Mehrdad Pooladi: The man from Karaj and his tryst with destiny
The man from Karaj
Drops of perspiration ran down his forehead, momentarily blurring his eyes. He urgently brushed them away, for he could not afford to take his eyes off the opponent in front of him. This man in front of him was of a rather slight build, and was sporting a light blue and white striped shirt and a custom made pair of F50 Adizero boots. He felt the grass parting willingly as he slid in, his boots connecting with the ball, as his umpteenth tackle of that long afternoon ended successfully.
He had been hounding this little man throughout his side of the pitch for the past 90 minutes. There was a small break in play just then as another crunching tackle left a player in a heap on the ground. In that moment of rare peace, his mind suddenly flashed back to memories of a small playground in the small town of Karaj, where he had first kicked a football, and to the images of the immense, imposing Azadi stadium, where he played in the famous red of Persepolis FC against the great club teams of Iran – Esteghlal, Sepahan, Pas Tehran.
The sharp tweet of the referee’s whistle and the words of encouragement from his imperious and inspiring captain, Javad Nekounam was shouting at him brought him crashing back to reality. He reminded himself that this was not Karaj; this was not even the great Azadi stadium; this was the Estádio Mineirão in Belo Horizante. He was in Brazil! He was at the World Cup!
Mehrdad Pooladi, a young man from the tiny town of Karaj, who played his professional football at a club in Tehran and was little known outside his neck of the woods, was now here, playing at the world’s biggest stage for his country, Iran, halfway across the world and in front of him strode the greatest player on the planet.
Five days previously Mehrdad had played the match of his life as he and his stubborn teammates shackled the pure animal power and the considerable footballing skills of Emmanuel Emenike, Ahmed Musa, Peter Odemwingie and Co. Mehrdad and his fellow Iranians had already proved in that game that they were no pushovers as many had predicted; playing out a respectable draw against the Champions of Africa.
A chance at glory
The adversaries that he faced today, however, were nothing like he had ever faced before. This was a team of champions, of game-defining superstars, led by a man widely acknowledged not just as the greatest on the planet currently, but as one of the greatest ever to lace up a pair of football boots.
This was supposed to the little man’s World Cup, his chance at redemption in the eyes of his countrymen, his chance for glory and a shot at joining the pedestal which, till now, had been graced only by Edson Arantes de Nascimento and Diego Armando Maradona.
For 90 minutes, Mehrdad had seen this unassuming man lolling about in his usual casual manner, hands occasionally tugging at the captain’s arm band he wore so proudly, eagle eyes scanning for the minutest opening, the footballing supercomputer that was his brain calculating uncharted paths and unique trajectories to find that killer ball, to find that the most infinitesimal of free spaces. He had not been successful up to now. Mehrdad and his teammates had tackled and strong-armed the great man and his equally illustrious compatriots perfectly throughout, not giving them an inch of breathing space, not let them gain the upper hand.
The final minutes
The referee held up his board. It reads, “3”. Three minutes. Three minutes to the final whistle. Three minutes to achieve the impossible. Three minutes to glory. Just then, Mehrdad saw the little man start off on another one of his dribbles, running at full pelt, the ball moving along in front of him as if an extension of his very feet.
Mehrdad could feel his legs tensing, his muscles stretching and his ligaments screaming as he strained with every fibre of his body to keep up with the man. He felt, rather than saw, a tiny blur of blue and white, whir past him as if he didn’t even exist. He could see the little man gliding past another tackle and he knew exactly what was going to happen. The left foot cocked, feinted and then let fly a guided missile of a shot into the corner of the net. The net that Mehrdad and his teammates had defended so valiantly for ninety minutes.
The net rippled, the stadium exploded and the world applauded at yet another display of the little man’s incomparable genius. He wheeled away in celebration, one step closer to achieving his dream, one step closer to the ultimate triumph. Karaj’s pride Mehrdad Pooladi meanwhile lay face down on the green grass, a broken man. He and his countrymen had played out of their skins to keep the great Argentina at bay; they had gone toe to toe with La Albiceleste and had almost come out on top. So close to glory, yet so far.
They say history and life acknowledge only the victors, the losers forgotten by one and all. They say victory is all that matters. “They” could not be more wrong. For, back in Tehran and in the small town of Karaj, Mehrdad Pooladi is a hero. Even if that fades away one day, a distant memory of long forgotten times, as Mehrdad recedes into anonymity in the annals of history, he can always pick his grandchildren up, seat them on his knee and tell them the story of that fateful day in Brazil when he and his teammates battled for ninety minutes as equals against the greats of the game, matching them shot for shot, tackle for tackle and almost managed to pull off the unimaginable. He can always tell them of the day, when he had almost kept the transcendent genius that is Lionel Andrés Messi in his back-pocket, quietly shackled away.
The day it took a moment of the highest class, of the most un-defendable, purest magic from the world’s greatest player to defeat him.
Epilogue
Iran went on to rue the missed chances of Ashton Dejagah and Reza “Gucci” Ghoochannejad as Lionel Messi’s last minute stunner sealed victory for a below-par Argentina. The broken Iranians were then ripped apart by a rather brilliant Bosnia, as they lost their final match 3-1 and exited the tournament with just a solitary point to show for their efforts.
Mehrdad Pooladi was voted as one of the top 30 players of the Group Stages of the 2014 World Cup.
The man from Karaj had made his mark on the world’s grandest stage.