You think you know the story. An own goal in the 1994 World Cup. A man shot dead in a parking lot. A nation in mourning. But if you’ve only seen the headlines, you’ve basically missed the entire point of the most chilling sports documentary ever made.
The Two Escobars, directed by Jeff and Michael Zimbalist for ESPN’s 30 for 30 series, isn't just a movie about a soccer game or a drug lord. It’s a 100-minute deep dive into a paradox where the "Devil" provided the only hope a country had, and the "Saint" became the lamb sacrificed to a chaos no one could control.
Honestly, it’s a heavy watch.
The film tracks the parallel lives of two men who shared a surname but no bloodline: Pablo Escobar, the billionaire head of the Medellín Cartel, and Andrés Escobar, the "Gentleman of Soccer" who captained the Colombian national team. One built a cocaine empire; the other built a legacy of grace on the pitch. They were unrelated, yet their fates were tied together by the strings of "Narco-fútbol."
The Rise of Narco-Fútbol: A Necessary Evil?
In the early 1990s, Colombian soccer was basically a miracle. Before the drug money started flowing, the league was broke. Top players left for Europe or Mexico as soon as they could. Then came the "dark" investment.
Pablo Escobar wasn't just using Atlético Nacional to launder millions—though he definitely was doing that. He genuinely loved the game. He built fields in the comunas where kids had nothing. He brought in the best international talent. Suddenly, a Colombian club was winning the Copa Libertadores.
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You've gotta understand the vibe back then. The country was a war zone. Bombs went off in streets; politicians were assassinated weekly. In the middle of that terror, the national team became the only thing that made people proud to be Colombian.
Andrés Escobar was the face of that pride. He was calm. Disciplined. He was the guy who stayed behind to sign every last autograph while his teammates went to parties.
What Really Happened in 1994
The documentary does something incredible with archival footage. It shows the pressure cooker these players were living in. Heading into the 1994 World Cup in the U.S., Pelé actually picked Colombia to win the whole thing. They were that good. They had beaten Argentina 5-0 in Buenos Aires. They felt invincible.
But the reality was terrifying.
By the time the team reached California, Pablo Escobar was dead—shot on a rooftop in Medellín in December 1993. Most people assume Pablo’s death made Colombia safer. The film argues the opposite. Without the "Big Boss" to keep the rival factions in check, Medellín became an absolute free-for-all.
The players were getting death threats at their hotel. One player’s brother was killed back home before the second match. Managers were told who to play and who to bench by anonymous callers representing gambling syndicates.
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When Andrés Escobar slid to block a cross against the United States and accidentally diverted the ball into his own net, he wasn't just losing a game. He was accidentally lighting a fuse in a room full of gunpowder.
The Parking Lot Tragedy
Andrés was murdered ten days after the own goal, outside the El Indio nightclub in Medellín.
The popular myth is that a disgruntled fan or a gambler who lost money killed him because of the goal. But The Two Escobars digs deeper. Through interviews with Pablo’s former right-hand man, "Popeye," and Andrés’ teammates, a more nuanced, uglier picture emerges.
It was an altercation. A "disrespect" thing. The Gallón brothers, who had ties to the PEPES (the group that hunted Pablo), began taunting Andrés. They called him "faggot" and mocked the own goal. Andrés, being a man of principle, wouldn't just walk away. He demanded respect. He wanted to explain that it was just an accident.
They shot him six times.
The film makes a haunting point: if Pablo Escobar had still been alive, no one would have dared touch Andrés. Pablo considered the players his friends. He had them up to his private prison, La Catedral, to play games. In the lawless vacuum left by Pablo’s death, there was no "order" to the crime anymore. Anyone with a gun could kill a national hero over a verbal spat.
Why This Film Still Hits Hard
The Zimbalists didn't just make a sports doc; they made a Greek tragedy. They used 1,500 hours of footage and conducted some of the most candid interviews you'll ever see—from Andrés' grieving fiancée to the cartel hitmen who actually knew how the money moved.
One of the most striking things is how the film refuses to make Pablo a cartoon villain. You see the houses he built for the poor. You see the thousands of people at his funeral. It forces you to confront the uncomfortable truth that for many Colombians, the drug lord was the only person who ever looked out for them.
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Then you have Andrés. He represents the soul of the country that wanted to be better. His last column for the newspaper El Tiempo included the phrase: "Life doesn't end here." It’s heartbreaking because, for him, it did.
Actionable Takeaways for Documentary Fans
If you're looking to understand this era or the film better, don't just stop at the credits. There’s a lot of context that adds layers to the experience.
- Watch it as a "System" Study: Don't just look at the individuals. Look at how the collapse of the state led to the rise of the cartels, which in turn funded the culture. It’s a lesson in unintended consequences.
- Research the 1989 Medellín Referee Murder: The film touches on it, but the 1989 murder of referee Álvaro Ortega is the real turning point where "Narco-fútbol" lost its innocence.
- Compare to Modern Colombia: Colombia’s soccer team is now a symbol of a much more stable, thriving nation. Seeing where they were in 1994 makes their current success feel earned in a way most fans don't realize.
- Look for the "30 for 30" Companion Pieces: If you like this style, check out The 16th Man. It’s about Nelson Mandela and the South African rugby team. It’s the flip side of the coin—how sport can actually heal a nation instead of breaking it.
The Two Escobars is a reminder that sports are never "just a game." They are a mirror. And sometimes, what we see in that mirror is terrifying.
To get the most out of the experience, watch it with the understanding that every cheer on the field was echoing against a backdrop of violence. It changes how you see every tackle and every goal.
Life didn't end there for Colombia, but the film ensures we never forget why it felt like it might.