Santos Laguna, a Five-Year Vow and the Shadow of Chava Iglesias: What Is Aleco Irarragorri Really Betting On?

"I am not Chava Iglesias, I am Aleco." Aleco Irarragorri, president of Santos Laguna, said this in an interview with Proyecto Escolar. He insisted he wants an aggressive team, a team that comes back from behind, a team just like the one in 2026. He mentioned a five-year plan to return Santos Laguna to the top tier of Mexican football, and he promised to deliver a championship to the fans.

Sitting in Incheon, more than thirteen thousand kilometers from Torreón, I heard that sentence and paused for a long time. What makes a president invoke a fictional Netflix character to define himself? The answer is not in football. It is in how people manage fear.

Context: A big club searching for itself

Santos Laguna is one of the traditional powers of Liga MX. Based in Torreón, Coahuila, the club has won multiple titles and was once seen as a model of organization, youth development, and how to run a mid-sized club with big ambitions. But recently, the gap between Santos Laguna and the leading group has grown wider.

To understand why Aleco Irarragorri's statement matters, it must be placed within the structure of Liga MX. The league operates on a model of two tournaments per year — Apertura and Clausura — meaning two championships, two chances to start over, and also two failures per calendar year. That structure creates a frantic rhythm: a team can win in December and be in crisis by March. There is no room for naive long-term plans.

And that is precisely what makes the "five-year plan" interesting. In a league where everything is measured by short tournaments, a president talking about a five-year cycle is an almost provocative act. It goes against the instinct of the market.

Mexican football and the multi-club power equation

One cannot discuss Santos Laguna without mentioning the group behind it. Aleco Irarragorri is the son of Alejandro Irarragorri, founder of Grupo Orlegi — a sports conglomerate that owns and operates several clubs at once. This is the multi-club ownership model, something usually associated in Europe with groups like City Football Group, but few notice that Mexico has been running it for quite some time.

The logic is clear: shared scouting data, shared coaching methods, player rotation within the same ecosystem, and cash-flow optimization. But it also has a trap: when a group owns multiple clubs, fans always suspect that their club is just a link, not the center. That when needed, their club will be sacrificed to feed another.

That is why Aleco had to talk about identity. That is why he had to invoke the image of 2026. He is trying to prove that Santos Laguna is not a branch, but an entity with its own soul.

Why 2026 is the emotional anchor

In 2026, Santos Laguna won Liga MX. It was a team remembered for its comeback spirit, for its ability to turn seemingly lost matches into victories. Aleco Irarragorri recalls this not out of nostalgia. He recalls it because it is a verified standard — one that fans still remember and can therefore use to measure the present.

This is a clever communication move. When you cannot promise immediate results, you promise a style. When you cannot guarantee a title this season, you guarantee that the team will fight as it once did. It is a safer promise, because it cannot be disproven by the standings.

But this is also where I begin to see something worth pondering. I witnessed the Kim Min-jae deal collapse in an instant, and I understand the price of haste. That price is not only money. It is trust. When a president promises a style, he is borrowing the fans' trust, and that debt will come due one day.

Renato Paiva and the question of who steers

In the interview, Aleco spoke positively of coach Renato Paiva, calling him a leader of the men's team. This is an important detail, because in modern football, the relationship between president and coach is the backbone of any plan.

Renato Paiva is a Portuguese coach, part of a generation trained in data analysis and tight tactical organization. Placing such a coach at a club searching for its identity is a deliberate choice. You do not choose a Portuguese coach for emotional football. You choose him to build a structure.

But structures need time. And time is what Liga MX is not generous with. A coach in Mexico can be fired after five losses. So the five-year plan only has value if the president truly protects his coach through the first storms. In other words, the five-year plan is not measured by what Aleco says on television, but by what he does during the week everyone calls for Renato Paiva's dismissal.

Financial structure: Where the five-year plan meets reality

This is the part few commentaries bother to explore. A five-year plan is not a slogan. It is a balance sheet. To return Santos Laguna to the leading group, the club must solve three variables: the wage bill, transfer cash flow, and commercial revenue.

Liga MX has a fairly strict financial control mechanism. Clubs must comply with a spending cap tied to their revenue, and overspending can lead to points deductions. This means a club like Santos Laguna cannot simply pour money into a squad of stars. They must buy smart, sell at the right time, and develop players from within.

And this is where the Incheon lesson becomes relevant. The Incheon lesson taught me: rumors are the wind, verification is the door. When a club talks about a five-year plan, the first thing I check is not the transfer list, but their contract structure. Who has how long left? Who has a release clause? Who will be sold to fund the plan?

Because in football, every long-term plan is financed by short-term player sales. A young talent promoted to the first team, shining for two seasons, then sold to a bigger club — that is the cash flow that funds the championship dream. If Santos Laguna truly has a five-year plan, then within that plan there must be a few names marked for departure. Without that, the plan is just poetry.

