Here’s what Claudia Sheinbaum could have done with ticket 00001 to the 2026 World Cup opener: keep it. Sit in the first seat at Estadio Azteca on June 11. Wave for the cameras. Enjoy the perks of being Mexico’s president during the biggest sporting event the country will host this decade.
Instead, she’s handing it off to a young woman who loves football and couldn’t otherwise afford to go.
Sheinbaum made the call while presenting Mexico’s World Cup plans. “I’m going to give my ticket to the opening ceremony to a girl or young woman who loves football,” she said. No big ceremony about it—just a straightforward decision about who should get the seat.
Azteca will become the only stadium to host three World Cup openers—1970, 1986, and now 2026. That’s history worth claiming. But history also has a way of forgetting who was left outside the gates.
This World Cup is shaping up to be a test case for access versus spectacle. FIFA’s second ticketing phase just opened with prices starting at $60 and climbing into four figures for premium matches. Over a million tickets are already sold. Host-nation residents get priority windows and randomized time slots, but “priority” doesn’t mean “affordable,” and the economics of global mega-events have a nasty habit of locking out the locals who actually live with the infrastructure and the crowds and the traffic.
Sheinbaum’s gesture won’t solve that. One ticket doesn’t rewrite the playbook. But it does something else—it makes a choice about who gets centered in the story. Not the dignitaries. Not the corporate sponsors. A kid who loves the game.
It also lands while women’s football in Mexico is finally getting real traction. Liga MX Femenil is pulling crowds that would’ve been unthinkable five years ago—21,000 for a Monterrey-Tigres match in February. The growth isn’t just statistical. It’s cultural. Girls are watching women play at the highest level their country offers, and they’re imagining themselves there.
The details still matter. Sheinbaum hasn’t said how the recipient will be chosen or whether the process will be transparent. If it’s a quiet backroom handoff to a preselected kid, the symbolism deflates. If it’s an open, fair process, the gesture becomes a model—not just for Mexico, but for other leaders and sponsors sitting on access they don’t need.
Azteca is being rebuilt right now—accessibility upgrades, fan zones, structural work to meet FIFA’s specifications. The physical infrastructure is coming together. The question is whether the human infrastructure follows. Can Mexico host the world without pricing out its own people?
One ticket won’t answer that question. But it’s a start. And it’s a reminder that access isn’t just about turnstiles and seat assignments. It’s about who gets invited to the moment, and who decides.
