Diablos Rojos del México: The Quiet Succession and the Benjamín Gil Equation

Opening: The moment between two answers

At the Sports Illustrated México awards gala, amid the applause and the camera flashes, Jorge del Valle stood before the microphone. The head of the sporting department at Diablos Rojos del México was asked directly: is Benjamín Gil the next manager of the red team? He did not confirm it. He did not deny it either. He said the club is building a new project, that it will announce soon, and that he likes Diablos Rojos to appear in the headlines. Then he smiled at the cameras.

In the silence between those two answers, a management philosophy appeared more clearly than in any press release. In that silence, no one says "yes" and no one says "no"; every possibility is kept intact. For someone like me, whose trade is reading a match through the whistle, this moment is strangely familiar: it is the gesture of an official who knows he does not need to blow yet, and who knows that the right hesitation is itself part of the decision. A question that looks like a simple personnel matter opens up an entire power structure, a transition cycle, and a communications puzzle that every professional sports organization eventually faces.

Context: An organization renewing itself

Diablos Rojos del México is one of the most storied sports organizations in Mexican baseball, a member of the Liga Mexicana de Béisbol, the country's long-established professional league. Their standing in domestic baseball is comparable to that of a giant in any league in the world: a deep history, a vast trophy cabinet, and a passionate fan base attached to their distinctive red colors. In other words, this is a brand that cannot be skimmed over in the morning bulletins.

In recent years the club has gone through a period that its own people describe as highly successful. Precisely because of that success, the leadership decided to enter a renewal cycle. Jorge del Valle, the public face of the sporting project, calls this a crucial moment to restructure and open a new cycle. One point must be stressed: this is a rebuild undertaken from the position of a winner, not from the position of someone gasping for air. That difference determines the entire mood of the succession now unfolding.

Within that transition, a notable detail has emerged: Lorenzo Bundy, who once held the manager's chair, is moving into an advisory role. This is the kind of internal reshuffle common in organizations that want to retain experience while still opening up a leadership position. At the same time, the name Benjamín Gil has surfaced as the leading candidate.

Benjamín Gil is a former professional Mexican pitcher who represented the national team, and who recently managed Charros de Jalisco before leaving the chair. He is a familiar face in Mexican baseball, a manager who understands the league and its people, and who is highly regarded by the domestic press. Gil's departure from Charros de Jalisco immediately fueled rumors about his next destination, and Diablos Rojos was the name mentioned most often.

I want to place this context next to what I have long observed in Europe, where I live and work. When a big football club enters a renewal cycle after success, it usually faces a paradox: the fans want to keep what brought the wins, while the leadership understands that standing still is the same as falling behind. Mexican baseball is no exception to that rule. The succession at Diablos Rojos is a variation of that paradox, differing only in cultural and institutional context.

Core analysis: The architecture of a succession

Power model: The sporting manager above the manager

In many professional sports organizations, the line between the decision-maker and the person executing on the field is often blurred. At Diablos Rojos, that line is clearly drawn: sporting authority is concentrated in Jorge del Valle. He is the spokesperson, the one who defines the project, the one who sets the standard for the managerial position. The manager, however important, remains the executor within a structure led by the sporting executive. Analysts call this the model of a head coach operating beneath a senior sporting manager.

There was a time in European football when power belonged to the old-school manager, who controlled both the sporting side and recruitment. Gradually, the model shifted toward a separation of roles: a sporting director handles vision and personnel, while a head coach handles the daily work on the field. Diablos Rojos is operating on the logic of the second model. That means that when we talk about the successor, we are not only talking about a strategist, but about a link in a system designed by del Valle.

With the eye of someone who has followed countless managerial transitions, I see a telling signal here. When an organization publicly sets a standard for its successor before that successor even appears, it is a sign that power has been centralized, not a sign of uncertainty. Del Valle did not say "we are looking for the best person." He said the chosen one must understand the dimension that Diablos Rojos has built. That statement redefines the whole recruitment: this is a question of cultural fit, not purely a question of technical merit.