The blind spot of the official story

This is the part I want to spend the most time on, because it is where most analyses fall short.

When a president says "we will be champions, if not this tournament then the next, if not the next then the one after," it sounds powerful. It sounds like a vow. But read closely, it is a statement that cannot be wrong. It covers every scenario. It has no expiration date. And a promise with no expiration date is a promise that cannot be verified.

In my profession, I have learned one thing: infinite statements are usually a sign of finite anxiety. When you are certain of the path, you talk about milestones. When you are unsure, you talk about destinations. Aleco talks a lot about the destination — the championship — but little about milestones. He does not say how many points the team will have after ten rounds. He does not say what the target is in the quarterfinals.

That is the blind spot. And this blind spot does not belong only to Santos Laguna. It is the disease of an entire football industry.

Why five-year plans often die in year two

I have followed many club cycles over more than twenty years in this trade. And I have noticed an almost universal rule: five-year plans rarely die from lack of money. They die from lack of patience.

Year one is the year of hope. Everything is new. Fans are excited. Leadership is confident. Year two is the year of testing. Results begin to arrive more slowly than expected. A few key players get injured. A few unlucky defeats. And then pressure appears — from media, from supporters, from the board itself. That is the moment when a five-year plan is either protected or betrayed.

For Santos Laguna, that moment will come very soon, because Liga MX gives no one time to breathe. A short tournament lasts only seventeen rounds. A four-match winless streak is a crisis. And in a crisis, people always reach for the first replaceable thing: the coach.

So when Aleco speaks of Renato Paiva with respect, I note it. But I also note that respectful words on television cost nothing. What costs is keeping a coach when the standings worsen and sponsors grow restless.

The night of World Cup 2026 and the lesson of deals that never happened

I tell this story not to talk about myself, but to talk about a principle that Mexican football — and Asian football — relearns every day.

On the night of World Cup 2026, I learned that a contract can die, but the lesson lives on. That day, I announced a deal I believed was certain. It collapsed because of a detail no one saw: an old shoulder injury. An entire plan — the player's, the club's, the agent's — evaporated within hours. And what remained was not money. What remained was the question: what did we overlook?

I think about that when I hear Aleco talk about a five-year plan. Because a five-year plan is like a big transfer: it can collapse over a small detail no one checked. An injury. A player losing form. A coach losing the dressing room. A sponsor withdrawing. Plans do not die from big things. They die from small things overlooked.

That is why I always believe the truth of a club is not in the press conference, but in the medical room and the accounting room. There, people do not talk about championships. There, people talk about what can be measured.

What Santos Laguna actually needs to do

If I must give a frank assessment, Santos Laguna does not lack ambition. It lacks a map.

A genuine five-year plan must have three layers. The first is the human layer: how many players in the current squad are in their prime, how many young players can develop, how many must be sold. The second is the tactical layer: what style does the club want to play, and does that style suit the people it has. The third is the financial layer: where does the cash come from, and when must it sell to balance the books.

Most clubs fail because they build the third layer first, then try to cram the first and second into it afterward. They buy what they can buy, then ask whether those players fit together. That is how a squad becomes a list, and a list never wins a championship.

Santos Laguna, with its history, has an advantage many clubs lack: an identity already shaped. 2026 is not a vague memory. It is a model. The question is whether the leadership has the courage to build on that model, instead of chasing the fleeting trends of the transfer market.

A counter-intuitive angle: sometimes collapse is a shield

This is what I want to say that many may disagree with.

We usually think a club needs to win to succeed. But from a governance perspective, not every title is worth it, and not every failure is regrettable. There are moments when not winning protects a club's long-term value. Because a title won by breaking the financial structure can be a time bomb.

From the Kim Min-jae deal, I point out that collapse is sometimes a shield protecting true value. A player not sold can keep his value. A coach not fired can complete his philosophy. A plan not rushed can arrive later but more solidly.

With Santos Laguna, the counter-intuitive point is this: if they win next season by overspending and selling off young talents, that is not the success of the five-year plan. It is its collapse in the guise of a victory. Conversely, if they do not win but keep the structure, develop three young players and balance the finances, the plan is on track — even if the standings say otherwise.

It is a view fans rarely accept, because fans do not buy tickets to watch patience. They buy tickets to watch victory. And this is the central paradox of every long-term plan in football: it needs the patience of the majority, but the majority is not programmed to be patient.

Lessons from Asia: When a long-term plan is a luxury

I live in Korea and follow Asian football every day. And I realize that the Santos Laguna story has a loud echo here, despite the great geographic distance.

Asian football, especially in Southeast Asia, struggles with the same question: how to build a long-term plan in an environment that rewards only short-term results. Clubs in Vietnam, Thailand, Indonesia have all announced multi-year plans. Very few survived into year two.

The reason is not money. The reason is governance culture. A long-term plan survives only when a system protects it from human impatience. If the decision to fire a coach depends on one person's emotions, no plan is safe. If the decision to sell a player depends on one season's pressure, no structure is sustainable.

