by Mani Djazmi, freelance radio reporter, 26 July 2005

November 1998: Iran’s football team comes away from Australia with the most outrageous 2-2 draw imaginable; we should have been caned. The result is enough to qualify us for the World Cup, sparking off wild celebrations all over Iran.

Sitting in my living room in Cambridge, watching the scenes on the BBC, CNN, Eurosport and every other broadcaster fascinated by such a rare and intense public outpouring of joy in the Islamic Republic, I think: ‘I have to be there the next time this happens.’

October 2001: Iran goes to tiny Bahrain needing just a draw to reach the 2002 World Cup. Amid rumours of match fixing and bribery, we lose 3-1 and must go through more nail-biting play-offs, eventually losing out to the Republic of Ireland. After their victory, Bahrain’s players did a lap of honour waving the Saudi Arabia flag (Iran’s defeat handed the automatic qualifying spot to the Saudis). A poor student, I watch helplessly from thousands of miles away.

Win over North Korea

June 2005: Iran has two back-to-back home qualifiers, and needs four points to reach Germany 2006. Following a soporific 1-0 win over North Korea, we need just a draw to qualify from the second game against, yes, you’ve guessed it, those cheeky chaps from Bahrain.

As a reporter, it was my job to exert self-control and record the atmosphere and soundtrack of Tehran’s massive Azadi stadium and not join in as a fan. And what a soundtrack: while the stadium’s playlist oscillated between 10-year-old Euro techno and Iran’s most patriotic songs, four huge drums periodically boomed into life. Intermingled with that was the faint sound of the first female fans officially let into a football match in Iran for 26 years.

Another 1-0 win was followed by laps of honour, fireworks and a breathless stadium announcer making sure we all knew he was there. The scenes outside the stadium, though, were something else. Anyone with a car was out, beeping the horn.

Girls throw off headscarves

They also took advantage of the principle of ‘safety in numbers’ to wind down their windows and blast out Eminem, techno and Iranian dance music. On the pavement, people clapped, sang and threw flags through open car windows.

Girls threw off their headscarves and danced with boys, who were probably wishing Iran qualified for the World Cup every week. An increasingly morose population in recent years was showing the world that it can party with the best of them.

I sat back in my friend’s car and thought to myself: ‘My team’s going to the World Cup.’ At the same time, my dad called me from Britain to say congratulations but all I could do was blubber.

It took three hours to drive a route that normally takes 20 minutes. Iran had reached their third World Cup and I was finally in the midst of what I always knew would be the best night of my life.

Mani Djazmi’s report was broadcast on World Service’s World Football programme

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