 World Cup regulations give FIFA a very wide margin for maneuver. The text is clear: FIFA has the right to cancel, reschedule or move one or more matches, and even the entire tournament, “for any reason” and within its discretion, including force majeure or health, safety or security concerns. The regulations also stipulate that FIFA decides the place and timing of completing matches in cases of force majeure. Therefore, if the security risk worsens or becomes recurrent in a particular host city, the most likely scenario is not the withdrawal of hosting from Mexico entirely at once, but rather a partial transfer of some matches to other cities within the two partner countries, or a redistribution of a specific schedule in the short term. This type of treatment keeps the tournament going, reduces risks, and gives FIFA a practical way out without provoking a political crisis with the host country.
But what would happen to Mexico athletically and politically if this scenario were to come true? First, it would be a severe morale blow to the image of the “country capable of organizing the event” rather than just a logistical loss. Secondly, local revenues associated with tourism, matches and spectators in the cities from which matches may be broadcast will be harmed. Third, the internal debate will shift from organizational success to security accountability, especially since the tournament is being held under an unprecedented international microscope.
At the level of the competition itself, transporting matches also creates sporting complications: travel, fans, stadium atmosphere, operational readiness, and distribution of security resources. It is true that the presence of 16 host cities across three countries gives FIFA greater flexibility than previous versions, but it does not make the transfer a simple decision, because each match is previously linked to a complex operational, marketing, security and logistical chain.
The real threat, so far, is not “cancelling the World Cup in Mexico,” but rather reducing its executive share if FIFA believes that the security risk exceeds the ability to control. In other words, the battle is no longer only over territory against the gangs, but also over the country’s image in front of the sporting world.
