The 1986 World Cup couldn’t have come at a better time.

I was a junior at Mission Bay High School in San Diego, and the uncertainty of life after high school was hitting me with a weight most teens didn’t have to bear. I was undocumented, so college admission was unclear at best, while job prospects were dim without a social security number or legal authorization to work.

My mother was undocumented too. We didn’t talk about Plan B — staying in the shadows.

How did I stay motivated and hold on to hope for college, and what would become a decades-long journalism career, without knowing that soon the federal Amnesty bill would regularize me and many others?

I have one of the undisputed stars of Mexican and European soccer to thank: Hugo “Hugoool” Sanchez.

A sports hero who looked like me

Hugo Sanchez was about a decade older than me and had worked his way up in Mexican soccer. By the mid 1980s his proven goal-scoring skills as a forward had landed him at the famed Real Madrid soccer club in Spain.

Let me back up a bit. I didn’t even like soccer as a kid. My heroes in elementary school slugged on the diamond and threw touchdowns. But then came Sanchez, from Mexico City, where I was born. The weekend sports shows I watched on Mexican TV from Tijuana played his goals over and over.

But the highlight reels were missing something darker. Sanchez was not welcomed with open arms by the Spanish. Instead, he faced prejudice as a lone Mexican in a culture that labeled him an “other.”

At that time, California’s simmering tensions over immigration made me and other immigrants feel something similar.

Sanchez’s perseverance and accomplishments were inspiring to me. I put him ahead of my other sports heroes: slugger Tony Gwynn with the Padres and Chargers’ quarterback Dan Fouts. I felt much closer to Sanchez.

Hugoool and the 1986 World Cup

What does that have to do with the World Cup? Everything.

Organized sports were out of reach for me as a kid. My parents were busy working multiple jobs, and they needed me to babysit my younger siblings when school was out. They would have laughed at me if I asked them to drive me to anything other than school.

But seeing Sanchez's prowess on the soccer pitch and anticipating all the goals he'd score for the Mexican national team in the 1986 World Cup, in his home country, motivated me to start playing soccer at weekend pick-up games. I discovered I loved playing.

By then I was older, and no longer needed a ride to games, so I tried out for the Mission Bay High School varsity team. I was in good shape, but far behind in soccer-smarts compared to those who’d played as kids in San Diego’s youth soccer leagues. Despite that, I made it. I felt overjoyed; my determination and work paid off. I had some great practice games, one with a chipped goal over the keeper’s outstretched arms, but the truth is that I was on the bench most of the season.

The disappointment that I didn't play much during the season didn't lead me to give up on soccer. I had made it on the team, showed up to play, and put in a lot of effort, and that was rewarding in and of itself.

And by achieving this goal, by following Sanchez’s example of perseverance, I had something even more important — a sense of fulfillment.

My life changed rapidly after that. The 1986 World Cup was in June. In November, after passing through Congress, President Ronald Reagan signed the federal amnesty into law.

Soon after, my mother and I received our green cards. That allowed me to file for a Social Security number, which meant I could apply to college. I was accepted to U.C. San Diego, where I got bit by the journalism bug while working for Voz Fronteriza, one of the student newspapers. That led to where I am today, decades later, an LAist correspondent.

I’ll be watching this World Cup thinking of my 1986 self, the crossroads I faced, and how “the beautiful game” was there to uplift me when I needed it.

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