Joining Lynx on their adventure to Mexico City for the opening game of the FIFA World Cup 2026™, Ben Tibbits takes a wild ride west to discover the magic of the tournament and finds a city in celebration.

The FIFA World Cup™ is one of, if not the, consequential sporting – maybe entertainment, even – event on planet earth. It makes the Olympics look like a school sports day. It’s the only time when people from nations across the globe come together, united in their love of 11 blokes kicking a ball around on a large rectangle of grass. It’s community epitomised. There’s always controversy of some kind attached to it – this time more than ever, and that should not be forgotten or overlooked. But when you’re in it, it’s electric, exhilarating, elating, undeniable. I’ve felt it, and it’s unlike anything I’ve ever felt before. 

Some of my own most vivid memories are attached to World Cups. I remember the barbecue in the back garden of my childhood home in Birmingham in 2006 when England lost 4-1 to Germany after that Frankie Lampard phantom goal. I recall being at my grandma’s house in Wales surrounded by drunk uncles when England drew 1-1 to the USA in 2010 after goalkeeper Rob Green dropped an almighty clanger. And I can just about recall a lively time in Benidorm (don’t judge) as a rowdy young adult when England beat Sweden in the quarter-finals of the 2018 competition. The Spanish police weren’t too keen on English joy. One of my mates got hit with a truncheon on the arse in the hectic aftermath as we were shepherded away from the main strip. He had a bruise the size of a fist. Ah, happy memories. 

Fresh World Cup-tinged mental souvenirs are set to be made at this year’s tournament, taking place across the USA, Canada and Mexico. Courtesy of my friends at Lynx (who also hold many a memory from my childhood – gift sets from non-immediate family members, boys’ changing room nostalgia, etc), I’ve been allowed to saunter across the Atlantic Ocean to Mexico City, where the inaugural opening ceremony and game of the FIFA World Cup 2026™ will be held. I pack my factor 50 and a couple of pairs of sunnies and off I pop. 

The queue for the business class lounge is longer than getting through security. As you can imagine, the fancy old ladies aren’t happy about it. Eventually I squeeze into a corner seat to count down the minutes until my flight. A child starts poking me at one point, but I just smile back. Nothing is going to fuck with my zen right now; I’m going to Mexico.

I spoke too soon. I’ve got some active lads around me on the usually calming business class flight. I manage to get it done, though, thanks to some small beers and the salty plane food. 

Mexico City airport is boiling hot, bustling, busy and overly bright. It’s around 10pm here, and so the early hours of the morning in my reality, and I’m exhausted. I look out for a sign for Unilever, the company that owns Lynx, who’ll be my ride to the hotel. I find my driver surrounded by a large group of lads – some of them being the merry buccaneers who sat near me on the flight. 

One of them calls TikTok “tikkers”. I physically shudder. 

We jump in a couple of cars and head towards the hotel. The city streets are active, with the locals clearly enjoying themselves the night before the big game. The police presence is also understandably huge. After a day’s travel, we finally arrive at our resting place, the dazzling W Hotel in the heart of the city. Crashing majorly, I’m straight to bed with an early start tomorrow. 

I’m awake before the crack of dawn, a little jet-lagged but immensely thrilled for the prospect of what lies ahead – it’s game day! A touch of breakfast (delicious avocado on toast) and we’re on our way to the stadium in a big Lynx (or AXE as it’s known for most nations outside of the UK) decorated coach. There’s probably around 30 people on the bus, a mixture of influencers, journalists, the Lynx team, et al, and the energy is high. There’s bravado aplenty between all the content boys, who seem to be having a competition of who can shout the loudest. The bus ride is like one perpetual doomscroll. 

We eventually arrive at our stop, some 15 or 20 minutes’ walk from the ground, and begin our route towards the Estadio Azteca. Some 2200 metres above sea level, holding a capacity of 87,523, often referred to as the ‘Cathedral of Football’, this is one of the most famous, globally cherished football stadiums on planet earth. It’s the only stadium in the world which has seen both Pele and Maradona lift the trophy in 1970 and 1986 respectively. It’s the ground where the latter, the tricky Argentine Diego, scored the infamous ‘Hand of God’ goal against England in the ’86 semi-final. Talk about history. 

The closer we get to the ground, the buzzier the atmosphere becomes. The time is around 8:30am, with kick-off due at 1pm, but the number of people already out on the street, singing, dancing, chanting, chatting… It’s mind-blowing. The excitement among our group has skyrocketed. We’ve all forgotten about the early wake-up now.  

