From the stands of the World Cup, where the national anthem is drowned out by the sound of falafel hitting a goalkeeper’s head. Iranian-Americans, having shelled out four grand for a ticket and a kidney for the flight, have decided to protest the Islamic Republic’s team in a display of truly democratic public relations. The chants of 'Freedom for Iran' were in perfect harmony with the rhythmic thwack of chickpea-based projectiles.
Meanwhile, in a move of breathtaking bureaucratic tedium, the UK has tightened sanctions on Tehran, now banning the export of luxury goods including caviar, Persian rugs, and apparently, common sense. The Treasury, in a statement so dry it could cure a hangover, announced that these measures target 'those who profit from the oppression of the Iranian people.' So no more shipments of Rolexes to the Revolutionary Guard, then.
The irony is so thick you could spread it on naan. But while the sanctions aim for the jugular of the regime’s economy, the protesters in Qatar have found a more immediate target: the shins of the national team. The players, trained in the art of elegant passes, were clearly unprepared for the savagery of a fan with a grudge and a snack.
One protester, waving a sign that read 'My uncle was executed for laughing at a cleric,' threw a felafel with such force it could have knocked the turban off the Supreme Leader himself. The police, looking confused, arrested the wrong man. Again.
The UK’s foreign secretary, looking pleased as a cat with a bowl of cream and a dead canary, stated that 'these sanctions send a clear message that the UK will not tolerate human rights abuses.' Yes, because what Iran’s regime truly fears is a shortage of Swiss chocolate and a surplus of moral outrage. The crowd in Doha, a mix of expats, diplomats, and people who got lost looking for the bathroom, watched as the protesters were dragged away, still shouting about the price of pistachios back home.
And the game? Iran lost. Again.
But in the great cosmic joke of geopolitics, the real loser is anyone hoping for a saner world. So raise a glass of contraband Johnnie Walker Blue Label to the Iranian-American protester, the UK sanctions drafter, and the World Cup ball that got pelted with hummus. The scoreboard is silent, but the great scorekeeper of history is laughing into his gin and tonic.
