Alright, so I saw the fixture list pop up somewhere – Club Tijuana vs Pachuca. And man, it just instantly threw me back to this one time, must’ve been quite a few years ago now.
The Grand Plan (That Went South)
I had this whole idea, right? A little road trip down south. Thought I’d catch a game, maybe see Tijuana play, soak up the atmosphere. Seemed like a solid plan at the time. I wasn’t even a massive fan of either team, honestly, but the idea of a live game, the crowd, the whole experience – that’s what I was after.
So, I started putting things together. Found a cheap flight, booked a clunky rental car online – one of those deals that looks too good to be true, you know? And it probably was. Then I looked up some budget motel, figured I’d just need a place to crash after the game. Spent a couple of evenings mapping a rough route, checking game schedules. Felt pretty organised, actually.
Where It All Went Wrong
Well, I got down there, picked up the rental. First red flag: the car sounded like a bag of spanners right from the get-go. But I thought, hey, it’s cheap, it just needs to get me from A to B. Famous last words, right?
I started driving towards Tijuana, had the radio on, feeling pretty good. Then, about halfway there, middle of nowhere really, the car just… died. Coughed, sputtered, then silence. Dead as a doornail.
- Tried restarting it. Nothing.
- Checked under the hood like I knew what I was doing. I didn’t.
- Realised my phone signal was almost non-existent.
Took me ages to flag someone down. Eventually got a tow truck organised, which cost a small fortune. Got hauled to the nearest town, which wasn’t Tijuana, not even close. The garage there? Let’s just say they saw me coming.
The ‘Experience’ I Got Instead
Instead of watching Club Tijuana maybe score a goal, I spent the next two days basically held hostage by car trouble. Hours spent waiting in a greasy garage lobby, trying to understand mechanics speaking rapid-fire Spanish (my Spanish is terrible), arguing about parts and labour costs. The cheap motel idea went out the window; ended up in some slightly-less-cheap, equally-grim place near the garage.
The game? Missed it completely, obviously. By the time the car was supposedly fixed (costing way more than I budgeted for the whole trip), I was so stressed and behind schedule, I just wanted to get back. Drove straight back to return the heap of junk and flew home.
So yeah. Seeing Club Tijuana vs Pachuca doesn’t bring back memories of roaring crowds for me. It brings back the smell of engine oil, the taste of stale coffee from a garage vending machine, and the sheer frustration of that busted rental car. Funny how things stick with you, isn’t it? Never did make it to a game down there.