As we arrive at the stadium, we split into two groups. The vast majority of our party, the influencers, etc, head off in one direction to a different seating area. I’m finally properly introduced to our small gang of journalists, and we’re off to the extra fancy section. The VIP of all VIPs. The equivalent of the F1 Paddock Club. The type of place that you walk into and immediately get offered really nice champagne, despite it being 9am. Technically it’s mid-afternoon though, as my body clock hasn’t quite reset itself. So it’d be rude not to partake. 

We’ve got some time before the game starts, so we grab a table, chat, drink a few Coronas, nibble some amuse-bouches, and look ahead to the hotly anticipated match. Mexico face off against South Africa in the very first game of 104 at this newly extra-long World Cup. The Bafana Bafana looked very decent in qualifying, and will be hoping to ruin the insatiable party atmosphere in the capital. 

Before kick-off, though, we’ve got the opening ceremony. We make the very warm stroll from the air-conditioned VIP area to our seats (incredible view, pretty much pitch-side behind the manager’s dugouts) and await the spectacle. And a spectacle it is; an opera of celebration and culture, of kaleidoscopic colours and effortless performances from global stars. Shakira and Burna Boy’s collaboration “Dai Dai” proves a natural standout. 

There’s just enough time to grab a beer between the ceremony and kick-off, and we run back to our seats just in time for the national anthems. And then… WE’RE OFF. 

Poor ol’ Yaya Sithole. Within ten minutes, he makes a fatal error, losing possession to Mexico, allowing Julián Quiñones to savvily slot home from the edge of the box. And then, five minutes after the half-time break, he gets sent off for a clumsy challenge. Not the start he’d have been hoping for. The South African team in general perform tepidly throughout, sluggish on the ball, dominated by a technically more astute Mexican team. Raúl Jiménez secures the victory with a second goal for the hosts midway through the second half, before two very dubious red cards, one for each side, are given in the last ten minutes. 

All in all, it’s a mightily entertaining game and a legendary start to the  FIFA World Cup 2026™. The magic was well and truly there. Cardboard sombreros, which were put on all seats, cascade down from the sky seats like a waterfall of iconography. The Mexican wave that comes and goes more often than taking a sip of beer. The drama, the energy, the celebration. The story for Jiménez, who nearly lost his life from a head injury while playing for Wolverhampton Wanderers some years ago, to defeat the odds, be back playing some of the best football of his career, and to score his first World Cup goal at the age of 35. It’s beautiful, emotional. It’s football. 

I’m on a high at the game’s completion, grabbing a picture with THE actual World Cup trophy and finding the rest of the influencer gang to catch up on the day. Before too long, though, we’re ushered back towards the coach for a lengthy, sleepy journey back to the hotel, where I quite literally fall asleep mid-email within 15 minutes of being in my room. 

I regain consciousness ridiculously early and realise it’s my birthday. 28 years young. I head down for breakfast and find myself falling in love with papaya. I have an Eggs Benedict to celebrate my birth name. It’s delicious. 

The morning is without a schedule and I’m debating what to do with myself. Shopping? Eh. Museum? Not really birthday etiquette. The… zoo?

Now I’m no advocate of zoos, I find them morally dubious at best. But Mexico City’s Chapultepec is well regarded for its conservation breeding programs, and houses Xin Xin, the last giant panda outside of China. And it’s free, and a 20 minute walk from the hotel.

After a light stroll over, I’m immediately consumed by the sheer size and number of animals in the zoo. It’s beyond my comprehension, having not visited much more than Birmingham’s Nature Centre beforehand (shout out though go visit). There is pretty much every animal you could think of, from all across the world too. My favourite is the hippos. I get lost in there – not physically (well, a little bit, but that’s besides the point), but metaphorically. There is an underlying sense of unease about the imprisonment of these majestic creatures, but also a gratuity in getting to see them in the flesh. A morning well spent, if you ask me!

I return to the hotel just in time for my ride to the day’s central activity – a pool party at House of Fresh, which is a Lynx-built hang-out and work spot equipped with a bar, big TV screen, and a pool. Given a cocktail at the door, there are footballs knocking around there, so I get stuck right into two of my favourite things – drink sampling and kicking a ball around. 

I’m having a blast. But as the hours go by and the mezcal shots start flowing, a sense of unease creeps in. No one – none of these ladz ladz ladz – has been in the pool. They seem too busy constructing their 15-second skits for tikkers. So there’s only one thing to do. Out influence the influencer. 

I sneak off into the boys’ toilets and emerge in my swimming trunks. No one has noticed, even when I begin removing my shoes and t-shirt. I take a swig of my drink, take a long jump-esque run-up, and cannonball into the water… which turns out to only be about a metre deep. My bum hits the bottom in slightly bruising fashion. The water is a treat though, lukewarm and luscious. 

