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"He loved to work, but him, híjole! He wanted to become rich quick," says David Valle, still the owner of Taqueria San Jose. The third partner left to open El Taco Loco on the third corner of the intersection. "They stole all my recipes," Valle jokes.

In 1986, Lopez entered a team in the San Francisco Soccer League, which, in the days before Major League Soccer, was the top competition in the area, dominated by clubs that recruited expat pros and other immigrants. Each Sunday in Boxer Stadium in Balboa Park, clubs with names like Greek Americans, Sons of Italy, Concordia Sport Club, and San Francisco Glens were cheered on by their respective ethnic communities, who paid regular dues to support their teams. Former Greek Americans owner Jim Rally says he would often sponsor European professionals to immigrate to play and work at Greek-owned businesses; the club started paying players in the early '80s to keep up with the competition.

Lopez' team entered the league like a rocket, seizing the division championships each year to reach the majors in 1991, and, two years later, captured the U.S. Open Cup.

One year later, Lopez took a big step: He bought a minor-league Mexican soccer franchise for $10,000, he says, and created a team named for the cockfighting tradition of the state capital, the Gallos of Aguascalientes. Under his ownership, the team rose to the first division three years later, one step below the majors. Lopez made regular flights to Aguascalientes, where the team's fan base had grown from a handful of fans at the first games to nearly filling the several-thousand-seat municipal stadium. He even sent a few Farolito players there to try their hands in the pros.

In 2000, the Gallos won the winter tournament, which poised the team to enter the Mexican majors. It would have been a prime moment to sell the team, but Lopez wanted "the whole enchilada," says Ricardo Ramirez, a friend of Lopez' who plays on his over-50 team. But in the final game of the tournament to determine which team would ascend, the Gallos lost. With his franchise hemorrhaging money, Lopez says he sold it in 2001 for $800,000. He says he walked away without profit after paying what he owed for players' salaries and travel expenses for away games.

"He felt like a failure," says Lopez' 29-year-old daughter, Guadalupe, who keeps the books at the Mission Street taqueria. For her father, buying a Mexican team "was like a little kid walking into Toys 'R' Us. He always had [dreamed] about it, but obviously it's a very expensive dream."

While Lopez says he was "just one person more" in the Mexican soccer world, he had long since become king in the San Francisco leagues. True, Sundays at Boxer Stadium for the younger team are no longer what they were. Only a couple hundred fans will show. The creation of MLS in 1996 whisked away the star players, several top clubs have folded, and the multiplying leagues around the bay have diluted the talent pool. Nevertheless, it's still the top amateur talent in the Bay Area, and the young Farolito squad has taken the championships for six of the last seven years.

Since Lopez entered a team in the papy league in the early '90s, only one team has consistently challenged Farolito. Tony Ramirez is the teddy-bear-like owner of one-man San Bruno shop Victory Soccer, which serves as a pit stop for papy league patrons who stop by to watch televised games on Friday evenings. Ramirez says he mailed his top Victory players $70 to $100 when he could, in addition to all the soccer gear they wanted. Victory and Farolito traded championships, and a rivalry formed. "[Tony] and Salvador always had their polemics," says Pecas, Farolito's manager.

Players describe the two coaches as polar opposites. Lopez is the shrewd analyzer; Ramirez is the laid-back supporter. For Lopez, discipline is first, and if someone doesn't play how he wants, "I'll put another in." Ramirez gives his players more leash. Ramirez recounts with relish the time one of Farolito's players spit on him, and Ramirez got so angry, the ref threw him out. He still isn't speaking to Jorge Chavez, the coach of Farolito's younger team, for stealing away one player who'd committed to Victory before the season started. Ramirez likes to refer to Lopez' players and assistants as "ass kissers."

"He still has a lot of guys around him ... like kissing him. Moomoomoomoo," Ramirez says. "When I had a team, I had to carry everything. If a ball goes out of bounds, I have to watch for the ball, otherwise it gets lost. Salvador doesn't have to do that. He's just standing there."

But with the slow economy, Ramirez couldn't afford to keep paying players, or close his shop on Saturdays to head to the field. So he decided to fold his team after the 2006 season. For the championship that year, Farolito and Victory faced off one last time at Boxer Stadium. With the teams tied, as usual, at full time, the game went to a penalty shootout, each team nailing all five. Finally, in sudden-death penalty kicks, Farolito's Salazar missed. "He put his head down, and we all ran around the field," Ramirez remembers. The following year, Victory's players fanned out to other teams — many to, yes, Farolito.