We are there for them, to obtain the best results for their joy
In the shadow of an unprecedented geopolitical rupture, Iran's national football team prepares in Turkey and Mexico to compete in a World Cup hosted by the very nation their country is at war with. These athletes occupy a rare and painful threshold — between the universal language of sport and the irreducible weight of history — carrying not just a ball, but the fragile hopes of a people living through conflict. Their journey to Los Angeles is not merely logistical; it is a meditation on what it means to represent a nation when the nation itself is fractured.
- Iran's players train under the psychological strain of monitoring war news from home while attempting to mentally prepare for the world's largest football tournament.
- Visa delays forced the team to abandon their planned Arizona base, relocating to Tijuana and compressing their entry into the United States to a single day before their opening match.
- Young players like 24-year-old Mohammad Ghorbani carry the explicit burden of delivering joy to a population enduring wartime hardship, transforming each match into an act of national solidarity.
- Los Angeles — home to one of the world's largest Iranian diaspora communities — will fill the stadium with a complex, politically charged support that amplifies both hope and pressure.
- Veterans like Ezatolahi navigate the tension publicly, framing their participation not as political endorsement but as proof that Iranians can rise to any challenge the world presents.
The Iranian national team arrived in Antalya, Turkey, in early June carrying a burden no squad had shouldered before: preparing for a World Cup hosted by a country their nation was actively at war with. The weight of that reality permeated every training session and every conversation held far from home.
Midfielder Saeid Ezatolahi, a 29-year-old veteran of two previous World Cups, spoke with measured honesty about the psychological toll. He acknowledged that following the news from Iran — the political developments, the ongoing conflict — inevitably affected the morale of players and people alike, even for those practiced in compartmentalizing.
The team's logistical path reflected the broader friction. Visa processing delays forced them to abandon a planned training base in Tucson, Arizona, relocating instead to Tijuana, Mexico. They would cross into the United States only on June 14th — one day before their opening match against New Zealand at the Los Angeles Rams stadium in Inglewood.
For 24-year-old Mohammad Ghorbani, preparing for his first World Cup, the stakes were explicitly human. He spoke of knowing that his people had endured tremendous hardship during the war, and of the responsibility to deliver results that could bring them some measure of joy — a reminder that these men were representing not a government, but a nation in pain.
Los Angeles added yet another layer of complexity. The city holds one of the world's largest Iranian diaspora communities, many of them estranged from the government back home. Ezatolahi welcomed their presence while acknowledging the pressure it would bring — expressing a hope not merely to win, but to show the world that Iranians are capable of meeting any challenge. It was a statement that reached far beyond football.
The Iranian national team arrived in Antalya, Turkey, in early June to prepare for a World Cup that would unfold across the United States, Mexico, and Canada. But they were arriving under circumstances no team had faced before: their country was at war with the primary host nation. The weight of that fact hung over every training session, every conversation, every moment spent away from home.
During exclusive interviews with the Associated Press at the team's Turkish training base, two Iranian players laid bare what it felt like to chase a dream while your country burned. Saeid Ezatolahi, a 29-year-old midfielder who had already played in two World Cups, spoke with the careful honesty of someone who had learned to compartmentalize. "For me and some other players, it may be easier to handle this," he said in English, standing at the edge of a Wednesday training pitch. "But at the end of the day, it will be difficult for us because we are following the news from our country. Political issues, of course, can affect the psychology of the players and the people."
The team had spent more than two weeks in Turkey, training primarily in the coastal resort town of Antalya while some players made the journey inland to Ankara to apply for American visas at the embassy. The Iranian Football Federation had kept media access tight—international journalists rarely got close to the squad. But the logistical obstacles were real and visible. Visa delays had forced a dramatic change of plans: the team's original training base in Tucson, Arizona, had been abandoned. They would now prepare in Tijuana, just across the border from California, before entering the United States only on June 14th, a single day before their opening match against New Zealand at the Los Angeles Rams stadium in Inglewood.
Mohammad Ghorbani, 24 years old and preparing for his first World Cup, spoke in Farsi about the peculiar burden of being a footballer in wartime. "It is true that we are facing special circumstances now, but we are football players and we have to play, train, and prepare for the competitions ahead," he said. "On the other hand, we know that our people have passed through many difficulties during the war, and we are there for them, to obtain the best results for their joy and the joy of the people of our country." The words carried the weight of representation—these men were not just playing for themselves or even for their federation, but for a nation enduring conflict.
The choice of Los Angeles for Iran's first two matches carried its own complicated resonance. The city holds one of the largest Iranian diaspora communities in the world, many of them deeply opposed to the current government back home. Ezatolahi acknowledged the pressure this would create. "We certainly hope to have many supporters during our games in the stadium," he said. "And that will generate a lot of pressure for us, because the expectation will be high. I just hope we can make them proud and show that Iranians are prepared for any challenge in the world." It was a statement that transcended sport—a plea to be seen not as representatives of a regime, but as athletes carrying the hopes of a fractured people.
Notable Quotes
Political issues can affect the psychology of the players and the people. At the end of the day, it will be difficult for us.— Saeid Ezatolahi, Iranian midfielder
We know that our people have passed through many difficulties during the war, and we are there for them, to obtain the best results for their joy.— Mohammad Ghorbani, Iranian forward
The Hearth Conversation Another angle on the story
What does it actually feel like to train for the biggest tournament of your life while your country is at war with one of the hosts?
You're living in two worlds at once. You wake up, you train, you focus on tactics and fitness. But then you check your phone and there's news from home—political developments, the conflict—and it pulls your mind away. The psychological weight is constant.
Ezatolahi said it might be easier for him because he's done this before. Does experience really help?
It helps you manage it, maybe. You've learned coping mechanisms. But it doesn't make it easier—it just means you know how to function while carrying the weight. The younger players, like Ghorbani, they're experiencing this for the first time, and they're trying to frame it as duty, as playing for their people.
Why does it matter that they're playing in Los Angeles specifically?
Because Los Angeles has hundreds of thousands of Iranians, many of them diaspora who oppose the government. So the players will see their own people in the stands—but people who are also politically divided from the regime they represent. It's not simple support. It's complicated, layered, full of tension.
The team had to move their training base from Arizona to Mexico. What does that tell us?
It tells you the visa situation was serious enough to upend months of planning. They couldn't even enter the country until the day before their first match. That's not just logistical friction—it's a constant reminder that geopolitics is intruding on sport.
Do you think they can compartmentalize enough to play well?
That's the question nobody can answer. They're professional athletes, so yes, they'll try. But the mind doesn't work in clean compartments. Everything bleeds into everything else.