 The game
... that opened the door
By Ali Ardeshir Jowza
October 17, 2003
The Iranian
I had some time before I had to begin cramming
for midterms, so I decided to look at and read some of my undergrad
papers
I had written, just to see how far I had come in my writing style.
I I came across this paper I had written in my freshman
year of college. After reading it again, it brought back
sweet memories, and the message I tried to relay in that paper
still resonates strongly. Thus, I thought to myself
that you the readers would enjoy reliving that moment
as much as I did.
To better understand my story, one needs a brief
history on my ethnic group's history, relating to immigration into the
United States and various European nations. Due to the 1979
Islamic Revolution in Iran, which overthrew a "western" monarchy,
many Iranians fled to European countries and to the United States. Some
left Iran to flee persecution, some left because everyday freedoms
that people take for granted, such as, wearing what you want,
freedom of press, speech, etc., were now gone.
Whatever
their grievances with the dictatorial, fascist, theocracy of
the Islamic Republic of Iran, millions of Iranians of different
political, religious, and social convictions immigrating to various
European nations like; Germany, France, and England, while others
fled to the United States in areas like; Los Angeles, New York,
Washington DC, San Francisco, etc. For my family, because
of the revolution, and my dad being linked to the monarchy, we
fled Iran. In 1984, to avoid persecution and injustice,
we arrived in San Francisco, and have lived in the Bay Area in
a small town called Millbrae for nineteen years now.
Iranians
living abroad have always looked back to their homeland and yonder
for the time that we may be able to return to a free land. We
as a community always cling to whatever stories we hear of our
homeland, and rejoice in any accomplishments we make. What
had been lacking until the event I'll describe is, we weren't
able to celebrate as a whole with Iranians abroad and in Iran.
Eighteen years later, on December 16th, 1997 is
where my story comes into play. The time was one in the morning, my father
and I left our home in Millbrae said goodbye to my mother and
sister, and headed to a sports restaurant/pub to watch a World
Cup qualifying soccer game between Iran and Australia. My
mother and older sister of three years were too nervous to watch
the game, so they left it up to my dad and I to go watch the
game, and bring back good news. If Iran could manage to
get a tie or beat Australia in Melbourne, then after twenty years
our soccer team could re-emerge to show itself as a soccer power
in Asia and a world contender. Not only that, but our Iranian
national team could once again enter the biggest sporting event
in the world.
Finally after an hour drive, my father and
I arrived at our destination, Britannia Arms Pub, it
was called. The morning was unusually chilly for Cupertino,
so chilly in fact that I ran back to the car to grab my sweater. To
our astonishment, about two thousand Iranians had filled the
parking lot of the pub. All were waiting their place in
line to be let in. My father and I were about the last ones
in the tail end of the line so we thought, but as time went on
more people arrived so that we were now in the middle of the
line.
The doors of the pub had not yet opened, and wouldn't
open until three thirty in the morning. Anxiety and nervousness
resounded in my body. I had spent three months following
Iran's qualifying campaign and now what stood between Iran
and the World Cup to be held in France in the summer of 1998,
was this last game between Australia. I quickly found out
that I was not the only one anxious, but that every last woman,
man, and child had an anxious and nervous expression all over
their face. I started to chat with fellow Iranians all around
me, some were very nervous like I, others exuberated confidence
that we would qualify easily, while others still were not sure
what was going to happen.
Finally the doors opened and after twenty minutes,
my father and I were inside the sports pub. The place was already
packed when we got in, for the capacity of the pub was only for
five hundred people. The manager of the pub however managed
to squeeze a thousand in, because he allowed us to stand or sit
on the tables as well. My father and I managed to get a
seat on a table. The other two thousand who were outside
too could see the games, because the manager faced the big screen
televisions a little towards the window so that the people outside
could see. Not only that, but people had brought radios
with them to listen to it as well.
