Occasionally Being Undiplomatic is Fun! Death to Iran! Once in a while one needs to break out and defy convention. Be undiplomatic. And live to tell of it. In summer 2006 the World Cup of Futbol (soccer) was held in Germany. I was in Dubai working to expand the business of my employer, a small US media and consulting firm with most of its work under contract for the US military in Iraq. The company resident manager was a retired Marine Colonel named Joe. A Very unusual man in that he was one of the kindest and sweetest people one will ever meet in life, and exceptionally honest (that is pretty standard for the Marines). But for sure he was not a man to be crossed. What was even more amazing was how he concealed his intimidating capabilities. You just knew he had seen the kind of life-threatening challenges that help one discover their identity. Joe and I went to the largest bar in Dubai, a newly opened massive structure with at least 2 main floors and dark wood interior in US Western style. It was the best place in Dubai to drink beer and watched World Cup matches. One evening, the bar was packed with as many as a thousand young Iranian men. Iran was playing Mexico in a World Cup opening group contest. Considering the fact that alcohol is strictly forbidden in Iran (which only ensures that an extensive black market thrives there!) these young guys, all decked out in their Iranian National Team uniforms and colors, were going to quickly get drunk. For many of them, it was a pretty new experience. By halftime and with a few beers under their robes, they were not all particularly in control. So the match began. As could be imagined, the bar was rocking at major decibel levels every time an Iranian touched the ball. Dead silence or a chorus of boos and hoots of derision when the Mexicans possessed the ball and attacked. Nobody in the crowd of over a thousand was rooting for Mexico. Except for me and Joe. We defied the masses of Iranians getting rapidly inebriated and we shouted Mexico cheers, with hands (and middle fingers) raised and victory signs flashing. As the game went on, and as the beer flowed, the volume and nature of the cheers became even louder/harsher. Curses were being thrown about in English, Arabic, Persian (Farsi) and several other languages. I was flinging horrible curses at the Iranians in my best Bahasa Indonesia with the absolute certainty they would not know what I was shouting. When the Mexicans scored, the crowd became first ominously quiet, then angry. And by the time the game had ended, Mexico had drubbed Iran 3-1. The scene in that place got very ugly. At every Mexican goal, Joe and I had leaped to the table top and screamed with sheer delight, to the dismay of the vast crowd of now totally drunk Iranians. It seemed to me they had all suddenly grown beards and were shouting the famous Ayatollah’s chant “Mar Iqbar America - Death to America” (or, hopefully “Death to Mexico” for just that one day). And just as an aside, for the members of Uncle Sam’s Army and US Outlaws and all the other US soccer fan clubs, imagine for a moment how difficult for us this was – choosing to cheer for Mexico, our traditional and hated regional rival; or Iran, the Axis of Evil and home of the Ayatollahs. Considering that there were 1000+ Iranians in the bar and no Mexicans, we knew where our loyalties lay for that one day. “Go Mexico,” We shouted “Mar Iqbar Iran” - Death to Iran! Problem was, the game had ended. We wanted to pay and go home. As we headed for the door, we realized that there were probably several hundred young Iranian men, most drunk, hanging about the parking lot waiting for us to emerge for what surely was going to be a good beating. Perhaps worse (just imagine what could be the punishment for 2 Americans shouting Death to Iran in public in Dubai in the faces of 250 Iranian men, drunk; and who had just lost their World Cup dreams!). We took evasive action, as anyone being escorted by any good Marine Colonel would expect. We were directed to a side door by a sympathetic bartender who did not want to see any blood or violence among customers. We snuck out, and got to the car before any of the Iranian mob discovered us. And with one last “Death to Iran” shouted from the car window as we pulled out into the street, we made good our escape from the certain death the mob was waiting to inflict. It was a very proud (revengeful) moment for me, having been a US diplomat in the Middle East threatened by Iranian terrorism. Back in 1983 while I was assigned to the US Consulate in Dubai, Iranian-backed Hizbollah sent a suicide truck bomb that devastated the US Embassy in nearby Kuwait. We had been warned the US Consulate in Dubai was on the same short target list. I carried a pistol to protect myself for over a year. My colleagues in Kuwait were killed and wounded I am also also a dedicated US soccer fan, with close to 50 years as a player, coach, referee and fan. Nothing is better than watching the USA soccer team beat Mexico by the usual 2-0 (Dos a Zero) score. But to watch Iran humiliated by our greatest rival was once in a lifetime.