of secondary concern – this was a propaganda tour. So when the team came back with a 2–1 win, having gone a goal down, it was all down to providence. On their return, the players were treated like heroes. They appeared on chat shows, and were asked what it felt like to have ‘conquered’ Iraq.
The process of qualification ticked on. The win against Iraq had given Iran a comfortable three-point cushion over second-placed Bahrain, and four over Saudi Arabia, who were beginning to show some form. Indifferent performances against Thailand and Bahrain resulted in a pair of draws though, and with the Saudis registering significant wins against the same opponents, Iran suddenly trailed by two points. The saving grace was that they had a game in hand.
A heroic display in Jeddah against the Saudis earned Iran a 2–2 draw and kept them on course for automatic qualification, but the return game against the Iraqis now took on a completely new dimension and importance. It was make or break, ninety minutes in which Iran’s fate might be decided. A defeat or a draw and the Saudis would be in the driving seat. The game in hand would be wasted and the two-point deficit might not be bridgeable.
Suddenly the level of rhetoric increased. True the Iraqis had lost to the Saudis the previous week and would now only be playing for pride, but most Iranians felt this would make them even more dangerous. The ambivalence of previous weeks turned into a tangible hostility. Iran has no fewer than eight dedicated sports dailies and their polemic tone put into shade anything the tabloids in England have ever been guilty of. No ‘Achtung, For You Ze War Is Over’; instead, ‘Now the War Begins in Earnest’ was the calmest headline any of the papers managed in the days leading up to this crucial match.
The fans were no less reluctant about letting their feelings be known. Masood Zamani, a farmer, had left his land two days prior to the game to come to Tehran and soak up the atmosphere. ‘I have been watching them for a long time. This is the best team we’ve had since the one that went to Argentina [in 1978]. When I watch them I feel proud to be Iranian. It is important for us to be successful, because we need to find a place for ourselves in the world. Most other ways are closed to us.’
Women are not allowed to attend football matches but Saeedeh and Samira Shojaiepour, students from the city of Karaj, just outside Tehran, would be there in spirit. ‘We will pray for a good game and we will pray that the manager makes good choices and most of all we will pray that Iran win and go to the World Cup.’
Again and again I heard how essential Iran reaching the World Cup finals was, how young people loved football so passionately because it allowed them to express feelings about their national identity that in so many other walks of life had become taboo. ‘The older generation do not understand our need to be different from them,’ said Saeedeh and Samira. If we hate the Iraqis it’s only because they can stop us from getting to Japan, not because our parents fought a war against them.’
Miroslav Blazevic, most famous for leading Croatia to third place at France 98 – losing out narrowly to the French themselves in the semi-finals – is the man in charge of Iran. He has an abundance of confidence that goes beyond sheer enthusiasm. It is almost intimidating. He is the master of his own mind, and his tactical awareness is noted in the game. Blazevic has published two books on tactics, but the Iranian press, who for the most part seem to dislike him with a passion equal to his confidence, continually question his tactical awareness. For each game in the campaign Blazevic has changed his formation or tweaked his tactics, and this has given Iran an extra edge.
I meet Blazevic and his ever-present translator Mr Challangar shortly before the match against Iraq. They seem poised and confident about what lies ahead. How has he changed Iran’s psychological attitude? ‘That’s a question I haven’t been asked since I’ve been here,’ he says. ‘They keep asking me about tactics, tactics, tactics, but the attitude of the players has changed completely and that is what I’m most proud of. This team didn’t have the highest morale before, but today I can say that they are a solid outfit. Now when we fall behind, as we did to the Iraqis and the Saudis twice, we never say die. These are new Iranians.
‘I can tell you, that I know the winning formula, without considering the technical merits of a team. I know that stability and unity can bring success, and that this squad is like a family. There are no internal divisions. They will be ready to take on the world.’
The day before the game I catch up with one of Blazevic’s stars, Mehdi Mahdavikia, the 24-year-old German-based Iranian right wing-back, at his mother’s house in Tehran for a meal. ‘First we need three points,’ he says. ‘But I’d be foolish to say I don’t recognise that it has an added significance for the people. With the special circumstances around it, and the sensitivity that people have towards the war, we know there’s a lot at stake, but we’re not going to let that distract us.
‘We only think about the sport. There is no hatred on our part towards the Iraqis. When we visited Iraq, we received a very warm reception from the people. However, we can never forget the unique sacrifice that our martyrs made in the war we had and we honour their memories.
‘We’ll win. But it’s going to be a tough game. We don’t expect any favours, least of all from the Iraqis. They’re going to give everything they have. They have a lot of pride.’
And so, finally, the day of reckoning arrives. As I set out to the Azadi, my mind drifts back to the Saudi Arabia match. Then the crowds had begun to swarm around Iran’s national stadium by 6 a.m. The demand for tickets was tremendous. ‘I must see this game, I have travelled for sixteen hours to be here,’ Masood Sistani from Zahedan had told me.
By 7 a.m. riot police were in evidence, and by 8 a.m. they had delivered the first of a series of routine beatings. The reason for these never became altogether clear, but as I nursed my own police-sponsored bruises, a young fan told me that these security forces were drafted in from the provinces and had a chip on their shoulders about Tehran’s citizens.
For the visit of Iraq though, the pre-match beatings are few and far between. Instead there is a feeling of dark foreboding, a tension that suggests everything is being bottled up for later. At every significant square and junction, the security forces stand at the fringes, a menacing presence and an ill-omen for the rest of the day.
Standing at pitch side and looking up at the faces of the colourful masses, it is impossible not to be taken over by the sheer drama of the occasion. Behind the grease-painted faces of the young there is a desire, a real vehemence that today they will taste victory.
The war is never allowed to be too far from people’s thoughts. Even now, its allegorical symbols are a fixture in Iranian society. So on the day that Iraq visits Iran, when they are once again the enemy, it is obligatory to wheel out the war wounded. As the Iraqis warm up, alone in front of 110,000 Iranians, the home team’s players embrace the veterans and present them with flowers. The reaction of the crowd is mute, the cynicism of the whole ceremony obvious to everyone. For most fans, the only war that really matters is the one that will last for the next ninety minutes.
It is a real cup-tie from the first kick to the last. Iran have all the possession, they make all the running, and they take the risks. The Iraqis play like demons. They are here to be the spoilers. They have no chance of going to the World Cup themselves, but if they can stop Iran, if they can take away Iran’s unbeaten record in qualification, then it will make up for all of that. They are also playing for their futures. When the Iraqis lost to Iran in Baghdad, Saddam Hussein’s son Uday, who runs the Iraqi Football Federation, sacked eight of the team. There is a real fear in the faces of the Iraqis. They dare not lose.
For twenty-seven minutes, they defend with their lives. Then comes the breakthrough. Mahdavikia serenely passes the ball from the right edge of the eighteen-yard box past the despairing Iraqi keeper Saad Jameel. The crowd, merely frenzied up until now, lose all control. They leap as one, and in
