From Tragedy to Triumph: How a Car Crash Propelled Hugo Carabes Into Amputee Soccer Stardom
MEXICO CITY, Mexico — Hugo Carabes still remembers the exact moment his life split into “before” and “after.”
It was 4 p.m. on a Friday in 2016 when a taxi slammed into his motorcycle, crushing his leg and shattering his dreams of ever playing professional soccer again.
“I woke up without a leg and without hope,” he says, his voice steady but his eyes betraying the weight of the memory. “I thought my life was over.”
For Carabes, now 37, soccer wasn’t just a game—it was his identity.
He’d played professionally until age 28, retired to amateur leagues, and even sold ice cream on the side to support his wife and two daughters.
But losing his leg in that accident sent him spiraling into depression. “The pain was unbearable, physically and mentally,” he admits. “I wanted to die.”
A Prosthesis, a Purpose, and a Second Chance
After eight grueling months at Mexico City’s National Rehabilitation Institute, Carabes was fitted with a prosthesis.
The moment he stood without crutches, he felt a flicker of his old self return.
“It was like being reborn,” he says. But walking was one thing; playing soccer again seemed impossible—until he discovered amputee football, a fast-paced sport where outfield players use forearm crutches and compete without prostheses.
At first, Carabes hesitated. “I didn’t want to be ‘the guy with one leg’ on the field,” he says.
But after connecting with the Guerreros Aztecas, a top-tier amputee team in Mexico’s National League, he found his rhythm.
“The first time I kicked the ball again, I cried. It was like meeting an old friend,” he recalls.
By 2017, his relentless drive earned him a spot on Mexico’s national team—and a ticket to the 2018 Amputee World Cup.
The World Stage and a Twist of Fate
The World Cup in Culiacán, Mexico, was a bittersweet triumph.
Carabes and his team fought fiercely, finishing fourth after a nail-biting penalty shootout loss to Brazil.
“Hearing our anthem in front of 10,000 fans? Increíble,” he says, grinning. “But the irony? If I still had both legs, I’d never have made it there.”
The tournament, governed by the World Amputee Football Federation, follows unique rules: seven players per side, no offsides, and goalkeepers missing an arm.
For Carabes, adapting to crutch-based play was brutal. “You think regular soccer is tough? Try dribbling with one leg while balancing on sticks,” he laughs. “But it’s pure pasión.”
Pandemic Pitfalls: From Pro Leagues to Streetball Hustle
Then COVID-19 hit. Leagues shut down, and Carabes lost both his soccer income and his ice cream side gig.
Desperate, he joined friends performing tricks at Mexico City’s traffic lights—a common sight in a city where street soccer is both art and survival.
From 8 a.m. to 4 p.m., he juggles, headers, and balances the ball on his crutches while drivers toss coins.
“I make $15–20 a day. It’s not much, but it feeds my family,” he says.
For spectators, his resilience is a spectacle. “People roll down their windows and say, ‘¡Eres un héroe!’” he shares. “But really, I’m just a dad doing what he has to do.”
Streetball as a Stage—and a Statement
Mexico City’s streets have long been a canvas for soccer creativity.
Players like Alan Landeros, a local streetballer, describe it as “performance art” where flair trumps rules.
For Carabes, it’s a lifeline—and a platform. “Every trick I do says, ‘Look what’s possible,’” he explains.
“Kids stare at my leg, but then they see the ball dancing. That’s when they smile.”
His grit mirrors a broader trend. Across Latin America, amputee athletes are challenging stereotypes.
In Nigeria, players like Kennedy Ezeji juggle homelessness and training, while in Mexico, the Aztec Warriors team—a feeder squad for the national team—has become a symbol of resilience.
“Football is Life”—But Funding Remains a Fight
Despite FIFA’s recent pledge to support amputee soccer, resources are scarce.
Many players rely on grassroots donations or side hustles.
The U.S. Amputee Soccer Association, for instance, recently launched a fundraiser for its 2026 World Cup qualifiers in Mexico.
Carabes, meanwhile, dreams of leagues resuming post-pandemic. “We’re athletes, not charity cases,” he insists.
For now, he keeps grinding, one traffic light at a time. “Soccer gave me everything,” he says, spinning the ball on his fingertip. “And now? It’s keeping me alive.”
