Soccer loss mourned in LV

Saturday, July 1, 2006 | 8:09 a.m.

When Argentine Esteban Cambiasso kicked the soccer ball to the right and German goalkeeper Jens Lehmann dived to his left to fall on it, heads dropped into hands Friday morning at the Rincon de Buenos Aires restaurant on Spring Mountain Road.

It was over. Germany had beaten Argentina 4-2 in a World Cup penalty-kick shootout. Some Argentine players stood on the pitch in Berlin and cried. At the Las Vegas restaurant, grown men looked down, hugged their pals and plodded into the 99-degree morning.

It was a tragic end for a culture that has seen its share of tragedy. These were Argentines, after all, the people whose most famous export, the tango, includes the lyrics, "the world is a filthy mess, this I know; it was in the year 506 and in 2000 as well "

These were Argentines, who speak Spanish, but with an Italian accent, who drink wine from the age of 5, and have survived dictatorships, near-total economic collapses, a war with England over islands called one thing in English and another in Spanish, and the so-called Dirty War of the 1970s.

As with other Las Vegas immigrant groups during the last three weeks, the Argentines have looked for some good soccer fortune to fall their way.

Friday morning dawned with their blue-and-white suited team in the final group of eight, just days away from the July 9 final. The match was against Germany, and Latin American-European matchups are always followed with intensity in the Spanish-speaking world.

In the game's 49th minute, the 30 fans at Rincon leapt from their seats when Roberto Ayala appeared to fly through the air to head the ball into Germany's net.

Moments later, Jamie Margulies, a stocky man with a chiseled face, dark hair and team colors, punched his heart. "I was born in Argentina, but they brought me here when I was little," he says to no one in particular at the restaurant.

"No one can beat us!" he would later say.

But any one of his countrymen might have secretly expected the worst would come.

Graciela Sabate, owner of Rincon de Buenos Aires, puts it this way: "We have this tragic undercurrent ... Maybe because we're such an immigrant nation, and there's always this sense of longing for something left behind."

Doug Unger, a UNLV professor and author, still visits the family that he lived with as an exchange student in Argentina in 1969.

He says tango provides insight into the nation's character: "It's upbeat and quick, countered by a movement into a tragic, minor key."

Argentina's soccer-mad population is dominated by Italian and Spanish ancestry. It also has the largest Jewish population in South America, a result of post-World War II migration, and the highest literacy rate on that continent.

Perhaps ironically, tumults in the country's modern history have led to waves of immigration back to Europe, or to the United States.

There are some members of Clark County's Argentine community - estimated in a 2004 U.S. Census Bureau survey at 2,473 and by several locals at 6,000 - who came here during the era after Eva Peron's death.

The wife of President Juan Peron, Eva Peron is perhaps best known in the U.S. through "Evita," Andrew Lloyd Webber's hit Broadway musical. The years after her death in 1952, however, were a time of unrest and brought some of the first Argentines to Las Vegas.

David Sailon, now 80, settled here in 1963 as a violinist with a group called "Los Violines Magicos," or "The Magical Violins." He said Wednesday after living more than half his life on U.S. soil, some Argentine habits die hard.

He's still the last one to leave a restaurant at night, after spending a few hours conversing with friends. And he still gets together with those friends to watch soccer, as he did Friday at a private home.

At the restaurant, the Argentine mood stayed high until partway through the second half. Germany grew scrappy, and just over two-thirds into regulation time, Miroslava Klose - the World Cup's leading scorer - kicked Roberto Abbondanzieri, Argentina's goalkeeper, in the side. Within five minutes, substitute Leonardo Franco entered the game. Minutes later, Klose scored.

The restaurant's mood turned edgy. Margulies paced - now not quite so certain. Regulation time ended with a 1-1 tie, and didn't change after 30 minutes of overtime.

Each team would get five attempts, one on one, a kicker versus a goalkeeper. Franco looked lost and nervous; the German goalie's agile, 6-foot-3-inch frame intimidated.

Six shots later, it was over.

Soccer, or football, has always lent itself to philosophizing, producing entire books about the links between politics, economics, wars and a round ball.

Before the match with Germany, Unger waxed about how this year's World Cup team somehow reflected Argentina's current leadership - young, on the upswing, full of promise. The country paid off its foreign debt in January. Argentines scattered around the world - including some of violinist Sailon's friends here - have begun moving back.

For those staying in Southern Nevada, or just visiting from Argentina, Rincon de Buenos Aires serves as a default clubhouse, embassy and information clearinghouse - the latter courtesy of local Argentines' business cards.

After helping shuttle cappuccino, croissants called facturas, ham and cheese sandwiches and even a few Riquelme beers, owner Sabate stood behind the counter Friday, her eyes moist as she came to terms with Argentina's loss and elimination from the World Cup:

"Now all we can do is wait four more years."