When Iran conceded goals against England at the 2022 World Cup, Mehran Hashemi and his family cheered. They weren't alone. People danced in the streets of Tehran after a 6-2 defeat, honking car horns as if Iran had won. That tells you everything about the impossible position this national team occupies heading into 2026.
"That alone shows how unusual and emotionally complicated the situation had become," Hashemi, a Tehran-based author and poet, told Yahoo Sports. He had expected Iran's players — men he once idolized — to use their global platform to condemn the government's violent crackdown on protesters. Most didn't. To him, that silence was a choice. It still is.
A team that means different things to different people
The backdrop is the 2022 death of Mahsa Amini, a 22-year-old woman arrested and beaten by Iran's morality police for allegedly violating the country's mandatory headscarf laws. Her death ignited nationwide protests and a broader push for equal rights, free speech, and the end of authoritarian rule. Iran's players covered the national emblem before a pre-tournament friendly and refused to sing the anthem before the England match — gestures that satisfied some and fell well short for others.
Sardar Azmoun was different. The striker, who scored 57 goals in 91 international appearances and played for Bayer Leverkusen and Roma, posted on Instagram in 2022: "At worst I'll be dismissed from the national team. No problem. I'd sacrifice that for one hair on the heads of Iranian women." He also posted a photo shaking hands with the UAE's Prime Minister — a U.S. and Israeli ally — during the war. The IRGC labeled it "cooperation with Iran's enemies." He hasn't been called up since and was absent from Iran's World Cup roster released June 1. Injury excuse or not, the political dimension is hard to ignore.
His exclusion crystallizes the dilemma. Players who stay quiet keep their spots. Players who speak get frozen out — or worse. That's not a grey area. And it's why many Iranian fans, particularly in the diaspora, can't bring themselves to support a team they feel doesn't represent them.
Los Angeles, visas, and flags at SoFi
Iran plays its first two group stage matches in Los Angeles — against New Zealand on Monday and Belgium on June 21 — in the heart of the world's largest Iranian diaspora outside Iran itself. "Tehrangeles," as the Westwood and West LA communities are known, is where the emotional stakes will be highest and most visible.
Nicole Sadighi of the Institute for Voices of Liberty put it plainly: "The Iranian diaspora wants to support Iran as a symbol of their home and the land that they lost, but they have to make a distinction. They are not supporting the regime."
That distinction has a flag attached to it. The pre-revolution "Lion and Sun" flag — banned by the Islamic regime after 1979 — is the symbol many Iranian Americans use to separate their cultural identity from the current government. FIFA has reportedly banned it from World Cup venues as too political. The Institute for Voices of Liberty has threatened legal action.
Off the pitch, the visa situation has been its own flashpoint. All 26 players were cleared to enter the U.S., but over a dozen support staff and officials — including Mehdi Taj, Iran's soccer federation president and a former IRGC commander — were denied. The Iranian embassy in Turkey accused the U.S. of "deliberate and discriminatory treatment" and called on FIFA to hold the host nation accountable. U.S. Secretary of State Marco Rubio was blunt: "What we're not going to allow is for them to embed in their delegation a bunch of people that we know have nothing to do with athletics and have ties to the IRGC."
Iran's training camp, originally planned for Tucson, Arizona, was relocated to Tijuana after FIFA rejected a request to move the group stage matches to Mexico entirely. The compromise at least minimizes the team's time on U.S. soil — which appears to suit both sides.
For anyone trying to price Iran's group stage prospects, the off-field chaos is worth factoring in. A delegation missing key staff, a training setup disrupted by geopolitics, and a squad already without its most globally recognizable forward — that's a team carrying weight well beyond tactical preparation.
"This is why many Iranians continue to feel disconnected with the team and do not see it as representative of the nation," Hashemi said. Four years on from those street celebrations after a 6-2 loss, that disconnection hasn't healed.
