In the past two seasons, the NFL's games at Mexico City's Estadio Azteca had been a resounding success—
In 2016, the Oakland Raiders edged out the Houston Texans.
In 2017, the New England Patriots demolished the Oakland Raiders.
Both games drew over 97% capacity crowds, a clear indication of Mexico City's warm embrace of American football's spectacle. This success bolstered the league's confidence, encouraging it to take further steps.
In this past offseason, the league and team owners held deep discussions. The NFL planned to continue scheduling games in London and Mexico City, and even add one or two games at Tottenham next year—
This presented an excellent opportunity for international market expansion, but also logistical headaches. Mexico City was relatively convenient; London and Tottenham required transatlantic flights, inevitably affecting players' conditions.
Every owner had to weigh this trade-off carefully.
From the outset, Goodell had his eye on the Kansas City Chiefs and the Los Angeles Rams.
The much-anticipated "Lance vs. Donald" showdown hadn't materialized last season, and Goodell was determined to see these two emerging superstars collide on the field.
If not last year, then this year—or the next.
Goodell initially wanted this clash to take place in London, leveraging Lance's and Donald's star power to ignite interest across the UK. But both teams' owners resisted.
Of course, they appreciated the overseas market's potential, but they also knew their highest priority was still the Super Bowl.
Championship first, market second.
Their refusal was not a flat rejection—it was bargaining.
Once Goodell realized this, negotiations became straightforward.
Eventually, all parties agreed to a Mexico City game.
The travel time from Los Angeles was only three and a half hours; from Kansas City, roughly the same as a trip to LA.
No time difference either.
In other words: minimal disruption. Yet both teams would gain valuable international exposure.
Goodell's initial hope was simple: that Lance and Donald, as reigning Offensive and Defensive Players of the Year, would generate buzz.
But the situation had evolved dramatically—
A "Midseason Super Bowl" had emerged: a clash of the NFC and AFC's top seeds.
It wasn't just any international showcase—it was now arguably the most exciting matchup of the season.
Gone were the days when London or Mexico City hosted bottom-feeders or rebuilding teams to drum up attention. This was the real deal—a marquee matchup that would dominate global headlines.
Everything seemed perfect:
Perfect timing. Perfect location. Perfect storyline.
In the days leading up to the game, Goodell walked with a spring in his step.
When everything seems too perfect, it often means something is about to go wrong.
A days-long downpour soaked Mexico City, nearly triggering flooding—and Estadio Azteca was no exception.
Then, scheduling chaos.
The stadium had been booked solid all November, from Shakira's concert to charity soccer matches to large public events.
As a result, the rain-soaked field was left unrepaired and soon became an utter disaster—
So bad that it looked fit only for kids in a slum.
As attention mounted ahead of this high-profile game, people finally noticed: the field was a mess.
The NFL dispatched officials to Mexico City immediately to assess the situation. Goodell himself tried to calm the media, assuring them that everything would be ready.
At first, it seemed they would push forward at all costs—
After all, the commercial and strategic stakes were enormous. This matchup was too good to pass up.
But day after day, the field's condition did not improve.
Soon, players began speaking out—not just one or two, but many—voicing their anger and warning they would refuse to play if the game proceeded, citing the serious injury risks posed by the field.
Finally, even the spirit of unity was shaken.
The situation spiraled from a dream opportunity into a farce.
In truth, neither Lance nor Donald spoke publicly at first.
Not out of fear—but because they knew individual player protests wouldn't be enough to sway the league. As relatively new stars without deep roots or connections, their influence alone was limited.
So they acted strategically.
Lance reached out to Donald.
They divided efforts, rallying key players like Todd Gurley, Carson Wentz, and Patrick Mahomes.
Together, they formally petitioned the NFL through the Players Association, citing player safety.
Simultaneously, they lobbied their coaches and general managers, pushing their concerns up to the owners.
Goodell held out hope until the last possible moment—but in the face of united player opposition, he relented.
The Mexico City game was canceled.
Shockwaves rippled across the league.
The NFL's best opportunity to break into the international market had been squandered at the very last second.
Despite everything being in place, it all fell apart—leaving everyone stunned.
Rumor had it that Goodell erupted in fury at the Mexico City organizers and contractors, even threatening to cancel future Mexico City games entirely or at least switch venues.
But none of that could salvage this lost opportunity.
Perhaps it had never really been an opportunity to begin with.
Ironically, the twists and turns only amplified the global spotlight on this Rams-Chiefs matchup.
Even people who previously had no interest in NFL international games were now watching closely.
Drama. Intrigue. A global audience ready for action.
Though the Mexico City game was canceled, the game itself was not.
It would still be played—at the Rams' regular home stadium, the Los Angeles Memorial Coliseum, on its original date.
Monday Night Football.
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