The Fall of Football : Crippled by a losing streak and charges of corruption, Brazilian football is in crisis. Can anything be done to save the national game.(Illustration)(Industry Overview)

When Wanderley Luxemburgo was named coach of the national football team in late 1998, Brazilians had reason to believe they had a winner. The nation was still stinging from its 3-1 loss to France in the World Cup finals. But Luxemburgo had led local league giants like Corinthians and Palmeiras to major trophies and titles. He was young and dedicated and cut a fine figure, decked out in Armani and toting a laptop computer. His nickname was "the professional." In his manicured hands, the legendary four-time world champions looked destined to return to glory. Instead, the Brazilians choked. Stumbling from one match to another, the national team buckled in World Cup qualifiers, losing to lackluster Chile and Paraguay, only to be humiliated at the Australian Olympics by an upstart squad from Cameroon--down two red-carded players, no less.

The worst was still to come. Late last year Luxemburgo was hauled before a Senate panel and asked to explain how, purportedly, $9 million had found its way into his 30 bank accounts from 1994 to 1995 when he had reported only $4 million in a single bank account. Senators questioned him about whether he accepted illegal commissions from the sale of big-name players to European clubs. Luxemburgo fiercely denied any wrongdoing. But he is now out of a job--and may have to fight to stay out of jail. Saddened and ashamed, Brazilians turned to their own national championships last month for solace. Instead, things turned violent: a brawl in the stands during the finals sparked a stampede in a rickety, overcrowded stadium. In the melee, a fence collapsed, injuring 159 people, three seriously. The manager of Vasco da Gama, the host team, demonstrated just how low the national pastime had sunk when he strode onto the field and pressured officials to cart away the wounded fans and restart the game.

Suddenly, all of Brazil is taking a hard, searching look at its favorite game, and it does not like what it sees. Brazilian football-- famed for producing the legendary Pele and winning the World Cup as recently as 1994--is in disarray. Some fear it may never fully recover. To hear the critics tell it, the sport has grown rife with game fixing, kickbacks and tax chiseling. They say it has turned into a demimonde of corporate sharks, shysters and bagmen intent upon hawking talent to the highest bidder at the expense of the fans in order to stuff their own pockets. Indeed, players are being traded aggressively, abroad as well as at home. These days, rodeos often draw bigger crowds than football games, and the most popular national sports figure of the moment is Gustavo Kuerten, a tennis star. Both the Senate and the Congress are conducting separate probes. "The stadiums are nearly empty, the best players are in Europe, but the club managers are rich," says Juca Kfouri, a leading sports journalist. "The football elite is driving the sport to ruin."

It's been tough for Brazilians to stomach. This is the land, after all, that has captured an unprecedented four World Cups, serving up a legend almost every season. Brazil put football on a nickname basis, and generations have delighted in artists like Pele, Garrincha and Rivellino and, later, Romario, Ronaldo and Rivaldo. Led by Pele, Brazil won three World Cups in 12 years, in 1958, 1962 and 1970. It took 24 years for Brazil to win another--and then only after a scoreless tie and a penalty shoot-out with Italy. For fans who had grown to expect not only victory but also majesty from their idols, the outcome was frustrating. The loss to France in 1998 only worsened the mood. Now, many fans fear that with the latest charges of impropriety, Brazilian soccer will never be the same.

The congressional probe has already turned up some serious revelations. Among other things, it uncovered a ring of agents who allegedly sent underage players abroad on forged passports. Legislators have heard from three dozen witnesses, ranging from teenagers lured to Europe on such passports to former FIFA president Joo Havelange. They have confiscated bank and phone records of hundreds of individuals and companies, enlisting the help of tax inspectors, diplomats and even Interpol. One of the star witnesses was Renata Alves, a former secretary and onetime girlfriend of Luxemburgo's, who told the legislators an elaborate tale of a mysterious Rio mansion called "the embassy," where football moguls purportedly brokered players' contracts and quietly exchanged attache cases stuffed with dollars. Luxemburgo claims Alves is really out for blackmail and has accused her of demanding hush money. They are battling in court.

Everyone's favorite villains are the big team managers. Brazilians call them cartolas, or big hats, bulky men with power as great as their paunches. Like a locker room secret society, they play the game behind the game. Their clubs may be wallowing in debt, and yet in their quest for trophies, they load the roster with high-priced stars, only to cash them in next season to make ends meet. Last year 701 Brazilian players were traded abroad, up nearly threefold from five years ago. "Brazil ...