Borja's Bicycle Kick and Hugo Sanchez's Lament: Does a Legacy Need to Be Named?

That night at the Estadio Azteca, the ball was not cleared decisively. A series of rebounds inside the box threw Chivas' defence into chaos. The ball hung at chest height, and Miguel Borja did not hesitate. He turned his body and swung his right foot in a perfect arc, sending the ball into the bottom corner. The entire stadium held its breath, then exploded. It was the kind of moment people call 'the goal of the decade', a bicycle kick in the heart of the Clásico Nacional. But in a television studio not far away, Hugo Sánchez sat with an unhappy expression. On ESPN's Futbol Picante, the Mexican legend said: 'Since he scored that goal, journalists, commentators and analysts, none was capable of saying, that reminded us of Hugo Sánchez.' That statement immediately sparked a debate that lasted for days, not just about the goal, but about how a new generation perceives old legends. Hugo Sánchez is no stranger to overhead kicks. Throughout his career, his flying back-heel volleys and acrobatic strikes were his trademark, helping him score more than 300 goals and become one of the greatest forwards in Mexican football history. When Borja scored his bicycle kick, there was an obvious technical resemblance. So why did no one in the media mention him? That is the question that stopped me, a reporter accustomed to comparing every situation with precedents. In fact, the silence Hugo complained about is not simply carelessness or disrespect. It stems from a generational shift in football's cultural references. For audiences under 30 today, the most memorable bicycle kicks they have seen are usually by Cristiano Ronaldo at Real Madrid, or Raúl Jiménez at Wolves and the Mexican national team. They grew up with viral clips of modern stars, not with black-and-white footage or VHS tapes from the 1980s. The media automatically comparing Borja's goal to Ronaldo and Jiménez instead of Hugo Sánchez reflects a reality: every generation has its own vocabulary to describe beauty. There is something else worth noting. Borja's goal came from a scrambled box situation, after several rebounds. It did not come from a set piece or a rehearsed move; it was the product of chaos and instinct. This makes it closer to a 'spontaneous' goal than a choreographed one. In the past, famous bicycle kicks often came from fixed crosses or long passes. Borja handled a messy situation with a perfect technical movement — he not only scored, he created order out of chaos. That deserves praise, but it does not necessarily belong to the same legacy line as Hugo Sánchez's goals. Hugo has every reason to feel sad. He devoted his life to aerial strikes, and he has the right to expect recognition. But his reaction inadvertently created a paradox. By complaining, he made himself the centre of the story, overshadowing Borja's beautiful goal with a debate about a legend's ego. This could turn public opinion against him, because instead of celebrating a sporting moment, people see a former star demanding to be remembered. I have witnessed similar controversies in other leagues, when a young player scores in the style of a legend and no one mentions the older man. That does not mean the legend's legacy is erased; it means it has become so embedded in the cultural foundation that people take it for granted. They do not need to mention Hugo Sánchez every time they see a bicycle kick, just as they do not mention Pelé every time they see a powerful shot. Not being mentioned can be a sign of deep integration, not oblivion. However, this view should not be used to completely dismiss Hugo's feelings. His feelings are real, and they reflect a need for respect. But modern football operates by its own rules. Each generation of players builds its own legacy, and each generation of fans has the right to choose its icons. Cristiano Ronaldo dominated the air for years, Raúl Jiménez has also produced beautiful bicycle kicks, and now it is Borja. This does not diminish Hugo's value; it only shows that football's trajectory is always moving. Speaking of discipline, I always believe that a correct decision should be measured by consistency. If we accept that every beautiful goal deserves comparison with legends of the same style, then we also need to explain why we do not always do so. Ronaldo and Jiménez are mentioned because they are the names contemporary audiences can easily visualise. Hugo is a legend of another era, and modern media choosing closer references is an inevitable phenomenon. We often call this goal 'the best in history' without any objective measure. Nobody calculates xG, nobody measures difficulty, nobody compares it with match context. I trust the naked eye, but VAR taught me that the naked eye can also lie. When people rush to judge, they may unintentionally create an