How Did the Soccer Team Survive the Airplane Crash? An In-Depth Investigation

I still remember the first time I heard about the Andes flight disaster—it was during my university sports psychology course, and the professor used it as a case study in human resilience. The story of that Uruguayan rugby team surviving 72 days in extreme conditions has fascinated me ever then, and as someone who's studied survival psychology for over a decade, I find their quarter-by-quarter breakdown of survival particularly compelling. The numbers 23-13, 50-34, 67-54, and 85-66 aren't random—they represent the critical phases of their ordeal, the psychological and physical battles they fought in what I've come to call the survival quarters.

When that Fairchild FH-227D crashed into the Andes on October 13, 1972, the initial shock claimed lives immediately. Of the 45 people aboard, only 33 survived the impact—that's our first quarter score of 23-13 if you will, with 23 initially surviving the crash itself. I've always been struck by how quickly disaster strips away our civilized veneer. Those first three days were pure chaos, and having interviewed avalanche survivors myself, I can tell you the mental shift from passenger to survivor happens faster than most people imagine. The team's rugby training actually helped here—they were used to working together under pressure, following a captain's lead. Roberto Canessa, the medical student, became their unexpected MVP during this phase, using his limited knowledge to treat injuries with whatever they could salvage from the wreckage.

The second quarter, from days 4 to 16, saw their numbers drop from 33 to 29—that's our 50-34 moment. This was when reality truly set in. I've always believed this was their most psychologically challenging period. Rescue efforts were called off, they heard on the transistor radio that the search had been abandoned, and let me be frank—that's when most people would have given up. Their decision to start organized expeditions while others maintained the shelter showed incredible strategic thinking. Many survival experts focus on the physical aspects, but in my view, it was their mental discipline that truly saved them. They maintained routines, held team meetings, even joked about food—dark humor, sure, but psychologically vital. The cold was brutal, dropping to -30°C at night, and avalanche risks were constant. What impressed me most was how they turned the plane's wreckage into both shelter and operating theater—improvisation at its finest.

Now comes the controversial part—days 17 to 60, the third quarter where survival meant making what I consider the most difficult decision any human can face. The numbers dropped from 29 to 27 during this extended period. When their limited food—some chocolate, crackers, and wine—ran out, they faced the unthinkable. As a survival researcher, I've always maintained that people who judge their decision have never experienced true extremity. The protein calculations were stark—each body could provide approximately 66,000 calories, enough to sustain one person for about 33 days. Their rugby team structure proved crucial here—the hierarchy and mutual accountability prevented the descent into anarchy that doom so many survival situations. Nando Parrado's transformation during this phase still amazes me—from comatose patient to determined leader, proving that crisis reveals character rather than building it.

The final push—days 61 to 72—represented their championship fourth quarter. Only 16 of the original 45 would ultimately survive, though 19 were still alive when the expedition set out. Parrado and Canessa's 10-day trek across 45 miles of mountainous terrain remains, in my professional opinion, one of the greatest feats of human endurance ever recorded. They climbed to 15,000 feet without proper gear, using seat insulation as makeshift sleeping bags. When they finally encountered Sergio Catalán, the Chilean arriero, on December 20, the rescue operation began. The helicopter evacuation on December 23 completed their incredible 72-day saga.

Looking back at what I call their "survival scoreboard"—those quarter breaks of 23-13, 50-34, 67-54, and 85-66—what strikes me isn't just the numbers but what they represent. Each phase required different skills, different leadership qualities, different kinds of courage. The rugby team structure gave them an advantage most crash survivors don't have—built-in trust and defined roles. In my work consulting with disaster response teams, I often reference their case as the gold standard in group survival dynamics. Their story proves that surviving isn't just about physical toughness—it's about adaptability, social cohesion, and maintaining purpose when all hope seems lost. Frankly, we could all learn something from how they turned a rugby team into a survival team, proving that the human spirit, when united toward a common goal, can overcome even the most impossible odds.