My Two Reds
Persepolis, Arsenal, and the Unlikely Thread That Bound My Life Together
The first World Cup I remember was 1970, Pelé drifting through the static of our black-and-white RCA TV in Tehran, turning football into something luminous even without colour. But something else began for me that year too, something stitched not in Brazil’s yellow but in red.
Two teams captured my imagination before I ever understood why: Persepolis and Arsenal.
And the reason was right there on the page, simple and astonishing to a child, their kits were identical. The same deep red body. The same clean white sleeves. A perfect match across continents, as if Tehran and Highbury shared a quiet understanding.
Persepolis were rising, thrilling the country with their energy and promise. Arsenal were on their way to the 1970–71 Double. Seeing those matching shirts in magazines felt like discovering two versions of the same heartbeat, one local, one distant, but somehow connected.
I could never have imagined then that life would one day place me in North London, not far from the Arsenal stadium itself. A club I first admired from afar became part of the actual streets and routines of my life.
My brother became a season-ticket holder, and with that, Arsenal was no longer just a team I followed. It became a place I went. I found myself at matches regularly, folded into the chants, the anticipation, the collective rising and falling of thousands of voices.
And then came Max.
My son, whose first passion in life, before anything else, is Arsenal.
Taking him to games, watching his face lift towards the pitch lights, I felt something settle into place. A thread that began with two identical kits on a magazine page in Tehran had woven itself naturally into the next generation.
Looking back, I see how something so small, the match of two red shirts, set a path I could never have imagined. From Tehran to North London, from childhood to fatherhood, the colours stayed the same. They still do.
© Mehrdad Aref-Adib 2025
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