At last settled in, another ten minutes was left
before the starting whistle would blow. Chants of "IRAN,
IRAN" already resounded loudly and exuberantly throughout the
pub inside and
out. To pump up the people, one group would chant, "Iran
Chikaresh Mekoneh?" (roughly translating into, ‘What
is Iran going to do?" ), and others loudly would chant
back, "Sorakh, Sorakhese Mekoneh!" (roughly translating
into , "demolish, demolish, the opponent". ) Even
before the start of the match, I could already notice that soon
I would lose my voice with all the chanting and singing I was
doing. My father, too anxious to sing, was sitting quietly
waiting for the start.
Bang! The starting whistle blew, and with
that my heart raced even faster. To my amazement, Iran from the get go was being
totally dominated by Australia in Melbourne, whereas last week
in Tehran, Iran had been the dominant one, with Australia lucky
to come away with a one to one draw. Twenty minutes passed
and Iran was still being man-handled. Luckily, because of
our great goalkeeper, the score was still even at zero.
Eventually
in the thirty-eighth minute the Australians scored. The
pub was dead silent. Heads dropped, and the chanting and
singing stopped. The silence was frighteningly calm. I
wondered to myself if this spelled the end of Iran's run. Would
three months of hard work by our National team be crushed? With
that, the first forty-five minutes ended, and the first half
came to a halt. With some time to cool off, the singing
and chanting once again reached an uproar, signifying that we
were confident that our team would come back like it had in previous
matches. I too still had confidence in me, but I hoped for
the best, and thought of the worst.
Not again? The second half started like the first, with
Iran being totally outshined. Before we could settle down,
the Australians in the fifth minute of the second half scored
a goal. The score now was two to nothing, and with the way
our team was playing, all hope had escaped me. I sat down,
dazed and sad. I couldn't even watch. My father
likewise it seemed had given up hope. He left the pub and
went to the car to wait it out, for he was too devastated to
watch our team crumble like that. Several times I thought
of leaving too, but something held me back, and I was compelled
to stay until the very end.
With roughly twenty minutes to go, our team at
last started to dominate and was poised to strike. GOOOOALLL!!! In the thirty
second minute with about fifteen minutes to go, Iran had scored. The
sound inside and out of the pub was deafening. We were alive
again. This goal literally, "shook" the pub,
and the various chants were now turned into a deafening pitch. The
pub was alive again. I was still nervous, and believed that
although we had scored, with less than 15 minutes too, it was
too late for Iran to tie it. But, before we knew it, GOOOOAAAAALLLLLL!!!!!!!
Five minutes later, Iran scored again to draw even. This
goal sent all of us into a frenzy. I was guessing that the
sound in and around the pub must have been so loud that we could
be heard miles away. All of us inside and out were jumping
and dancing. I was on top of a table, jumping up and down,
hugging people all around me, and yelling my lungs off. It
seemed to me, that the pub was actually rocking with us.
My
father had re-entered the pub, and the owners of the pub(an English
couple) were hugging and rejoicing with my dad and the rest of
the Iranians. It seemed they too had been overcome with
the emotion we Iranians were generating for our beloved nation. Now
we had to wait, with what seemed to last an eternity, 5 minutes,
plus and excruciating 8 minutes of extra time that the Hungarian
referee had added. I remember the whole pub was tense, we
were cursing at the referee for all that extra time he had added,
our hearts all had stopped, as Australia came with wave after
wave of attacks. When it would end, only God knew. Bang! The final whistle blew. Iran now qualified for the
World Cup, joining thirty one other nations around the world. Inside
and outside the pub, old men and women were crying tears of joy,
children were laughing, and everywhere around me singing, hugging,
and rejoicing was going on. On that day, I must have hugged
hundreds of strangers, and slapped five's to hundreds more. After
twenty minutes of rejoicing with others, I finally left the pub,
to go outside. I noticed that my dad had been told of the
news(he had left the pub once again, because he couldn't
take the pressure), and a happy glow was about him, it seemed
a weight of anxiousness had been lifted out of him, as well as
many others.
