The passion that this has generated means football personalities in Iran are bigger than pop stars elsewhere. Ali Daei, the national team captain is a UNICEF ambassador like Geri Halliwell. ‘Daei is a legend to us; he has achieved what every Iranian dreams of, he has accomplished success abroad [with Bayern Munich and Hertha Berlin in the Bundesliga], and he represents his country with pride,’ says Mohammad Heydari, 15, from Tehransar.
Reaching the World Cup finals in 1998 meant that Iran came into contact not only with host nation France, but with the rest of the world. Much more than the chance to score a political point by beating the USA (or rather ‘The Great Satan’), this was an opportunity, and one which the nation and national team grabbed with both hands.
Qualifying for Korea and Japan in 2002 and renewing those tentative contacts with the outside world quickly became an obsession for Iranians. ‘Iran must go to the World Cup, it is necessary; no one can imagine anything else,’ Dariush Kabiri told me in the days leading up to the first qualifier against Saudi Arabia, a game that would give me my first taste of football in Iran.
Walking away from the stadium after that match, I felt a glow of satisfaction I had never felt anywhere else. It was strange, because the Azadi is not a glorious venue, but there was something there. It wasn’t the huge crowd – officially 100,000, but probably closer to 115,000 with all the standing tickets that are illegally sold at the turnstiles – or the propaganda slogans that are plastered between the upper and lower tiers. I just felt proud of ‘our’ boys, and their 2–0 win over a team they had not beaten for five years. Suddenly I, like so many other football fans before, had become absorbed into the throng.
Dreaming in that schoolboy kind of way, about all the possible permutations involved, the one name that kept cropping up was Iraq. Iraq, our most bitter rivals, Iraq the perennial party poopers, Iraq our foe. What surprised me was how laid back most Iranians were about the Iraqis. I thought I’d hear frenzied bouts of expletives and censure. Instead, to a man and woman I heard that ‘the war is the past’, that ‘the Iraqis aren’t so bad’, and that ‘it is only a game after all’. Still, they didn’t hide the fact that beating the Iraqis would be sweeter than beating most other opponents.
Iraq is an Arab country. Iraqis speak Arabic, a language with its roots in Hebrew. Iranians are not Arabs and most do not want to be. Their language is Farsi, derived from northern India over 7,000 years ago. Now, though, twenty-two years after the Shah was overthrown, many Iranians again fear that their national identity is being eroded. This time the threat comes not from the west, but from the Arabisation of Iran favoured by its religious leaders.
Those leaders have become increasingly aware of the strength of feeling the country’s football team generates. When Iran visited Iraq to play the first of the two World Cup qualifiers between the countries, the Islamic Republic of Iran saw an opportunity. These are heroes representing Islam, they wanted to say, figureheads not for Iran, but for Islam.
Because, ironically, the most significant shrines to Shia Muslim (the dominant religion in Iran) are in Iraq, the Iranian national team were sent to visit them – and state TV barely stopped showing the footage. So far as the regime in Tehran was concerned, football was 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