exaggerated story, and the true value of the goal becomes distorted. If we want to talk about a legacy, we need reliable data, not just momentary excitement. Liga MX is a league of moments rather than a league of stable tactical systems. Teams change coaches frequently, players are transferred constantly, and that creates space for individual brilliance. Borja's goal is a typical example: it came not from a deliberate attacking model, but from a chaotic situation where a Colombian striker's instinct was fully exposed. For Borja, scoring in the Clásico Nacional means more than three points. América and Chivas are the two clubs with the largest fan bases in Mexico, and any goal in this match is stored in collective memory. The pressure Borja faces after this goal will not come from opponents' tactics, but from the expectations of the fans. He will be remembered as 'the bicycle-kick guy', and if he cannot maintain his form, that nickname could become a burden. Hugo Sánchez's reaction is not just a personal demand for recognition. He is a symbol of an era of Mexican football rich in emotion and poor in data. His way of feeling the game is very different from how modern analysts dissect it. While the new generation looks at xG, running intensity and pressing load, Hugo looks at art and emotion. This difference explains why he finds it hard to accept being ignored. It is not just a controversy about a goal; it is a clash between two ways of understanding football. As a league discipline reporter, I learned that evaluating a situation should never rely on only one angle. Just as VAR needs multiple cameras to determine an offside call, football experts need multiple perspectives to assess a legacy. Hugo Sánchez sees a shot similar to his own style from the perspective of a former player. But from the perspective of a young fan, they see a moment they can connect with what they know. Both perspectives have value. Borja now faces new pressure. When a goal is labelled 'one of the best in Clásico history', all eyes will be on him in the following matches. Can he repeat it? Perhaps not, and that does not matter. Football is a series of moments, and a player cannot live forever on one moment. What matters is whether he can maintain his presence in decisive situations. Borja's story will be written through the next matches, not through one bicycle kick. As for Hugo, speaking out may backfire. Public opinion could see him as someone trying to steal the spotlight from an active player. However, it could also have the opposite effect: it makes younger fans curious to search for Hugo's clips, discovering that he performed overhead kicks at a level far beyond what they had ever seen. In a world where attention is currency, a controversy can be the fastest way for an old legend to return to the public mind. Discipline is not meant to punish, but to keep the match going. And this controversy, however uncomfortable, is keeping the story alive. I remember once misspelling a young player's name in a match report. My editor not only corrected the error, he asked me to review the full video to memorise the faces, shirt numbers and names of more than one hundred players. From that, I learned that the first mistake is not meant to be erased, but to be compared against later. Perhaps the Mexican media should also treat the absence of Hugo in these comparisons as a mistake worth referencing. But instead of getting angry, they should use it as a milestone to build a more inclusive narrative, where old legends are not forgotten and new stars are not crushed by the shadow of the past. The final answer to this controversy lies in what we choose to remember. If we mention Hugo Sánchez, we do so not out of duty, but because he deserves it. If we mention Borja, we do so because he created a memorable moment. And if we mention Ronaldo or Jiménez, we do so because we grew up with them. Legacy is not a race; it is a flow. Each generation contributes to that flow in its own way. Hugo contributed, Borja is contributing, and those who come after will continue. What we need is not to compare who is better, but to acknowledge that every generation enriches this sport in their own way. Perhaps Borja's goal does not need to become a copy of Hugo Sánchez to have value. It has its own value because it was scored in a Clásico with invisible pressure. Hugo Sánchez built his legacy in an era when Mexican football needed an icon to prove itself to the world. Now Mexican football has matured, and legends no longer have anything to prove. All they need to do is enjoy being mentioned as part of a larger story. If Hugo feels forgotten, perhaps he should look at how a whole generation of players stands on the shoulders of giants like him. That shoulder does not always have to be seen on television, but it is real. And that is a success no trophy can measure.