So it has come to this. The Islamic Republic of Iran, having secured its place in the World Cup for the first time in two decades, now finds itself locked out of the United States by the very nation that is supposed to host the tournament. Tehran’s immediate response: accusations of diplomatic blackmail.
And who can blame them? The timing is exquisite, almost farcical. We are witnessing a collision of two worlds: the ancient obsession with sport and the modern obsession with denial.
This is not merely a bureaucratic hiccup. This is a statement. A gesture of contempt dressed up in the language of immigration law.
The United States, in its infinite wisdom, has decided that the Iranian national team and its supporters are now persona non grata. Why? Because Iran is hostile?
Because it sponsors terrorism? Because it destabilises the Middle East? Yes, all of that.
But also because the US has forgotten what the World Cup actually signifies. It is a moment when nations, however hostile, put aside their grievances and embrace the beautiful game. The ancient Greeks did it with the Olympic truce.
The British did it with Christmas Day football in the trenches. Now, America does the opposite. It reminds us that we are living in an age of pettiness.
This is not the end of civilisation, but it is a symptom of a deeper malady: the loss of any sense of shared humanity. The World Cup is about transcendence. The US policy on Iran is about immanence.
It is about the here and now, the grubby details of power and punishment. And yet, predictably, the predictable voices will call this a victory for American toughness. But what is toughness?
Is it denying a football team entry to a tournament? Is it humiliating athletes who have trained for years? That is not toughness.
That is the bullying of the small by the mighty. It is the sort of thing we used to associate with decrepit empires. Rome did similar things in its decline.
It shut out barbarians, only to be overrun by them. The irony is rich: by blocking Iran, the US is ensuring that the World Cup will be a diminished spectacle. This is not a diplomatic masterstroke.
It is a tantrum. And we will all watch the fallout with a mixture of horror and amusement. The football will go on, as it always does.
But the stain on the tournament will remain. The question is: what does this achieve? It achieves nothing.
It is pure theatre. And it is theatre of the absurd. So let us enjoy the show, even as we mourn the loss of what the World Cup could have been.
Once more, we see that the past is not dead. It is not even past.
