The first buses at CAR: Márquez begins a new era with Mexico

When the dark blue buses of the Mexican Football Federation rolled through the gates of the CAR training center in Mexico City, the sun was still hidden behind the tall trees. That Monday morning had no opening whistle, no celebration, no grand statement echoing from the loudspeakers. Only the rhythm of studs on concrete and the cautious handshakes among the domestic Liga MX players. Rafael Márquez, the name that once made Europe bow in the colours of Barcelona, stood quietly at the edge of the pitch, arms crossed, eyes fixed on every run. He did not speak much during the first session. But in the way he watched every touch, I recognized something more than three decades of reporting have taught me: the quietest revolutions often begin on a morning nobody notices. The Mexican national team is entering a new era under Márquez. This gathering is his first chance to touch the squad he will carry toward the 2026 World Cup. According to initial information, the domestic-based players reported first. The other group—Europe-based players such as Johan Vásquez, Santiago Giménez and Álvaro Fidalgo, plus MLS players like Hirving Lozano and Germán Berterame—was expected to join the following day. So the first training session featured only domestic faces: men in the middle of their league season, used to the rhythm of Liga MX, and perhaps the ones who understand best the harsh geography of a vast country. The friendly against Colombia in Baltimore, United States, is the destination of this camp. The team planned to travel after just two days of work at CAR. That window is not enough to install a complete tactical system, not enough to test every personnel option, and certainly not enough for anyone to say everything is ready. But that is exactly what makes this first session worth watching. Because a team never begins with a match; a team begins with the first touches in silence, with the first looks exchanged between coach and players. The real question of this camp is not the result against Colombia. It is how Márquez chooses the seeds for a World Cup cycle on home soil. I remember June 2026, sitting in the press tribune in Kazan, the heat outside almost unbearable. A 19-year-old French boy ran as if fatigue did not exist, forcing the world to rise to its feet. I do not mention Kylian Mbappe to compare him with Mexico or Márquez. I mention him because that story taught me that greatness never arrives from titles, never from grand unveilings, but from the way a group learns to trust itself through setbacks, through meaningless friendlies, through training sessions with only a handful of domestic players on a Monday morning. Based on my experience following coaching transitions, I believe three things stand out in this first session. First, the staggered arrival schedule is a structural signal, far more than an administrative detail. The Liga MX group arrived early to absorb the dressing-room atmosphere, while the overseas group was still fighting in the world's most demanding leagues. Giménez enters this camp with a congested European calendar and questions about his form. Lozano, who once scored against Germany at the 2026 World Cup, now carries the weight of time and a new role in MLS. Márquez must solve two problems at once: finding a tactical core and balancing the biological rhythms of men from two different worlds. That is a far harder puzzle than picking a starting eleven. Second, the squad list confirms Mexico remains a major talent exporter in the region. Europe, MLS and Liga MX all appear in the same squad. But that distribution also reveals a paradox: more and more excellent players work abroad, while the domestic league cannot hold them. The big story lies in how to build a team with an identity when a large part of the squad develops in environments far removed from CONCACAF. I have watched several regional teams face this problem. Some choose to build around domestic players for cohesion. Others accept the risk of relying on the overseas group. But the truly successful groups often act with remarkable patience. They do not rush to label an era after one session. The summer of the golden boys at the 2026 World Cup was the result of years of persistence from French football, not a magical leap. Third, the return of veterans like Lozano carries a message about the value of experience. At 30, Lozano is no longer the winger with terrifying speed he once was. But when he says he is happy to return to El Tri, those words carry more weight than any statistic. In a team, the voices of those who have known defeat and big matches are the glue no coach can buy. Márquez, as a man who conquered the heights of Europe, is building a mental defence line. In that space, young players learn to face pressure not from tactical diagrams, but from stories passed around in the dressing room. But I want to pause and speak about what most articles on new eras ignore. A session, however perfect, remains a session. The friendly against Colombia, win or lose, will not define Mexico's fate in the 2026 World Cup cycle. The phrase Márquez era, repeated endlessly by the media, can become a trap. It creates unrealistic expectations, turns friendlies into judgments, and places on a new coach a burden no one can carry after only a few weeks. I have witnessed great eras begin in silence. I witnessed silent stands in 2026, when the pandemic made football a luxury, and I learned that the true echo of this sport lives in the stories fans share with each other. Mexican football stands at a crossroads. When football cannot be touched with the hands, we touch it with memory. And the greatest memories are written in time, not speed. For now, Márquez does not need to answer anyone about tactics. He needs to answer a far more important question: are the players willing to run for each other in a match whose result only speaks of spirit? Can a squad made of men from different leagues, different cultures, different seasons, find a common rhythm in just two days of preparation? The answer lies beyond my ability, and beyond the ability of the pundits writing about the Márquez era as if they had already read the ending. For me, the most valuable moment of this camp is not when Márquez announces the lineup against Colombia. It is the moment the first bus rolled into CAR early in the morning, when the domestic players—those ignored in transfer headlines—stepped out and began to know a new coach. I find the truth in football, in the things left unsaid. That truth lives in a small detail: what do the players call Márquez in the first session? Boss? Coach? Or simply Rafa? That intimacy may tell us more about the future than any formation. It is not the trophy, but the story behind the trophy that is immortal. Mexico does not need a Márquez era shouted from newspaper covers. Mexico needs a generation of players who believe they can touch something bigger than themselves. To believe that, they need time—something the media never has enough patience to give. Meanwhile, the buses will keep rolling, the sessions will continue, and Baltimore will become a first draft with unedited lines and unfinished ideas. I will watch the second training session, when the European and MLS players arrive. On the pitch, that is what is truly worth reading.