I emerge from beneath the water, rub my eyes to clear my vision and find everyone staring at me, phones out, filming. The videographer is vying for my attention. I’m having content captured of me. Lynx cans are being thrown in my direction. There are inflatables everywhere. It’s overstimulating but quite hilarious. 

After around 20 minutes in the water, I get out, grab a towel and dry off, and before long the pool party is over. After a quick freshen-up at the hotel, the journalists and I decide to watch the USA vs Paraguay match. There’s a bar called Karisma around five minutes walk from the hotel, and I immediately fall in love with it. The best margaritas, friendly staff, lively atmosphere… the perfect footy spot. 

After the game (an entertaining 4-1 victory for the States), we meet the influencers and Lynx team for dinner at Nobu. As we finish, some of the others are hitting the town, but I am just a little too tipsy, and so I sneak off to bed before anyone gets hit by a coffee bean. 

The next morning starts earlier than ideal, and I’m feeling rather tender. I shrug off the sore head and crippling anxiety and make my way to the lobby, jumping back on the bus to House of Fresh for a Fine Fragrance Workshop. Hosted by some of Lynx’s perfumers, we get walked through the different ingredients required to concoct the Marshmallow Smoke scent, as well as getting the opportunity to make our own. Mine is a bit too heavy on the musk, but you can’t win them all.

Lynx, as an official sponsor of the FIFA World Cup 2026™, have launched three limited-edition fragrances to its Fine Fragrance collection – the aforementioned Marshmallow Smoke, as well as White Vetiver and Indigo Haze. Concocted by their team of world-class perfumers, two of whom we get the pleasure of chatting with, who partnered with some of the world’s leading fragrance Houses to perfect the scents. Fascinating stuff!

Workshop done, I have a Michelada, which is a Mexican drink that shakes off hangovers, consisting of lager, lime juice, hot sauce, Worcestershire sauce, ice, and a salt and Tajín rim. Then we’re back to the hotel for some quiet time, which I make use of by heading back to Karisma with the boys for Brazil vs Morocco, a blockbuster game enjoyed best with margaritas. 

It’s our last evening as a group, and so we all get together for a final dinner at Arango, a gorgeous rooftop Puebla-inspired restaurant. There’s a saxophonist to entertain; melodising over a backing track, playing some absolute classics, it results in several times of everyone getting on their feet and dancing mid-dinner. The food is great – or at least looks like it; most of it is meat. I can’t believe it’s taken me over 2000 words to mention my recent performative pescatarianism. Well, there you go. 

The energy is incredible. We all gather around a phone to witness the New York Knicks become NBA champions for the first time in 53 years. I let slip that it was my birthday the day before and got a belated tune-in in my honour. And I have to admit, these influencers who I rolled my eyes at two days ago have warmed to me. They’re a good group of boys – we just see the world differently, that’s all. 

After a very rowdy bus ride home (I attempt a sort of stage dive at one point, flying over a few sets of seats and ending up stuck in mid-air with my crotch in the face of one poor lad), the night is set to continue to the club, but first a pit stop at the hotel. I sit down on my bed to gather my thoughts and to neck some water, for what I think is 30 seconds… and the next thing I know it’s 6am. I officially peaked too early for three days on the trot; how will I ever live that down?

It’s a lovely sunny day as I eat breakfast alone; a long day lies ahead with an evening flight home. It’s been a heavy few days, and I’ve got time to kill, so I decide to find myself a swimming pool. I check out, leave my bags, and find a gym and pool around a 30-minute walk away. It’s quite an odd place; located on the top floor of an ominously empty mall. No one speaks a word of English, and it takes a while to explain that I just want to come for a swim. Eventually we get past the language barrier. 

I have a delightful dip and visit to the sauna, surrounded by middle-aged Mexican men who are quite amused and bemused by my presence. I can understand why. I finish up and feel light as a daisy, booking a cab to meet the rest of the press gang back at our new hang-out spot, Karisma, for some guac and a b2b rollercoaster ride of Netherlands vs Japan, followed by Ivory Coast against Ecuador. 

Then it’s time to head back to the airport, and off into the air. Time drags in those last few hours awaiting return. I accidentally sleep for most of the flight, arriving back at Heathrow in the mid-afternoon, and waving goodbye to new friends. The car ride back east is stoic. It’s been a hell of a four days, full of mischief, mayhem and new perspectives. Mexico City is one of the greatest cities on earth. And I can now say I’ve been to the opening game of the FIFA World Cup 2026™. Smelling great while in attendance too, thanks, Lynx.

It doesn’t get much better than this. 

All other imagery courtesy of Lynx.