Ricardo Marín and the 'illusion' of the Mexico jersey: Chivas form is the real ticket

The training ground of Chivas in Guadalajara was still damp with morning dew when I walked in. The clock showed 6:15 AM, but Ricardo Marín was already there. I watched him make his first touches under the floodlights—every pass precise, no rush. It was the third consecutive morning I had observed him, and one thing caught my attention: there were no phone calls or messages from his agent during the entire session. Marín was only focused on the ball.

The context these days is special. Rafael Márquez, a legend of Mexican football, has just been officially appointed as head coach of the national team. The news spread like wildfire: from sports pages to coffee shops in the city center, everyone talked about the return of 'El Káiser'. Many Mexican players began to speak up, expressing joy and hope of being called up. But Marín chose a different path.

When I asked him about Márquez, Marín's eyes lit up. 'He is one of the greatest players we have ever had,' he said slowly, each word carefully weighed. 'We know he will bring a lot to the national team. I hope we can win championships with him.' The statement was sincere, but I noticed something: there was no urgency or demand in his words. He did not say 'I need to be called up immediately.'

The truth is, Ricardo Marín is already 28 years old. He is no longer a promising young talent; he is a striker at his peak, yet still without a single cap for the national team. Last season, Marín scored 12 goals in 34 matches for Chivas—a decent number, but not enough to make a splash in a footballing nation full of elite forwards like Raúl Jiménez, Hirving Lozano, or Santiago Giménez. So why does Marín remain so calm?

Precisely because he understands one thing: the illusion of the national team jersey can ruin a player's career if they do not know how to keep their own rhythm.

Marín told me: 'For many Mexican players, it is an illusion. But the most important thing is to work hard here, at your club, and then, when the opportunity comes, it will come. I keep working, keep scoring here with Chivas, and that is the most important thing.'

I have witnessed too many young Mexican players fall into the trap of fame. They lose focus, chase unnecessary interviews, demand moves abroad, and eventually their careers fade. But Marín, at 28, seems to have learned that lesson from others' mistakes. He is doing what few players dare: refusing the glamour of the national team jersey to focus on daily, tangible work.

That rough gem did not shine, but I knew I was looking at something breathing.

From the perspective of someone who has followed Liga MX for over two decades, I can say Chivas' form in the first half of this season will be decisive. Chivas currently sits 7th in the standings with 22 points from 15 matches. Marín has scored 5 goals and provided 3 assists—a steady but not explosive start. However, what impresses me is not the numbers, but his movement. In the three training sessions I witnessed, Marín was the last to leave the field and often stayed behind to practice finishing from outside the box with an assistant coach.

In the tunnel of the stadium, the noise dies down. Only the heartbeat of the match remains.

One thing many might overlook: Marín is playing under immense pressure. Chivas is not just a club; it is an icon of Mexican football, with demanding fans. If he falters, not only will his national team chances vanish, but he could face harsh criticism. Yet Marín seems unfazed. He embraces that pressure, turning it into motivation.

The contrarian angle here is that Marín's refusal to demand an immediate call-up is actually the most positive signal of his ambition. It shows he understands that top-level football is not a sprint but a marathon. Waiting, working hard, and letting form speak is always the most sustainable path. If Marín continues this form, not only will Rafael Márquez notice him, but European clubs may also start paying attention.

There are mornings when I record players' footsteps, like writing a silent melody.

However, not everything is perfect. I see some worrying signs: in recent matches, Marín often loses his bearings against physically strong defenders. His duel win rate is only 42%—low compared to the average for top Liga MX strikers. If he wants to impress Márquez, a coach who faced the world's best center-backs, Marín needs to improve this weakness.

But overall, Ricardo Marín's story is a testament to the philosophy I always follow: the training ground does not lie. It only waits for those who know how to listen. And Marín, with his ears and feet, is listening very carefully.

Thirty pages of paper save no one, but the one who reads them is the beat keeper.

To conclude, I leave a question for this season: Will Ricardo Marín's patience be rewarded with a spot in Rafael Márquez's first squad? Or will he remain a forgotten rough gem in the Mexican football system? The Liga MX season is still long, and the answer will come from the steps on the training ground, not from flashy interviews.