Only Win at the Azteca

On This Day in 2012, the US Ends 75-Year Drought with Historic Victory Over Mexico

Even in the realm of international friendlies, some matches transcend their exhibition status to become defining moments. When the United States faced Mexico at Estadio Azteca in 2012, the stakes felt monumental despite no tournament qualification hanging in the balance. This was about breaking the most stubborn curse in American soccer—a 75-year winless streak on Mexican soil that had become the sport's most glaring symbol of regional hierarchy.

The numbers told a brutal story of American futility in Mexico. In 24 previous encounters, the United States had managed just one draw while being outscored 81-14 in Mexico City's thin air. No venue had proven more inhospitable to American ambitions than this cathedral of Mexican soccer, where altitude and atmosphere conspired to humble visiting teams. For a program trying to establish itself as CONCACAF's emerging power, the psychological burden of never winning in Mexico had become impossible to ignore.

Mexico entered the match riding an unprecedented wave of confidence. Their Olympic team had just captured gold in London, stunning Brazil 2-1 in the final with a performance that announced Mexico's return to soccer's elite conversation. The celebration was still echoing through Mexican soccer when the Olympic heroes were paraded at halftime, creating an electric atmosphere that seemed to promise another crushing night for the Americans.

Jürgen Klinsmann faced this hostile environment with a roster decimated by European club commitments and strategic experimentation. Missing were established stars like Clint Dempsey, Michael Bradley, and Jozy Altidore, while veteran defenders Carlos Bocanegra, Steve Cherundolo, and Clarence Goodson watched from afar. In their absence, Klinsmann deployed a makeshift defense anchored by Maurice Edu, a natural midfielder, alongside Geoff Cameron, who had literally flown in from his Premier League debut with Stoke City just days earlier.

"This moment is for you, go and grab it," Klinsmann told his players before kickoff, fully aware that opportunity rarely announces itself so clearly in international soccer.

The early stages of the August 17 match unfolded exactly as Mexico's raucous 56,000 supporters had hoped. El Tri dominated possession and territorial advantage, peppering Tim Howard's goal with chances while the Americans struggled to string together meaningful attacks. Mexico's superiority was reflected in every statistical category—they would finish with a 15-6 shot advantage and a staggering 10-0 edge in corner kicks. Yet for all their dominance, the breakthrough remained elusive, thwarted by resolute defending and Howard's brilliance between the posts.

As the match entered its final quarter-hour, Klinsmann made the substitutions that would alter soccer history. Brek Shea, enduring a turbulent season with FC Dallas and making his first national team appearance since February, entered in the 78th minute. Just three minutes earlier, Michael Orozco Fiscal had been summoned from the bench for his first international appearance since October—a defender from Orange County who understood Mexican soccer intimately through his club career with San Luis.

The breakthrough arrived in the 80th minute through a sequence that perfectly captured the beauty of soccer's unpredictability. Shea, energized by his return to the national team fold, cut inside along the left flank and delivered a cross toward the crowded penalty area. Terrence Boyd, the German-American striker who had entered at halftime, controlled the ball with his back to goal before trying to backheel the ball into the goal. Or find anyone behind him. The ball dropped to Orozco Fiscal lurking three yards from goal. The defender's left-footed finish slipped past Guillermo Ochoa and into history.

"The goal was for the U.S. fans and the whole U.S. We made history," Orozco Fiscal declared afterward, his voice carrying the weight of seven decades of American frustration finally lifting.

The final 10 minutes transformed Azteca into a cauldron of Mexican desperation. Wave after wave of attacks crashed against the American defense as Mexico sought the equalizer that would preserve its home dominance. Javier Hernandez, the Manchester United striker known as Chicharito, twice found himself with clear chances to restore order. In the 85th minute, his deflected shot seemed destined for the net until Howard's reflexes intervened, the goalkeeper sprawling to his left to preserve the lead. Four minutes later, Hernandez rose to meet a cross with a downward header from point-blank range, only to watch Howard's outstretched hand deny him again.

When the final whistle pierced the Mexico City night, 75 years of history crumbled in an instant. American players sprinted onto the field in unbridled celebration while thousands of Mexican supporters sat in stunned silence, witnesses to the end of their team's most reliable dominance. For a program that had endured decades of regional inferiority, the psychological barriers had finally been shattered.

"It's huge for all American fans, it's huge for the team, and it's historic," Klinsmann reflected afterward. "We were very well aware that we've never won here at the Azteca Stadium. This is an amazing experience for all the players."

The victory represented the second breakthrough result of Klinsmann's tenure, following February's maiden triumph over Italy in Genoa. Together, these results suggested that American soccer was entering a new era—one defined by the mental strength to succeed in previously unthinkable circumstances. As the Americans prepared to depart Mexico City, their focus shifted toward more immediate challenges. World Cup qualifying loomed with a crucial home-and-away series against Jamaica scheduled for September, matches that would determine their path toward the 2014 World Cup in Brazil. 

The triumph in Mexico City had accomplished something more valuable than three qualifying points—it had fundamentally altered the psychological dynamic between CONCACAF's two powers. After 75 years of futility, the United States had proven it could win anywhere, under any circumstances. The curse was broken, and with it, the last vestige of American soccer's inferiority complex in the region that would soon crown them champions.