América's 110 Years: The Alves Dynasty and the No. 9s Money Can't Buy

On October 12, 2026, Club América turned 110 years old. Among countless congratulatory posts on social media, one photograph made many stands across Mexico fall silent for a few seconds. Luis Roberto Alves, whom the whole country knows by the nickname "Zague", stands beside his father — José Alves, "Lobo Solitario". The father died on January 19, 2026, at the age of 86. The son turns 59 this year. Between these two men lies the yellow-and-blue shirt of the most storied club in Liga MX, and more than six decades of Mexican football flowing through a single frame. I have watched hundreds of América matches on a small screen in Nha Trang. It took this photograph for me to realize what a stat sheet never says: a great club is not measured by the number of trophies in its cabinet, but by whether it can nurture a bloodline that flows across generations. América was founded on October 12, 2026. For 110 years, the club has positioned itself as a "grande" — one of the four giants of Liga MX, alongside Guadalajara, Cruz Azul and Pumas UNAM. But if you set the slogans aside, the story of the Alves family is what truly stands behind that claim. José Alves arrived at América in 2026. He was a pure centre-forward, one of the great goalscorers of his era. His 2026-2026 spell coincided with the club's first golden age. He won the Liga title in 2026-2026, two national cups, and scored América's second goal in the inaugural match at Estadio Azteca against Torino in 2026. That goal laid the foundation for the legend of the largest stadium in Latin America. Thirty years later, his son stepped into the first team. Zague debuted in 2026, and between 2026 and 2026 he became the club's all-time top scorer with 188 official goals. He won Liga titles in 2026-2026 and 2026-2026, plus three CONCACAF Champions Cups. Father and son, two generations, one shirt, one archetype of the out-and-out No. 9. What stands out: neither was a pure product of América's academy. José Alves came from Brazil. Zague was born in Mexico City but grew up in a football environment shaped by his father. This is the detail mainstream media usually skips when praising the "academy". I have a habit of opening three data tabs whenever I watch a match. But for this story, what I had to open was not an xG or PPDA sheet — it was the black notebook that holds the numbers the media forgets. Zague's 188 official goals. That figure exists in a league where strikers rarely last more than five seasons. To grasp it, I tried to compare him with his own father: José Alves scored in an era without granular data, without xG, without any metric to protect his legacy. Both men had to prove themselves with raw goals, with no charts to shield them. This leads me to a paradox. In modern football, when a striker scores 20 goals in a season, we immediately cite distance covered, sprint counts, conversion rates. But looking back at Zague's 188 goals or José Alves's career, not one of those metrics was ever recorded. Their legacy survives as a bare number — and precisely for that reason, it cannot be inflated. I have always distrusted effort metrics that are packaged too neatly. A player who runs 12km in a match may simply be running in vain, generating a pretty number for the report. But goals do not lie. José Alves and Zague left us no heat maps; they left goals written into the club's history — something no algorithm can edit. So what makes the Alves family such a rare phenomenon? Not that a father and son both played football — that happens often. But that both peaked at the same club, three decades apart, in two completely different eras of Mexican football. José Alves scored in the Azteca opener in 2026, when the stadium was still a monument of the future. Zague scored 188 goals, as Liga MX began entering the era of commercialization. There is one detail I consider central, yet it is rarely given its due. José Alves's goal in the Azteca's opening match was no ordinary goal. The Azteca is the temple of Mexican football, a ground that has witnessed two World Cup finals. An América player scoring on the day the stadium first opened its gates is a heritage asset the club has exploited for sixty years. When his son became the club's all-time top scorer, the Alves family turned from a memory into a brand. But be careful with this kind of storytelling. When a club celebrates 110 years with a father-son photograph, it does two things at once: it honors the heritage, and it sells the heritage. Zague's photo is not only family affection — it is a media asset. I do not say this to diminish it. I say it because it is the truth that purely celebratory pieces tend to conceal. Look at the number 110. From 2026 to 2026. América is one of Mexico's most decorated clubs, and across that span it has built its identity around great No. 9s. From José Alves to Zague, this club understands that fans do not remember a midfield that controls 58% of possession — they remember the man who scored on the day the temple opened. This is where I must admit my limits. I do not have detailed season-by-season data for the father and son. Football in the 1960s and 1980s did not preserve xG, and there are no heat maps. José Alves and Zague played in a world where goals were the only measure, and perhaps that is precisely why their legacy stands firmer than numbers painted over today. Tactics will grow obsolete, but the story of belief will not. Where could I be wrong? If I am romanticizing too much. The father-son photo may be nothing more than a calculated public-relations move, and I am assigning it a depth it does not have. The counter-view deserves a seat at the table. A club celebrating 110 years with a picture of the past can be a sign of an absent present. When there is nothing in the present to celebrate, people turn to the past. Today's América has an expensive squad, but no No. 9 who scores 188 goals. The Alves heritage may be used as a sedative for the fans, rather than a promise for the future. I do not deny the value of the photo. But I refuse to turn it into the only story. A great club does not live on memory — it lives by creating new memories. And the real question is not "how great is the Alves family", but "is América developing the next Zague". 110 years is a beautiful milestone. But if I were an América fan, I would not just look at the father-son photo and smile. I would ask: where is the next generation of No. 9s? Data gives me the number 188, but the empty stands give me the question. And perhaps, in the silence of an afternoon without a match, I hear what no one wants to say: the most beautiful heritage is the unfinished one.