Two-Clásico Nightmare: América Fans Demand André Jardine's Return

The Estadio Azteca still had empty seats. When the final whistle blew in the Clásico Nacional against Chivas, a section of fans did not leave. They stood, raised their phones and scrolled through social media with tense faces. On screen, the name 'Jardine' appeared over and over. One video showed an older supporter holding his face, saying through tears that he missed André Jardine more than ever. No one needed to count; everyone knew the painful number: two Clásicos, six goals conceded, not a single win. That was all the time it took for faith in Guillermo Almada to erode to the point where people began calling for the past. For América fans, a Clásico means far more than three points. It is a measure of honour, the line between a big club and an ordinary one. In less than a week, América lived through both defining matches: first a 4-3 defeat to Cruz Azul in the Clásico Joven, where the defence collapsed in astonishing fashion; then a timid display in the first forty-five minutes against Chivas in the Clásico Nacional, falling two goals behind at home. América equalised through a wave of substitutions, but the aftertaste was still bitter, the taste of a club losing itself. The story becomes even harder to understand when looking at what happened before. América had topped the table, playing football rated above expectations. Almada was praised for 'pulling water from stones,' making the team function with an incomplete squad. But after one dip, all that praise turned to doubt. Fans no longer saw a strategist; they saw a coach struggling with confusing decisions. The most confusing decision concerned the new signings. América had identified defence as their weak point and spent money to bring in a series of defenders. It was a deliberate investment, a clear signal that the squad needed new blood at the back. Yet when the season began, the new arrivals barely got a chance. Almada chose safety, kept the old core, and the old defence kept making mistakes. From the outside, it is a paradox: you spend money to fix a leak, but the man in charge does not let the repairers work. The result is a disorganised defence, lacking cohesion and vulnerable in transition. The Cruz Azul match was a textbook example. No need for complicated stats like xG or PPDA; viewers could see América's defenders stretched and left behind in every counterattack. Four goals conceded was not bad luck; it was four cracks in a crumbling system. When a team signs defensive reinforcements but refuses to use them, all talk about player quality collapses. The problem is organisational, about personnel choices, and ultimately about the coach's decision. The Chivas match confirmed the diagnosis. América started with the same line-up as the Cruz Azul defeat and repeated the same mistakes in the first half. Trailing by two goals, Almada finally reacted. He made substitutions, brought on Miguel Borja, and the team suddenly looked completely different. Pressing improved, passes found their targets, and the equaliser felt inevitable. That moment exposed an uncomfortable truth: the team was not weak; the starting eleven was simply wrong. Borja sat on the bench while the team struggled, then changed the game within minutes. The bench rescued the match, but it also forced the question of why those solutions had not been used from the start. That question becomes sharper when looking at Jardine's legacy. In his reign, Jardine handed Igor Lichnovsky his debut just three days after the defender arrived, choosing a Clásico Nacional as the stage. Lichnovsky was one of the best players on the pitch in a 4-0 victory. For Jardine, new signings were not long-term projects; they were pieces to be installed immediately. For Almada, new signings must wait, learn and prove themselves while the team bleeds in the very position they were brought in to fix. One could argue that Lichnovsky was a lucky exception. But for fans, lessons from the past always weigh more than promises about the future. They remember that Jardine took risks, trusted new people and let his coaching instincts speak instead of hiding behind safe excuses. Almada, by contrast, looks like a manager curled up inside a shell of caution. Modern football does not forgive caution for long when results do not come. Pressure on Almada is also intensified by one peculiar factor: his real authority. At many clubs, a coach can blame the board for bringing in unsuitable players. At América, Almada has the power to decide whether new signings play. He cannot claim he was handed a line-up; he made the controversial choice himself. When a coach has full control over personnel and the team still performs poorly, responsibility falls entirely on him. There is no room to hide. The silence from América's board is now a significant signal. No public vote of confidence, no reassuring press conference, no interview from the sporting director. Maybe they are waiting for the storm to pass, or maybe they are weighing alternatives. In football, silence is rarely meaningless. It can be intelligent patience, but it can also be the sign of a decision being prepared in the dark. Before writing Almada's epitaph, consider a counterintuitive point. All the pressure on the América bench is built on a tiny sample. Two matches, even two Clásicos against the strongest rivals, remain two matches. A team with a new coach, new signings and the most brutal calendar of the season will almost certainly stumble. The way América fought back against Chivas shows the team has not collapsed physically or mentally. They started badly, but they had the nerve to recover. That is the sign of a group searching for balance, not of a dead project. More importantly, sacking Almada now could set a dangerous precedent. If the board listens to social media fury and brings Jardine back after two games, they hand a veto to the anger of the crowd. Every future coach will know they have no time to build anything, because one bad run will get them replaced. That pressure does not make football better; it only makes football more timid. And if Jardine does return, is success guaranteed? Football history is full of reunions that ended in disappointment. When a coach is welcomed as a saviour, expectations become unrealistically high. Jardine would no longer be the man who built a team over three years; he would be the man expected to save everything in a few weeks. If he fails to repeat the miracle, the same fans screaming his name today will turn their backs tomorrow. Absolute idealisation of the past is fertile ground for absolute disappointment. Mexican football is famous for its endless coaching carousel. In Liga MX, a coach given a few months before being judged is normal. But América is not a normal club. América is the most decorated club, the pride of millions, the face of the league. A wrong decision here will create a chain reaction, affecting the coaching market and the value of every player wearing the shirt. The defensive new signings stuck on the bench are the clearest proof. Every week they do not play, their market value quietly drops. A defender who does not play is quickly forgotten, loses his national team place and loses resale value. América's investment could become a dead cost. This has moved beyond tactics; it is now a financial problem the board cannot ignore. The next matches will come. That is when words must yield to reality. If the defence holds, if Almada proves his caution was calculated, the media storm can vanish. But if the goals continue and the new signings keep rotting on the bench, Almada's seat will become the hottest topic in Mexican football for weeks. Those of us in this trade often say football is written in goals, but also in silences. The silence at the Azteca today is not the absence of cheering; it is the sound of people no longer believing what they see. Fans are selling nostalgia for the Jardine era to buy hope that the past can rescue the present. The past is never a place to return to; it is only a mirror for today's decisions. América stands at a crossroads. They can take the easy path of listening to the crowd, or they can hold their ground, give Almada a minimum window to prove his worth, and more importantly, give the new players a chance. History will not remember angry tweets or protests in the stands. History will remember how the club handled the crisis, and whether they had the courage to write a new chapter instead of repeating a faded one.