World Cup Nights and the Checkpoints: The Missed Shot That Never Happened on the Pitch

Saigon, two in the morning after the World Cup 2026 final. I am standing in a narrow alley off Pham Ngu Lao Street, District 1, holding a cup of iced coffee that went cold long ago. Two hundred meters away, a breathalyzer checkpoint glows red and green. A middle-aged man sits down on the curb, his helmet tilted beside him, his hand trembling as he signs a citation. His wife stands a few steps away, calling a relative with a voice that keeps breaking. No crowd, no commentator, only the scratch of a pen and a dry beep from the testing device. This is the image sports media almost never broadcasts. People count goals, count assists, count even xG. But after every World Cup, there is a number no one wants to tally: traffic accidents linked to alcohol during and after major matches. Tonight's missed shot did not happen on the pitch. It happened on the roadside.

The World Cup is not just a football festival. It is a global consumer event, and alcohol has been one of its biggest sponsors for decades. Every major match triggers a wave of fans pouring into bars, gathering in front of screens, and drinking. Once the final whistle blows, hundreds of thousands of people get behind the wheel at the same time. It is the moment every major city in the world prepares for the worst-case scenario.

In Vietnam, this is nothing new. Recent World Cup and Euro seasons have shown traffic police routinely reinforcing breathalyzer checkpoints in the late hours — precisely when matches end. Major hospitals also record spikes in emergency admissions related to traffic accidents on big match nights. But look at Mexico City and you see a very different approach: a dedicated administrative detention center for drunk drivers, known to locals by an affectionate yet haunting nickname — El Torito, or "The Little Bull".

El Torito is the colloquial name for Mexico City's Center for Administrative Sanctions and Social Integration. It is not a criminal prison. It is an administrative detention facility for traffic-regulation violations, including driving under the influence of alcohol or stimulants. The legal basis sits in Article 50 of the Mexico City Traffic Regulation, which prohibits operating a motor vehicle above the permitted alcohol limit or under the effects of narcotics, stimulants or psychotropic substances.

What stands out is that during Fiestas Patrias — Mexico's Independence Day celebrations on September 15 and 16 each year — the Mexico City Public Security Secretariat publicly publishes a special menu for those detained at El Torito. In 2026, that menu included red rice with three tostadas, each with a different topping: tinga de pollo, pata, and potato with chorizo. It reads like a meal in a modest diner, not prison food.

I have followed how major cities handle this problem for years, and what caught my attention at El Torito was not the menu. It was the logic behind publishing it.

Publishing the menu of a detention center is not a culinary matter. It is a calculated communications strategy: turning an administrative sanction into a humanitarian message, cooling public resistance, and making detention itself a story everyone knows before they get behind the wheel.

Structurally, Mexico City's Conduce Sin Alcohol — "Drive Without Alcohol" — program operates on a fixed-checkpoint model. These checkpoints do not only detect offenders; they also classify severity: not everyone above the alcohol limit is sent straight to El Torito. Some may only face an administrative fine, vehicle impoundment or license suspension. This approach aligns closely with World Health Organization recommendations on random breath testing at fixed points — a model proven to reduce alcohol-related traffic fatalities in multiple countries.

But there is one detail that made me pause. This program is communicated as a seasonal campaign — with particular emphasis during major holidays. And that is precisely its structural weakness.

When the stadium lights go out, the accountant turns on the desk lamp. But when the checkpoint lights go out after the holiday season, drivers learn a different lesson: that the time between holidays is a safe zone. Behavioral research across many countries shows seasonal campaigns have short-term effects but do not change long-term habits. Someone who drinks and drives on Independence Day will hesitate more. But the same person on an ordinary Wednesday night in mid-October will not.

There is a truth both governments and media are reluctant to face: a breathalyzer program that does not publish outcome data — checkpoints, cases processed, recidivism rates — cannot prove real effectiveness, only that it was carried out. El Torito does not publish how many people were detained during Fiestas Patrias. Program reports do not include recidivism rates. No figure shows whether alcohol-related accidents declined after checkpoints went up.

That gap is bigger than any menu.

I once followed money across three borders, and it stopped at a café in Moscow. I am used to looking at numbers, not press releases. A government bold enough to publish the menu of a detention center is a government confident in its image. But that confidence only has value if it comes with data. Otherwise, it is just a carefully packaged performance — and citizens still get behind the wheel after a football night, believing they will not be tested because "the holiday season is over".

For Vietnamese football fans, the El Torito story is not about a distant city. It is a mirror. Every World Cup, every Euro, every ASEAN Cup final, we witness thousands of people pouring onto the streets after the final whistle. And each time, the question is not "how many checkpoints" but "are we measuring the real consequences".

An empty stadium still keeps full books. The numbers on accidents, emergency admissions, and detentions on World Cup nights never appear on the scoreboard. But they exist. And people can only improve what they dare to measure.

When the stadium lights go out, the accountant turns on the desk lamp. The remaining question is: when will those ledgers be opened for everyone to read?