Lorenzo Bundy: The calculated step back of an insider

The detail of Bundy moving from manager to advisor deserves a closer look. At first glance, it is a step back. But in the language of organizational management, it is a calculated step back. Bundy was not pushed out the door. He was kept in a different role, where his experience still has value but no longer occupies the top leadership position.

In football clubs, I have seen a similar model. When a long-serving manager leaves the main chair but stays on as an advisor or technical director, it is usually a way for the organization to retain its collective memory. Knowledge of people, of dressing-room culture, of the hidden relationships within a squad cannot be bought with money and cannot be learned in a single press conference. Bundy staying on ensures the successor will not have to start from zero.

But this model has a downside. When an old hand remains inside the building, the lines of authority become fragile. The successor must answer the question: who really decides? If Bundy is purely an advisor, fine. If Bundy retains hidden influence, the newcomer risks being squeezed between two layers of power. From my experience following similar handovers, I always advise readers to watch how the organization defines the advisor's scope. Whether that scope is clear or blurred will say a great deal about whether this succession will run smoothly or turn messy.

Hiring criteria: Culture before tactics

The most interesting part of the whole story lies in how del Valle described the standard for the successor. The chosen one, in his words, must understand the dimension Diablos Rojos has built. This is a statement of culture more than a statement of technical expertise. It shows that the leadership prioritizes compatibility with the organization's identity over a purely technical profile.

In football, I have witnessed deals fail for this reason. A manager can be excellent tactically, but if he does not understand the pulse of the club, the expectations of the stands, the limits of the dressing room, then his tactical talent will be eroded within months. Conversely, a manager who understands the culture can deliver better results than his résumé promises. Diablos Rojos appears to be betting on the second side of that equation.

The standard of "understanding the dimension" sounds modest, but in reality it is a very high bar, because it places the burden on the newcomer before he even signs a contract. The successor will not be judged only by results on the field, but also by his ability to carry the legacy. For an organization that has just come through a successful period, that expectation is almost automatic: the newcomer must be as good as the previous one, or better, and is not allowed to stall.

There is one point I want to stress, based on my experience following matches and managerial handovers. Sports organizations often publish their hiring criteria at the exact moment they need to manage expectations, not at the moment they have made a decision. Del Valle talking about the standard before announcing the successor's name is a two-layer move: it raises the expectation bar for whoever arrives, and it protects the leadership in case the talks collapse. If Gil arrives, the standard has already been set for him to face. If Gil does not arrive, that standard still stands as an explanation for any delay.

Expectation management: The art of staying silent

The most subtle part of del Valle's handling is that he actively fuels the fans' expectations. He said he wants to maintain the anticipation among the red-shirted supporters, and he openly admitted he likes Diablos Rojos to appear in the headlines. This is not the confusion of someone caught off guard by a question. This is the strategy of someone who understands the value of publicity.

During a sports season, news gaps are a precious resource. A story about an unannounced successor can keep the club's name in the papers for weeks. Del Valle understands that. He is in no hurry to kill the rumor, because the rumor is serving his purpose.

But this is a double-edged sword. Feeding expectation for too long can backfire. If the negotiations with Gil collapse, the leadership will face no small image-repair task. The fans have been allowed to dream of a specific name; if that name does not arrive, the disappointment will be multiplied. In European football, I have seen clubs lose credibility simply because they let a transfer rumor run far ahead of reality. The lesson repeats itself: expectation is a kind of asset, but also a kind of debt.

The 3T model: A checklist for the succession

As I always do with controversial officiating decisions, I want to offer a checklist to read the succession at Diablos Rojos systematically. I call it the 3T model: Timing, Tone, and Voice.

Timing is the first axis. Every succession has an optimal window. Announcing too early can cost the newcomer the element of surprise and preparation time; announcing too late can leave the squad entering the preseason without a leader. At Diablos Rojos, the signal of an early announcement suggests the leadership wants to close the gap quickly, avoiding a prolonged state of uncertainty.

Tone is the second axis. This is the cultural standard del Valle set. It measures the fit between the successor and the organization's legacy. Someone who understands the dimension of Diablos Rojos will know how to handle expectations, the media, and the pressure of a club that is always demanded to win.

