For several minutes Caligaris continues his upbeat discourse on the publication, which includes full-page color ads from big companies; dozens of stories from far-flung places including Japan, Poland, Bahrain, and Peru; and first-class photos. But the tenor changes when New Times questions a key personnel move. The name Julio Gonzalez appeared in the masthead as "director" in the first few issues this spring, then disappeared. "Where is Mr. Gonzalez?" a reporter asks. "What happened to him?"
Caligaris looks confused. "I don't know why you are asking about him," he says, leaning toward his questioner, who repeats the query. "There haven't been any changes," he responds. Then, growing more uncomfortable, he asks, "What does this have to do with Fanatic?" Finally Caligaris declines to answer any other question about Gonzalez.
No wonder. Julio Gonzalez, Fanatic's editors later admit, is Julio Gonzalez Ugarte, a central player in an international financial scandal that has journalists and prosecutors from Paraguay sniffing around the newspaper's offices. Last year, a source tells New Times, Gonzalez Ugarte pledged as much as $1 million in startup money to the publication. In May the Paraguayan Senate removed Gonzalez Ugarte from his job as director of the Paraguayan Central Bank for his alleged part in illegally moving $16 million to an American bank account. He is one of four top government officials from that country who have been forced from their jobs and criminally charged as a result of the brouhaha.
This scandal reaches all the way to the top: Several Paraguayan journalists predict the eventual ouster of the country's president, Luis Gonzalez Macchi, for his alleged role. You may have heard of this guy. He's married to a beauty queen and took office in 1999 after the resignation of president Raul Cubas, who allegedly helped assassinate his own vice president. Gonzalez Macchi's problems started when reporters learned his armored presidential BMW was stolen from Brazil. If the probe of the new scandal ensnares the Paraguayan leader, he'll join Argentina's Carlos Menem and Peru's Alberto Fujimori among the ranks of scandal-plagued South American leaders.
Paraguayan prosecutors, journalists, and others close to Soccer Fanatic confirm that the South Florida connection began in June 2000, when several entrepreneurs, including Caligaris, Agustin Matiauda, and an Argentine man living in Boca Raton began planning a soccer newspaper. They developed an ambitious blueprint and determined they would need tens of thousands of dollars to survive the first few months, when advertisers and readers would be sparse. On July 5 they employed Fort Lauderdale lawyer Laz Schneider and incorporated as Wise Publishing Company with an address on Las Olas Boulevard in Fort Lauderdale. Planning continued apace. In late December, just before Christmas, several of the newspaper's principals -- including Matiauda; his older brother, Carlos Alberto Matiauda; and Caligaris -- met at the Wyndham Miami Beach Hotel on Collins Avenue. A source tells New Times that the elder Matiauda brought a friend he had known since childhood: Gonzalez Ugarte. The lobby was crowded because of a convention, so the group adjourned to a nearby establishment. There, the source contends, Gonzalez Ugarte promised to invest. He couldn't say how much because he had to talk to his "people." Several days later, between Christmas and New Year's, Gonzalez Ugarte called Soccer Fanatic to confirm he would contribute $1 million, the source relates, and on January 3 the paper's staff moved to the fifth-floor office in Miami.
Five days after the new Soccer Fanatic offices were christened, the story that would rip apart the Paraguayan government broke in the Asunción newspaper ABC Color. Under the headline "Liquidators Illegally Remove Millions of Dollars from the Country," 28-year-old business reporter Luis Bareiro wrote that Carlos Pecci, a supervisor for Paraguay's Central Bank, had funneled $16 million from two failed financial institutions to a Citibank account in New York City. "There were rumors that money had been moved improperly," Bareiro tells New Times. "I made contact with lower-level officials at the bank who confirmed them."
Over the next few months, Bareiro and others in the Paraguayan press told an astonishingly complex tale involving corruption by Central Bank administrators with the collusion of South Florida businessmen and several members of President Gonzalez Macchi's family. While their reporting was sometimes subjective and included minor errors, it provides a compelling tale that packs a powerful punch.