Dear El Tri

Ay, mijo...

You really know how to raise my blood pressure.

Every World Cup, I tell myself, "Queta, don't get your hopes up." And every World Cup, there I am—in my green jersey, yelling at the television like you can somehow hear me.

"¡Pásala!"

"¡Tira!"

"¡No, no, no... ayyyy!"

This year was special.

Watching Mexico play on home soil reminded me why I love this team so much. Of course I wanted you to win. Every Mexican wanted you to win.

But that's never been the whole point.

The best part isn't just the soccer.

It's watching families gather around the television. It's the homemade guacamole. It's the uncles pretending they're the coach. It's the kids waving little Mexican flags. It's hearing everyone sing the national anthem together—even if half of us don't know every word.

For ninety minutes, we're all one family.

You gave us hope. You gave us something to cheer for. And most importantly, you gave us another memory we'll talk about for years.

So thank you, El Tri.

Now get some rest, eat something, call your mamá...

...and we'll see you at the next World Cup.

We'll be yelling at the TV again.

Con cariño,

Queta