Inside Chichén Itzá’s massive Maya ball court: game, myths, sacrifice

One of Mexico’s most storied archaeological sites, Chichén Itzá is usually linked with the Pyramid of Kukulcán, the unmistakable emblem of the Maya world. Yet there’s another wonder here that stops visitors in their tracks: the immense ball court, the largest surviving sporting arena in all of Mesoamerica, wrapped in mystery and legend. Some believe that on this field, a loss could cost a player his life.

The biggest court and those curious rings on the walls

The court in Chichén Itzá is truly colossal—almost 170 meters long, roughly the length of two soccer fields. On both sides rise high walls, each set with a stone ring about six meters above the ground. Players tried to drive a heavy rubber ball through these rings using only hips, elbows, and knees. Hands and feet were off-limits.

It doesn’t read like an ordinary sports venue so much as a space where every feature carries weight. Even sound behaves differently here: a voice from one end travels cleanly to the other. Researchers believe that this striking acoustics served rituals and ceremonies, and it’s easy to picture speeches and chants rolling the length of the court.

What kind of game was it?

The game was called pok‑ta‑pok. It was played in many Maya cities, but in Chichén Itzá it clearly held special importance. The ball could weigh up to four kilograms, and meeting its force with one’s body was no small task. Sending it through a stone ring was considered a remarkable feat.

Exactly how a match unfolded remains uncertain, and rules likely varied from city to city. In Chichén Itzá, the game was plainly more than recreation. It had a prominent place in religion and culture and may even have symbolized cosmic struggles—good and evil, day and night.

Sacrifice after the game: myth or fact?

Many have heard that losers were killed. The court’s walls do show scenes in which a player is decapitated. But who the victim was is still up for debate.

Some scholars argue that the defeated paid the price. Others, conversely, think that the victors were offered as honored sacrifices. There’s also the view that the victim was not a player at all but a specially chosen person, with the game accompanying the rite.

Human remains found near the court confirm that sacrifices took place. What they do not provide is a definitive verdict on who was sacrificed or why. The uncertainty, if anything, only sharpens the court’s hold on the imagination.

Why does the subject still grip us?

No one plays pok‑ta‑pok at Chichén Itzá today, but the game’s memory endures. In some parts of Mexico, people are even trying to revive it as cultural heritage. Meanwhile, researchers keep chasing answers—how the game was actually played, what the rituals conveyed, and who was chosen for sacrifice.

More than a thousand years on, the story of this ancient ball court still captivates. It reminds us that sport once could be a matter of life and death—in the most literal sense—and that a game can carry meaning far beyond the score.