Soccer, the hard way
No money, no players, and, of course, the permanent fear. From Baghdad, Karim El-Gawhary covers one particular soccer battle in post-war Iraq
Bernd Stange is a disappointed man. "Maybe I just have to ram a post into the ground and say, 'that's it; here and no further'," he says thoughtfully from behind the table in the Baghdad Sheraton. Stange's disillusionment has nothing to do with what a trainer feels when his team is bottom of the league table and the club board members are on his back. The Iraq team he trains has made enormous progress since the war ended -- the biggest surprise being their qualification for the Asia Cup in China 2004. And they were the best team in the qualification group.
But Stange appears to be in the wrong place, one where the concrete walls are getting higher, the barbed wire fences longer and the bombs getting bigger.
Perhaps Stange's story should be told from the start; not from the time he signed up as coach, but from the turn of the new era in Iraq, namely since the ousting of Saddam Hussein and the end of the war. It all started well enough. "May God protect you" were the parting words of the German trainer to his team before the start of the war, after which he left the country on the instructions of the Foreign Ministry. As soon as the former east German coach returned a week after the end of hostilities, news of his return spread like wildfire -- by word of mouth, of course, since telephone and electricity services were still down. He even turned up at players' homes. Stange was glad to find all of his players alive and well.
"I started with absolutely nothing," Stange says today. US tanks were parked in the stadium, the team's erstwhile training ground, and part of the pitch had been used as a landing pad for US helicopters. The grass had been ripped up and burned, but a club in a Baghdad suburb offered the team the use of its grounds. In the days shortly after the end of the war, almost all had been stolen by looters, from the goals and nets right up to the sanitary equipment. The German Embassy in Baghdad imported some equipment and training material into the country and the team started their training in 50 degrees Celsius. It was impossible to train in the evening; the players were afraid to return home in the early evening and a curfew was in place for the later hours.
It was a "really strange feeling" is how Stange described the atmosphere back then. But the team managed to travel to Germany to Wörishofen near Munich, and it took only three weeks of training for Stange to make "a football team of the boys". Although the team played only away games during the qualifiers for the Asia Cup -- the security situation in Iraq made it impossible to play at home -- the Iraqis emerged as front runners. Today they rank 52nd in the world, ahead of countries such as Austria, Switzerland, Wales and Scotland. "And I'm sure Scotland's Berti had plenty of goals and football supplies," commented Stange with obvious pride, referring to former German international Berti Vogts, Scotland's current manager.
"The whole experience included a series of trials and tribulations for me, even just the 12-hour journey to Jordan, but we made it," says the coach. "We showed the rest of the world that, even under the worst of conditions, we're a formidable force." It was worth it. At the end of the last qualifier, the entire city of Baghdad threatened to explode with joy, "like after the news about the death of Saddam's sons Uday and Qusay," enthuses Stange.
So much for Stange's success story. But what good is victory if the Iraqi Football Federation hasn't a single cent to its name? Stange works more or less on a voluntary basis, just like his players. Nine team members have already relocated to foreign countries -- mostly in the Gulf -- having opted for a more financially secure life. None of them will return to play with the Iraqi national team. The decisive factor for the players was the fact that Iraq has no soccer league at the moment. Any attempts to organise big games in post-war Iraq ended in the usual chaos so prevalent in the new Iraq, with fans of the opposing teams shooting at each other. "All Iraqis have weapons, but weapons have no place in a football stadium; so forget the league," says Stange bitterly. "The players can't be expected to stay just on account of football," he says, "but they've left me alone here."
Yet there is another reason which makes Stange think about staying or leaving. The American occupation administration, ie the rulers of the land, have in a sense abandoned Stange and the team. When Iraq qualified for the Asian Cup, for instance, there was no message of congratulations from the administration, not even a phone call. "I expected the Americans, and especially the British, to know what football means to the people here," said Stange. "For the people of Iraq, soccer is a passion. The sport has a special position here; it comes right after family and work. What would the Americans do if their American football was taken away from them for a year?"
Stange is also concerned for his own safety. His driver was shot at three days before this interview, just half a kilometre from Stange's hotel. And a week later, when bombs were going off all over Baghdad, he experienced fear, pure and simple. He stayed mostly in the hotel, entrenched behind thick concrete walls and barbed wire. "Most of my life in the former GDR was spent behind walls and barbed wire. I don't want to have to experience that again," he said.
Stange still attends training sessions every Tuesday with the few remaining team members. "I'm nervous driving through the city, though," he says. On his way to the grounds he always makes a huge detour around US military installations and Iraqi police stations because of the danger of attacks.
Without money and players, his dream of achieving a World Cup qualification may have to be abandoned. "If I can't achieve this goal, then I'm the wrong man for the job," he said.
Christmas is the cut-off point for his decision to stay or go. As Stange stands up to leave he says simply, "I wonder if it's worth all the effort."
