National Pride Churns in Fans

The dark, dusty El Michoacano bar in Oxnard, Calif., is usually empty at noon during the harvest season. Unless it’s raining, the bar’s patrons are out in the fields clearing weeds and picking strawberries for $1.75 a box.

On a good day, Jesus Ambriz, 26, stood to earn maybe $50 if he worked fast enough -- a small fortune in his Mexican village of Michoacan. But with his beloved Mexico playing a World Cup soccer match against Bulgaria, Ambriz gave up a day’s pay earlier this month to join dozens of harvest workers in the teeming El Michoacana to watch the game.

Millions of people across the United States share Ambriz’s devotion to the World Cup. What makes them so loyal, so fanatical, so intensely emotional is not the sight of 22 men chasing a ball, they say. It’s the immigrant’s comfort at seeing familiar faces thousands of miles away from the homeland. It’s the excitement of learning a universal language that opens doors in every corner of the world. It’s the emotion of a small country battling a mighty foe on the world stage.

“I’m a fresero from the fields,” said Ambriz, proudly raising his rugged hands, stained purple from picking strawberries. “But I also love soccer and today I’m proud to be a Mexican.”

For thousands of immigrants, soccer was among the hardest things to leave behind in coming to the United States. That’s why German Luna of Queens, N.Y., strutted into Foxboro (Mass.) Stadium two weeks ago.

“My heart is Bolivian, it always will be,” said Luna, his barrel chest puffed with pride, minutes before Bolivia faced South Korea. “This is an incredible emotion. Bolivia has never qualified for a World Cup.”

Luna immigrated to the United States in 1970 and became a U.S. citizen 10 years later. He loves it here, but he subscribes to El Diario, a Bolivian newspaper, so he can stay in touch with soccer back home, he said.

Luna’s story is not unlike that of millions of immigrants who have realized the American dream. He started as a dishwasher and now owns a prosperous clothing store. He celebrates Bolivian religious holidays but also Thanksgiving, which does not exist in his homeland. On Columbus Day, Luna and his family parade down the streets of New York wearing folk costumes tailor-made in Bolivia.

But even though Luna followed Bolivia throughout the World Cup, he made room in his heart for the team representing his adopted country. “I love the American team,” he said excitedly. “Did you see (U.S. defenseman Marcelo) Balboa’s bicycle kick? Did you see how they shut the Colombians’ mouth?”

If Team USA were to play Bolivia, Luna said, he would be heartsick. “It’s a very tough choice,” he said quietly. “Bolivia is the country of my heart, but I like it here. What can I say? I’m American now.”

For thousands of temporary immigrants such as Riyad Makki, 19, of Mecca, Saudi Arabia, the World Cup is much-needed relief from home sickness. An English student at American University for the last six months, Makki said he has been slow to adapt to the United States.

But his black eyes shined as he stood outside RFK Stadium dressed in his flag’s green and white, before a Saudi Arabia game recently. “All of Saudi Arabia is very happy,” he said, suddenly not feeling so alone. “Our Arab brothers are with us too. And Muslims from all over the world.”

Best of all, Makki said, the Saudi Arabian soccer team had given his people the opportunity to show that Saudi Arabia is much more than the launching ground for the Persian Gulf war. “We have a great country, he said. “We proved it (with soccer victories) against Morocco and Belgium.”

In the United States, where national pride is strong and international attention does not center around war, coups and natural disasters, soccer occupies a marginal place at best. But times change. Like so many immigrants, the World Cup eventually made its voyage to the United States. Not even Uncle Sam could ignore it.

“I think soccer embodies the American spirit because anybody can play the game. You don’t have to be seven feet tall or weigh 250 pounds,” said Uncle Sam, who was born Leroy Lincoln Rounsville of Quincy, Mass., but has changed his legal name.

Uncle Sam has attended several World Cup games already and plans to be in the Rose Bowl for Sunday’s championship match between Italy and Brazil.

“It’s going to take a lot to displace baseball from the American hearts,” said Sam, in his top hat and red-white-and-blue suit before the Spain-Italy game. “But I think soccer definitely has a chance.”

This World Cup has also seen a shifting in soccer powers. Perennial favorites Italy and Brazil are hardly surprising finalists. But after decades of communist oppression, this tournament has been a coming-out party of sorts for eastern Europe.

Romania and Bulgaria have done unexpectedly well only a few years after free-market reforms allowed their best players to earn huge sums in the world’s most prestigious professional leagues. The Bulgarians lost to Italy in the semifinals, but received a hero’s welcome on their return to Sofia this week.

After watching Brazil beat Sweden Wednesday at the Rose Bowl, Sandra Medrado did the samba with fellow Brazilians over to a rocking bar on bustling Colorado Street in the nerve center of Pasadena. There, a few blocks were closed off by police as hundreds celebrated.

“There was dancing and screaming,” said Medrado, a Rio de Janiero native who works for the Consulate of Brazilian Los Angeles. “We were all saying we were going to have some pasta and pizza on Sunday because we’re going to eat the Italians.”

Medrado said she hoped to buy tickets to Sunday’s game without breaking her bank account.

“If not,” she said, “we’re going to go to a bar and commemorate.”