Score!!!

Other help for the Farolito empire comes direct from Mexico, with Lopez serving as a portal to the United States for past Gallos players. When 36-year-old Argentine forward Luciano Guiñazu hung up his cleats three years ago, his wife suggested they move to the States rather than return to the tough economy of Buenos Aires. Guiñazu called the only person he knew here: Lopez. Now Guiñazu plays papy soccer on Saturdays and works at Lopez' taquerias until 3 a.m. four nights a week — taking orders, distributing paychecks — in the first nonsoccer job of his life, alongside three other former Gallos. "You miss it sometimes, being on the field, competing for something," he says. "But my moment passed. I took it well."

Guiñazu even shaved off his signature long locks this year after they started thinning — a moment of reckoning with age if ever there was one. But he still works on the playing field, this time as a teacher. Finding that one minimum-wage job won't support a family in the Bay Area, he supplements his income by coaching at the Burlingame Soccer Club, where he awes the kids with his expert ball control and Argentine accent.

Lopez shakes off the notion that he likes to help immigrants who have come after him. More than anything, he is a businessman at heart — a stickler for hard work who says his taqueria's quality is only "70 or 80 percent" of where he wants it, and who will still man the grill for a new location when it first opens.

"The hustle, hustle comes in our blood," Guadalupe says, adding that her family is now thoroughly acculturated. "We could buy ourselves a Lamborghini and live in Hillsborough if we want to. ... There's no way we could survive in Mexico now."

Still, Mexico is everywhere in the taqueria. A picture of the Virgin of Guadalupe stands vigil over the kitchen. Songs by Los Tigres del Norte and Vicente Fernández rotate on the jukebox. Advertised on the restaurant wall is another Mexican tradition: a soccer lottery, or quiniela. To play, you predict the outcomes of the weekend's Mexican pro league games and enter the raffle for $10. Supposedly, the one who guesses the most correct results wins the money; if there's a tie, the pot is split, and the number of winners is scribbled on a piece of cardboard placed over the next-door bar.

At the risk of spoiling the fun, hosting or housing a sports lottery is illegal in California, with a penalty of up to a $5,000 fine and/or a year in jail in addition to anything from a letter of warning to a revocation of a liquor license. One former quiniela winner, who spoke on the condition of anonymity, said a taqueria employee delivered $3,500 in well-worn $5, $10, and $20 bills in rubber-banded stacks to his home last year.

Although many say Lopez is in charge of the lottery, he denies it: "We don't do that. ... I had it, but not anymore." He says "some people who come there" do it, but wouldn't name names. Tony Ramirez has been playing $40 to $100 every week, hoping to strike it big.

At halftime at the polo fields, and with his team down by one goal, Alianza Lima's coach Carlos Torres had not lost hope. Farolito had gotten off to a slow start this season. Some players blamed the uneven field, which diverts the ball at unpredictable angles and punishes a team used to the pancake-flat planes of a professional stadium. But towering sweeper Richardson Smith says it was partly ego: "We've been underestimating the rivals."

Farolito keeps the pressure on Lima in the second half. Guiñazu directs a high pass to Farolito's top-scoring forward, Rafa Gutierrez, who heads it straight through the goalie's legs. Gutierrez executes his signature scoring celebration, dropping to his knee like a knight, making the sign of the cross and kissing his thumb before jogging over to give Guiñazu a hug and slap on the back.

It's 2-0 to Farolito, and Lima's frustration builds. When the line ref calls offsides against Lima — Farolito is the only team that always puts down the extra $50 for the league to hire two line judges — one rowdy fan yells, "Farolito is going to give him five burritos!"

Torres takes a risk in the last 15 minutes, moving former pro Jaime Perez out of the goalie box where he'd made umpteen saves to his true post as a forward, hoping he'll score. Torres switches Perez with a man nicknamed "Vaca" — cow. ("He's kind of big," he explains.) As time runs out, Celia Cruz' "Life Is a Carnaval" pumps out of team El Salvador's speakers from the bleachers, and the Lima players get frantic. Farolito drives the ball down the field, Vaca dives or falls in anticipation of a shot, and, with an unmanned box, Salazar kicks in an easy goal. 3-0.

The game brings Farolito's record to five wins, three ties, and no losses; the team remains in first place. The victory adds fuel to a league truism. "People try to play well against us, but in the long run, we'll always win," Salazar says.