World Cup From the stadium to the bar stool, watch for our ongoing reports T A B L E_T A L K What's the best way to get to Cuba? Weigh in on visiting Fidel's country in the Wanderlust area of Table Talk R E C E N T L Y Embraced in Spain By Barry Yeoman A gay traveler confronts his demons in Cádiz (06/23/98) Ignorants abroad By Rolf Potts Mistaking "breasts" for "prayers" -- and other adventures in language learning (06/22/98) Blinded in the desert By Andrew Bill Hospitality and hostility become blurred for a traveler stranded among Bedouins at the desolate tip of the Sinai (06/19/98) The Cup runneth over By Ethan Zindler At the World Cup, Scottish fans bare their behinds and French fans bare their prejudices (06/18/98) Mondo Weirdo A different kind of resort in Sri Lanka A reader discovers that an off-the-beaten-track resort offers a little less than it promises (06/17/98) Browse the Wanderlust Postmark archives		USA VS. IRAN (VS. IRAN) | PAGE 1, 2 - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - As thousands walk toward the stadium entrance, the feeling is electric, as if we all know something extraordinary is going to happen. After an extensive security check during which all bodies are frisked and all bags are carefully searched, we make our way to our seats. Mine is in Escalier D, directly behind the Iran goal. Already, the noise level is simply astonishing. There are 20 minutes to kickoff and I cannot hear what a fan directly next to me says, even when he yells. Keep in mind that this is an open stadium. There is no roof for the noise to bounce off as in, say, Madison Square Garden or the Kingdome. Drums bang away, whistles are blaring. Some guy's got a pair of 20-inch cymbals that he continually bashes together. Fans are standing on their seats, yelling at the top of their lungs. It's complete bedlam. A distant cry of "USA, USA," is barely audible. The vast majority of the fans are here to support Iran in one way or another, but the factions within that group are hard to disentangle. The largest seems to consist of supporters of the Mujahadeen, an army of rebels that opposes the current Iranian government. I say "seems" because it is hard to distinguish these folks from those who simply hate the government but don't necessarily support the Mujahadeen. Those Mujahadeen supporters dominate my section of the stands and the sections to the right as well. Many are wearing T-shirts with pictures of leaders Maryam and Mashood Rajavi surrounded by fluorescent green or orange, designed for maximum televisibility. Old women with cloaks over their heads, children, men, everyone wears these shirts and they are screaming, really screaming, "I-ran! Ra-ja-vi! I-ran! Ra-ja-vi!" This is a massive political protest. It just happens to be taking place at a soccer game. As the band plays Iran's national anthem, my section sings a different Persian nationalist song, again with all their strength. The result is a cacophony of disjointed tunes. Moments before kickoff a large pink balloon floats ever so gently off the balcony above toward the playing field. From it hangs a banner with a picture of Maryam Rajavi. The Iranian players have just completed their warm-ups and are heading into a pregame huddle as the balloon drifts by, no more than 10 yards away. Those around me go absolutely berserk. The referee walks over, grabs this ingenious political statement and removes it from the field. Finally, at long last, the game gets under way. The Americans dominate early but it is of no matter to the masses. The extraordinary din continues at the same volume, regardless of the action on the field. Unlike at any normal sporting event, the crowd noise never lulls, not for one instant. Near me, a man holds a red, white and green flag much like the official flag of Iran -- except there is a lion on the white middle stripe. "This is Iran before ayatollah. They took this flag and put that crap on it," he says, pointing to the Islamic symbol on the official flag. He says he paid 800 pounds for his ticket to some scalper in London. He says there's an army of 30,000 Mujahadeen troops massed on the border of Iran waiting to invade. He says he's here to show solidarity with them. What is striking about the general mayhem is that it seems to lack any specific anti-American sentiment. No "Down with the Great Satan" signs anywhere. No anti-USA chants. Iranian fans are even relatively polite during the playing of the "Star-Spangled Banner." As many tell me, they are here first and foremost to support their team, the representatives of their nation. About 35 minutes into the first half, the Iranians score the first goal of the game. The stadium explodes. All around me people hug, kiss, dance, weep. It is a miracle, a moment of indescribable national pride. Now if they can just hold that