That is why I always advise clubs in the region to look at models like Grupo Orlegi's, even though I know that model has its dark sides too. Because at least it is an attempt to turn football from an emotional game into a system that can learn. And in an industry where haste kills more talent than lack of money, the ability to learn is the most valuable asset.

The fan question: Love cannot be bought with promises

Aleco Irarragorri talks a lot about winning back the fans' trust. He emphasizes that the team must convey dedication and commitment on the pitch, and that the audience's response is tied to the players' effort.

This is theoretically true. But it is also somewhat naive in practice.

Football fans do not respond only to effort. They respond to results. A team that runs tirelessly but keeps losing will not be loved more. It will be pitied. And pity does not fill stands.

I have witnessed this in many places. A fan's love is an asset that can be lost, and it is lost faster than people think. It is not lost because of one defeat. It is lost because of the feeling that the leadership is no longer serious. A president can lose many matches and still keep loyalty, as long as fans believe he is on the right path. But the moment they lose that belief, everything collapses.

So when Aleco talks about winning back the fans, I think what he really needs to do is not promise a championship. What he needs to do is show them a path. A path with milestones. A path that can be measured. Because trust is not built with vows. It is built with small proofs, repeated, until they become one big belief.

The transfer market as a chess game

The transfer market is like a chess game: spectators see the move, insiders see the move not yet made. When we look at Santos Laguna and their five-year plan, we see only statements. But insiders are looking at other things: negotiations in progress, contracts nearing expiry, young talents being weighed, sponsors being persuaded.

That is why I never judge a plan by what is said. I judge it by what is done quietly. A club with a real plan often has one trait: it talks little about the plan. It just does it. And what it does will appear on the pitch, slowly, match by match.

With Santos Laguna, the most credible sign is not the championship promise. The most credible sign will be whether they keep Renato Paiva through a difficult run. If that happens, the five-year plan is real. If it does not, it is all a media story designed to soothe the audience in a difficult moment.

Behind every deal is a story never told by a contract

I always believe that behind every deal is a story never told by a contract. And the Santos Laguna story is the same. Behind the talk of championships are specific people: players worried about their futures, staff trying to keep their jobs, coaches trying to build a philosophy while knowing they could be sacked within months.

A five-year plan is not carried out by a president on television. It is carried out by hundreds of people in a system, each with their own fears. And that is what market analyses often overlook: football is an industry of people, and people do not operate by spreadsheet.

The Incheon anchor: verification is the door

Incheon is where I learned the trade. There, I once announced a deal with the wrong figure, and I once misread a player's name three times in one half of a live broadcast. Those mistakes taught me something I carry into every article since: a feeling is not evidence, and confidence is not truth.

When I look at Santos Laguna and Aleco Irarragorri, I do not see a braggart. I see a man trying to convince others — and perhaps himself — that the path he chose is right. It is not a comfortable position. But it is also a dangerous one, because once you announce a five-year plan, you have no place to hide. Every step you take will be measured against your own promise.

I do not write to shock, I write so the truth settles intact

I do not write to shock, I write so the truth settles intact. And the truth here is this: Aleco Irarragorri has made a big statement. He has promised a style, a cycle, a championship. He has invoked 2026 as a standard. He has placed his trust in Renato Paiva. And he has spoken of a five-year plan as a vow to the fans.

There is nothing wrong with those statements. They are necessary. A club without ambition is a dead club. But ambition without structure is a trap. And that trap does not catch outsiders. It catches the very people who declared it.

What I will watch in the coming months

I will not follow Santos Laguna's standings over the next three months, because the table is the noisiest thing in football. I will follow four other things.

First, the number of young players given minutes in the first team. If that number rises, the plan is real. If it falls, the club is buying short-term results.

Second, the number of contract renewals with key players. A long-term plan lives on long-term signatures.

Third, the number of times leadership defends the coach during media crises. This is the hardest test, and the truest one.

Fourth, the structure of player sales. If Santos Laguna sells young talents at good prices and reinvests systematically, they are building a model. If they sell to pay wages, they are firefighting.

Conclusion: What will remain after the vow

Santos Laguna's five-year plan will not be decided by what Aleco Irarragorri said in this interview. It will be decided by what remains after the words have faded. Because every vow has a day it must be paid, and how a club pays that debt will define its true self.

I will still be here, in Incheon, following their every step. Not to find fault, but to find evidence. Because if a mid-sized club in Mexico can truly complete a five-year plan in a league that rewards only the short term, it will be a lesson for all of Asia — where each of us is trying to build the same thing.

And perhaps the only thing I can be sure of right now is this: a team can win with money, but it endures only through structure. Aleco Irarragorri has promised a structure. The question is no longer whether he will keep his word. The question is whether Mexican football — and the rest of us — have the patience to wait until that structure blooms.