My father, it seemed, had finally been re-united
with the Iran he knew, adored, and had spent all his life serving,
an Iran he had left in tears. Driving back home, my father
and I(my voice was almost gone) talked with enthusiasm about
what just happened, and the joy we felt with thousands of others
inside the pub, and with millions of other Iranians around the
world. Finally after twenty years, something good resounded
out of Iran that all Iranians could rejoice in. I will remember
that day always, for it brought me closer to my people and linked
me, as well as millions of others, back home to our motherland
of Iran. Reading this story, one can tell that it was a
huge event not just for me, but for the whole Iranian community
living in exile,
as it was for Iranians back home. Every time I tell this
story to a non-Iranian or even an Iranian, the story gets a bigger
significance then I first thought it had. First off, it was significant
in terms of exiles such as myself because it allowed us to once
again have faith in our country. Prior to this game, I always
felt, and believe that most other Iranians living outside of
Iran felt that because of this tyrannical regime, we could find
nothing to cheer for in terms of Iran.
It also connected
us all in a sense, that whatever religious, or political convictions
we held, we all came together for one cause, the cause of cheering
for our national team and hoping that after twenty years we can
once again be in the world eyes, because as the biggest sporting
even in the world ( although in the U.S. it's strangely
unknown ) Iran was once again portrayed in a spirited, and kindly
fashion. It was the first time in twenty years that all
Iranians became a whole hearted community again, and soccer was
the uniting tool. It was able to band Iranians in exile
with Iranians in Iran, for we all felt the extreme joy.
For the younger generation who like myself briefly
lived in Iran, it re-introduced us to our homeland, the land
of great Kings,
poets, nobles, historians; the land of Cyrus the Great, Ferdowsi,
Hafez, Avicenna, Omar Khayem, Rumi..., it would take millions
of pages to list the greats of Iran. For the older generation,
like my parents, who spent most of their lives in Iran, this
game was important because, it brought back wonderful memories
of their life in Iran, the great land of Aryans. It installed
in them a hope that one day they could go back to the country
they left in anguish and force. It appeared that this dictatorial,
anti-Iranian regime was slowly losing its grip on the people,
and that soon many more celebrations and parties, and sheer joy
were still to come.
In terms of me, this soccer game once more awakened
my thoughts for my native country. After spending fifteen
years of my life in the U.S., I had lost all hope with my country. I
could find nothing positive about Iran, and really didn't
want to associate with Iranians in Iran, since (although I felt
it wasn't the people's fault for living under an
oppressed government ), me associating with Iran meant that I
supported the regime. I yearned for a day that I might come
together with my fellow country men and women to celebrate something,
instead of grieving and anguishing over an oppressive government.
This
football game let me realize that the Iranian people in Iran
were struggling against all odds to achieve success in the world,
and it was the exiles privilege to cheer them on. Not only
that, but this game also showed to me that, one must not give
up hope on Iran. Indeed my aspiration towards helping heal
Iran is greater now then it has ever been.
Seeing how the
people in Iran "partied" for three days in Iran,
without the usually brutal government ( which does not allow
people to celebrate and party openly for non-religious events
) not being able to suppress it, because they were outnumbered,
revitalized my hopes that Iran will improve, and soon a new government
will be installed in which democracy shall prevail.
Ironically,
this game made me want to be an International Relations major,
so as after achieving my degree I can go help my native land
in acquiring the best possible government it can. I wanted
to acquire knowledge of the world, and its governments, to try
to help implement or give advice on how a new government should
be, and the International Relations degree is the way in which
one can go about doing that. This beautiful story is most likely echoed throughout
the Iranian communities all over the world, for millions experienced
what
I did that day. It will never be forgotten because, it re-introduced
to us that Iran still has hope, and that the future holds many
bright things for our nation. Although some see it as a
football match, I see it as the door that will enable many more
great opportunities for Iran as a nation, and eventually this
event will be seen as one of many that will lead eventually to
the downfall of the Islamic Republic.
I will forever cherish
that day. It's been about six years now and indeed
that soccer game was the door of opportunity, because slowly
Iran is changing for the better once again. Rediscovery,
hope, joy, and unity, are but a few words which come to mind
when I think of that glorious day that my Iran was re-introduced
to the world. Author
Ali Ardeshir Jowza is a graduate student
at the American University in Washington, DC, pursuing a
Masters in International
Service (Comparative and
Regional Studies-Middle East and Central
Asia) and is a
Research Analyst at National Institute for Public Policy.
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