lead. During halftime, supporters turn their attention from the action on the field to each other. From the balcony above us hangs a banner supporting the current regime. Those on my terrace turn their backs to the field and chant up at them, "Down with Khatami! Down with Khatami!" for a full 15 minutes until the game restarts. FIFA, the international soccer body that runs the World Cup, forbids overt political statements at Cup matches (a truly absurd rule). Throughout the first half supporters in Escalier D raised aloft large fluorescent banners that read, "Down with Khatami" only to have security personnel confiscate them. In the second half, they wise up. When stadium guards come to one end of the section, a banner is balled up and tossed from fan to fan safely out of reach, then unfurled again. Upping the ante, the stadium calls in what appears to be a SWAT team of French national police. Each wears all black, including intimidating combat boots, and carries a crowd control billy club. These young toughs wrestle the banners out of the hands of old Muslim women, even children. A good deal of scuffling is involved as fans try to stop them. During one excellent scoring chance for Iran, supporters are distracted by a commotion in the section adjacent to us. A fan is landing a solid right hand to someone's head as the SWAT team descends. He is quickly pinned down and removed by security. Buried deep within the mayhem of Escalier D are Eric Mason of New York and Andrea North of Dallas, the lone red, white and blue supporters in a sea of red, white and green. They seem rather shaken but not scared enough to leave their seats. "It's pretty cool. It's history-making. I'm standing in a bunch of Iranians," Andrea says. With about 15 minutes to go, the Iranians score again to go up 2-0. There is now no doubt Iran will win and the stadium reaches a new, previously unimagined, fever pitch. In the midst of it all I snap two pictures of two Muslim women dressed in conservative religious wear as they embrace in joy. When traveling in Middle Eastern countries, it is extremely inconsiderate to photograph a woman wearing a chador without securing permission. But women who were similarly dressed and were taking part in the Rajavi protest had encouraged me to shoot away. It suddenly becomes apparent that these two are not a part of that faction of supporters. One of them is pushing me, screaming, "Pourquoi? Pourquoi! Pourquoi!!" A security guard has seen what happens and he too starts yelling at me in French, demanding to see some ID, shoving me. I have no official press credential and my ticket was bought scalped. To avoid getting kicked out of the game (or perhaps something worse), I open the camera, rip out the film and hand it to the woman. That seems to calm things enough for me to apologize and make a quick escape. A few minutes later I realize that during the commotion my pen got jabbed fairly deeply into my hand. I'm sitting amid thousands of insane Iranian soccer fans licking blood off my fingers. With five minutes left, 100 SWAT team members walk onto the playing pitch behind the goal line and stand facing our section as if to say, "Don't even think about storming the field." The game ends and the Iranian players come running over to Escalier D, jumping for joy. The mutual admiration is clear and doesn't last long. After only two minutes, the coach leads the players away from the stands back to the dressing room, perhaps concerned about their exposure to seditious elements. The fans roll out of the stadium, dancing for joy. But the hostility between factions is still apparent. One man kisses his official team jersey and swears at the Mujahadeen supporters for ruining the match with their political protest. His friends drag him away. It makes you wonder what might have happened had the team suffered a humiliating loss. Outside the stadium, I catch up with Patrice and Mike McGinnis, two very disappointed-looking American fans. What did they think of the chaos in the stands? "I was afraid," Patrice confesses. "I didn't want to be a victim. We're here on vacation." They had asked security guards to move them to different seats. No doubt about it, the atmosphere within the stadium tonight was electric and definitely on edge. But although there was plenty of hostility among Iranians themselves and between Iran supporters and the police, there seemed to be little aimed at the USA. Perhaps that's because our team played so badly -- who knows? Whatever the case, many of these folks seem openly to embrace American culture. Amid the chaos of the postgame street party, one Iran fan approaches me. After making eating gestures, he asks in very broken English, "Where is McDonald?" I have no idea. SALON | June 24, 1998 Ethan Zindler is writing about the World Cup for Wanderlust.