I didn't have any expectation with regards to the score line before the Iran - Argentina game started.
In fact I had predicted a 2-0 loss in the prediction table. If you had told me ''would you be happy if Iran lost by 1-0?'' before the game, I'd have happily agreed readily.
By the end of first half, I was actually happy to have lasted a whole half without conceding (especially after those 2, 3 headers they had that came quite close).
By minute 60, I was slowly feeling something new. I was extremely happy we had held tight and now, were actually sniffing things up and creating dangers with our well crafted counters. Could we hold them for another 30 min? Or more pertinent, do I actually dare think about scoring a goal even? It sure wasn't that distant a dream it was before the WC or even an hour back.
By Minute 75 I was actually delirious. As much as holding our own against one of the best teams in the world, but also for the fact that our scoring a goal had become a very real and possible reality.
Minute 85, with dissipation of our attacks, I gave up on us scoring and actually started to count the seconds for a well deserved draw. Was at the edge of my seat and everything else around me was a blur and haze.
But at the same time, it was surreal. Any moment, I expected to open my eyes and either find that I was sleeping. Or that only 10-15 minutes of the game has passed. Couldn't believe we had lasted. Surely the Argies either have scored and I had missed it. Or they will score in the ''next half''. Minute 85? Impossible. Must be 25.
Minute 90, the adrenaline must have overtaken the number of red blood cells in my veins. My head was pounding and I felt each and every second ticking. It was crazy, delirium doesn't even come close. Now there was belief. A strong sense of belief that we've almost done it and have won the bloody world cup. The game stood as its own cup and I wasn't even aware of the concept of a tournament. The entire WC was one game and the next couple of minutes.
I was standing up. Couldn't sit anymore.
"What? FOUR F**KING MINUTES??? What for?'' I screamed. "Who died on the pitch to have taken this much time?''
I was busy complaining about the time, and then just like a sense of inevitability and premonition, the moment Messi got hold of the ball, I knew deep in my gut that something bad was about to happen. The ominous feeling I didn't have on all the other instances throughout the game whenever he or another player was getting close to our goal.
This one was new, however.
Surely God can not be this cruel. If he wanted to punish us, he could have done it in the first 80 minutes of the game. But to do this after minute 90 is not cruel. It's downright unholy and ungodly.
I sat down and started saying ''No, no, no ...'' with each one of his touches when he twisted, then dribbled. "No, no ..'', then just like watching an old movie you've seen a million times and can repeat all the dialogue before the actors say them, ... once he moved from the right, opened his body up, brought the ball to his dreaded/blessed (hey, I AM a Barca fan and have seen this very move a million times) left foot, I felt my heart sink before he actually kicked the ball.
The optimist side of me had one last sadistic stab, in a split second, when I ''tried'' to fool myself thinking either Haghighi will deflect it or it will brush past the post. But even then, I knew the end result even if I could close my eyes.
In fact I had predicted a 2-0 loss in the prediction table. If you had told me ''would you be happy if Iran lost by 1-0?'' before the game, I'd have happily agreed readily.
By the end of first half, I was actually happy to have lasted a whole half without conceding (especially after those 2, 3 headers they had that came quite close).
By minute 60, I was slowly feeling something new. I was extremely happy we had held tight and now, were actually sniffing things up and creating dangers with our well crafted counters. Could we hold them for another 30 min? Or more pertinent, do I actually dare think about scoring a goal even? It sure wasn't that distant a dream it was before the WC or even an hour back.
By Minute 75 I was actually delirious. As much as holding our own against one of the best teams in the world, but also for the fact that our scoring a goal had become a very real and possible reality.
Minute 85, with dissipation of our attacks, I gave up on us scoring and actually started to count the seconds for a well deserved draw. Was at the edge of my seat and everything else around me was a blur and haze.
But at the same time, it was surreal. Any moment, I expected to open my eyes and either find that I was sleeping. Or that only 10-15 minutes of the game has passed. Couldn't believe we had lasted. Surely the Argies either have scored and I had missed it. Or they will score in the ''next half''. Minute 85? Impossible. Must be 25.
Minute 90, the adrenaline must have overtaken the number of red blood cells in my veins. My head was pounding and I felt each and every second ticking. It was crazy, delirium doesn't even come close. Now there was belief. A strong sense of belief that we've almost done it and have won the bloody world cup. The game stood as its own cup and I wasn't even aware of the concept of a tournament. The entire WC was one game and the next couple of minutes.
I was standing up. Couldn't sit anymore.
"What? FOUR F**KING MINUTES??? What for?'' I screamed. "Who died on the pitch to have taken this much time?''
I was busy complaining about the time, and then just like a sense of inevitability and premonition, the moment Messi got hold of the ball, I knew deep in my gut that something bad was about to happen. The ominous feeling I didn't have on all the other instances throughout the game whenever he or another player was getting close to our goal.
This one was new, however.
Surely God can not be this cruel. If he wanted to punish us, he could have done it in the first 80 minutes of the game. But to do this after minute 90 is not cruel. It's downright unholy and ungodly.
I sat down and started saying ''No, no, no ...'' with each one of his touches when he twisted, then dribbled. "No, no ..'', then just like watching an old movie you've seen a million times and can repeat all the dialogue before the actors say them, ... once he moved from the right, opened his body up, brought the ball to his dreaded/blessed (hey, I AM a Barca fan and have seen this very move a million times) left foot, I felt my heart sink before he actually kicked the ball.
The optimist side of me had one last sadistic stab, in a split second, when I ''tried'' to fool myself thinking either Haghighi will deflect it or it will brush past the post. But even then, I knew the end result even if I could close my eyes.
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