Voice is the third axis, and also the most easily overlooked. It measures the successor's real authority, especially in relation to the advisory role Bundy now holds. A successor with a clear voice will have enough room to impose his own mark. A successor constrained by a powerful advisor will struggle to do the same.

These three axes operate simultaneously, and the imbalance usually lies on the third axis. Many successions fail not because the newcomer is weak, but because his voice is smothered by old forces that remain inside the organization. With Diablos Rojos, I will watch how the leadership defines the scope of Bundy's role as an early indicator of this succession's health.

The crux of the succession lies in the fact that the leadership wants the newcomer to carry the legacy, not to tear it down. That is a strategic choice, not an accident. And every strategic choice has its price.

Contrarian angle: The gap between the headline and the truth

Here I need to state plainly something few reports want to admit. The headline of this story promises to reveal whether Gil will arrive. But the content inside reveals nothing. Del Valle confirmed nothing and denied nothing. That is a gap between headline and truth, and that gap is the very essence of the story.

In other words, this is news about the absence of news. And in the sports media industry, news about the absence of news is a valuable product. It holds readers, it generates shares, it keeps the story alive for a few more days. But as a responsible consumer of information, one must distinguish between the heat of a rumor and the weight of a fact.

There is another fact to put on the table. The subject of this story, ultimately, belongs to baseball, not football. The concepts I usually use to analyze football, such as expected-goals metrics, pressing intensity, or financial-fairness frameworks, have no place here. This matters, because it reminds us that each sport has its own frame of reference, and applying one sport's tools to another is a professional trap. An honest analyst must be able to say "not applicable" when the tools do not fit, rather than inventing numbers that sound plausible.

What remains after stripping away the football shell are universal values: organizational governance, the results cycle, expectation management, and communications. These exist in every professional sport. And that is why a story that seems small is worth analyzing.

There are situations with no absolute right answer, only a decision-maker with enough courage to take responsibility. Del Valle is in exactly that position. He must choose a person, set the standard, and answer for the choice. No model, not even my 3T model, can make the final decision for him.

Blind spot: When "understanding the dimension" becomes a barrier

There is a downside to the cultural criterion that I want to dissect. When the leadership prioritizes cultural fit, it risks overlooking excellent but different candidates. Someone from outside, with fresh thinking, can bring something the organization has never had. But if the standard of "understanding the dimension" is interpreted too strictly, the organization will lock itself into a comfort zone.

I have seen this at many clubs. They hire a manager because he "understands the club," and a few years later they realize that very understanding is what prevented the team from renewing. Culture is an asset, but a frozen culture becomes a burden. The line between respecting a legacy and being bound by it is very thin.

Another possibility must be considered. Bundy staying on as an advisor can be read as a way of ensuring continuity, but it can also be read as a way of limiting the newcomer's authority. If the successor is expected to carry the legacy but does not have enough power to change what needs changing, that is a structural trap. The newcomer will be placed in a position of being accountable for results without controlling the inputs.

And there is yet another blind spot, on the media side. When a story is built around a single name, readers easily forget that other candidates may still be under consideration. The focus on Gil may be the result of a strategy of keeping multiple options open, not of a settled decision. In such situations, reading a rumor as if it were fact is a common mistake.

Data does not blow the whistle, but it illuminates the corners the naked eye misses. Here, the data we have is not statistical figures but behavioral signals: Bundy changing roles, del Valle choosing a public venue to speak, the leadership talking about a "new project" before talking about a person. These signals, placed side by side, paint a clearer picture than any confirmation could.

Conclusion: A lesson on succession and patience

The story at Diablos Rojos del México is a small but profound lesson in how sports organizations confront their own success. Success creates expectation, expectation creates pressure, and pressure forces the leadership to find someone who can carry the legacy without breaking it. This succession is not yet closed. But the way it is being steered has shown one thing: sometimes the art of management lies in knowing when to stay silent.

People remember the goals; I remember the whistles that protected them. In this succession, the whistle has not yet blown. And it is precisely that wait that is worth watching.