The midfielder paused, scanned the options, met the popping eyes of Jimenez and spun a gorgeous cross, through the well-manned box. Jimenez, waiting to pounce, unmarked, leaping adequately high to send the ball into the nets. After scoring, Jimenez stood still like a statue, plucking the tears out of his eyes, hands spread, waiting for the crowd’s embrace.

Scoring a goal in the World Cup was his dream, and he seemed on the path to fulfilling his dream a decade ago. But he had to wait for four World Cups, an eternity on the bench, a lifetime on the surgeon’s table and a fractured skull that nearly killed him. And finally he realised the dream he first dreamt in his childhood, living in a quarter not far from the Azteca. He is from Tepeji del Rio, a small village of 5,000. But his father was transferred to Mexico City, where Jimenez spent his formative years.

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As big a contribution as the goal was his role. He was the deputed central striker, but he frequently dropped deep so that he pulled defenders into him, carving room for Alvardo and Quinones to foray into the box. Jimenez would then skin past the defenders, using his built and dexterous feet to devastating effect. He is 34, has lost yards of zip that made Wolverhampton Wolves a force in the EPL once, but not the sniff of a goal, the instinct to anticipate a move and be at the receiving end and delivering the end product. Or the work rate, pressing hard and putting pressure on his markers.

He is not only Mexico’s talisman, but also the most loved teammate. His assist-provider Alvardo would say: “At half-time, he had told me to send in a cross for him. I didn’t think twice, and I knew that in that area it could be dangerous. Thank God I got the assist and Raul was able to score that goal.”

And as the banner read, when Jimenez plays, he is the hero.