Huiqui Is Not Losing Power: 30 Seconds Blown into a Storm at Cruz Azul

The clip is less than a minute long, filmed from the stands, slightly shaky, with no clear audio. Facundo Oreja, assistant to Joel Huiqui, stands near the touchline during a hydration break, pointing toward a group of players, speaking continuously. That moment repeats dozens of times at every Liga MX stadium each matchday. But for Cruz Azul, a team that just won the title and just lost at Monterrey, those 30 seconds became evidence for a major accusation: Huiqui is losing authority inside his own coaching staff. I have spent years watching Spanish football and following Latin American leagues. I have learned that real authority crises do not begin with a striking image; they begin with what is absent from the frame. At Levante's academy, I learned to watch a boy kick a ball for three hours just to refine one touch. That way of seeing taught me that in a coaching staff, power does not belong to the man the camera captures; it belongs to the man who is absent when the final decision is made. A 30-second clip cannot show that. The context matters. Cruz Azul arrived at Monterrey's BBVA Stadium for Matchday 9 of Apertura 2026 and left with a defeat. For a team that had just lifted the trophy and extended its coach's contract, an away loss — even to a strong side — always leaves a gap for questions. Oreja's video appeared exactly in that gap. But look at the sequence. Huiqui signed his extension after winning the title. Then he added Oreja and Juan José Martínez de Escobar to his staff. This is the crucial point that public opinion is reading backward: they see an assistant who looks like he is giving orders, and they conclude the head coach has been undermined. But read chronologically — a coach who just won a title and signed a new deal is at the peak of his power. That is exactly when he is most likely to choose his own collaborators. A board that wants to impose someone would do it before the contract is signed, when the coach is still fighting for his job. No one inserts an assistant right after handing out a long-term deal. That logic sits just beneath the surface of the original story, but it is ignored because the visual weight of the clip is stronger. Now, about Oreja. He worked under Martín Anselmi, the architect of Cruz Azul's identity. Anselmi left, but he left behind a team with a clear tactical DNA. In football, keeping an old assistant from the previous regime is not unusual; it is a statement of continuity. Huiqui may want to preserve what already works rather than tear it down. That is a sound technical decision. But the story of Anselmi's assistant seizing power is far more attractive than the story of Huiqui preserving the team's tactical heritage. One is news; the other is routine. There is also a concept many fans do not know: the hydration break. It is a short stoppage allowed by the referee, common in hot climates like Monterrey in mid-summer, so players can drink water. It is not an emergency or a special tactical moment. It is a time for staff to deliver quick messages, and usually the assistant does it for the head coach. Huiqui might stand back and observe; Oreja moves closer to the players to pass on instructions. If that is proof of a coup, then every team in Liga MX is staging a revolution every week. The weakest part of this story is its own source. The original article, even with a headline framed as a question, openly admits: the clip proves neither who made tactical decisions nor whether any change of command occurred. The reporter — the one with a direct interest in inflating the story — set that limit. Huiqui, in his public statement, also rejected both theories: no imposition from the board, no loss of decision-making power. When the reporter and the protagonist both say there is nothing here, only those who choose to believe a ready-made narrative will see a problem. Another detail convinces me this is not a real crisis: no player has spoken. In Mexican football, where leaks are a journalist's currency, if Cruz Azul's dressing room were truly in turmoil, at least one anonymous source would tell the media that the atmosphere is toxic, that they no longer listen to him. Nothing. Internal silence is often the most reliable sign of stability. When a big club is really collapsing, the leak machine works at full capacity. Here, all we have is one clip, one veteran pundit, and one coach forced to deny. As for Ricardo Ferretti. He is an influential figure, but his role here is that of a commentator, not someone with inside data. Ferretti asked why Huiqui would allow an Anselmi-linked assistant to be so involved. That is an opinion — a strong one, but not evidence. In Liga MX history, comments from famous former coaches make waves but rarely reflect the reality of a dressing room. Huiqui does not need Ferretti's approval; he needs results. The notable reality is this: the controversy says nothing about Cruz Azul except that this is a big club with a recent title, and everything that goes wrong is amplified. A mid-table team losing to Monterrey would not get a close-up of its assistant. This scrutiny is a consequence of success. It also means the pressure on Huiqui will disappear in only one way: wins. If Cruz Azul wins three straight, the clip sinks into oblivion. If they keep losing, it will be called a warning sign. That dynamic is no different in Valencia or Madrid. I have a long-standing rule: never judge a coach's authority by isolated images. I remember the night in Russia in 2026, when Spain lost on penalties. I spent three hours reviewing the footage, and I wrote: Spain did not lose on penalty kicks; they lost on the night no one dared to shoot. That was a conclusion based on hundreds of situations, not one clip. At Cruz Azul right now, there is no such night. There is an afternoon defeat, a hydration break, and an assistant doing his job. Midway through the transfer window, when every lens is aimed at new signings, an internal story like this is even easier to inflate because it is the only thing that requires no verification. The failure of a small-town team does not make the big newspapers; it is carved into the railings of its home stadium. But for Cruz Azul, defeat is carved into every status update, every shared clip, every comment from people who have never set foot in the dressing room. That is the burden of a big club. The question I want to leave is not whether Huiqui still holds power. It is the question I have asked many coaches: will your team still be itself in the next three matches? In football, the answer to every accusation is written on the pitch, not on forums. When the ball starts rolling again, no one will remember what Oreja said during the hydration break. Unless — Cruz Azul loses again. And if that happens, do not ask when Huiqui lost power. Ask from which match this team started moving out of rhythm.