Merlín’s appeal appears to be rooted in more than novelty. The duck is reportedly part of street vendor Carla Gómez’s family business, following her household as they work in Mexico City’s historic centre.
Gómez used the moment to present her family’s daily routine and working-class identity. She said the attention reflected recognition for “a hard-working family, a family that gets up every day to make ends meet”.
That message fits football’s ability to turn ordinary figures into symbols. During a major tournament, supporters do not only rally around players and results; they embrace characters who embody local colour, humour and resilience.
Merlín’s reported appearance alongside President Claudia Sheinbaum made the duck more than a social-media curiosity. It turned a family story into a national conversation, with the Mexico shirt acting as an instant bridge between football culture and everyday life.
For Gómez’s family, the attention has reportedly brought visibility and pride. For fans, Merlín offers the kind of memorable tournament image that can outlive a single match - much like a famous chant, unexpected supporter or eccentric mascot.
But the scene has also raised difficult questions.
Relatives of missing people reportedly objected that their calls for a meeting with the president had received less attention than the duck’s welcome. Wildlife advocates also warned that viral animal fame can encourage impulse purchases, poor care and eventual abandonment.
That criticism matters because football’s emotional power can accelerate trends as quickly as it creates heroes. A charming mascot may capture the public imagination, but responsible ownership cannot be treated as part of the spectacle.
As Mexico’s World Cup story continues, the next question is whether Merlín remains a fleeting viral sensation or becomes a lasting symbol of the tournament’s most human - and most complicated - side.