The game goes on in 鈥楽tadium of Horrors鈥
Print Edition
Mohamed Fathi, coach of Mosul鈥檚 football club in northern Iraq, hardly recognizes the ruined soccer stadium once used by Islamic State group fighters to fire rockets and lob mortars from.
Piles of rubble lie alongside a pitch of bumpy sand. The high concrete stadium tiers surrounding it 鈥 with all seats torn out 鈥 look dangerously close to collapse.
鈥淎fter this was destroyed, there鈥檚 no other stadiums in the city to play football,鈥 Fathi said, waving his hand at the crumbling building.
鈥淭he impact of the destruction is enough to tell you everything that happened here.鈥
Jihadi fighters from the Islamic State group seized Mosul in 2014, later expanding its so-called 鈥渃aliphate鈥 to over a third of Iraq and into neighboring Syria.
In 2017, Iraqi and coalition forces forced the hardened insurgents out in a grinding urban battle that left ancient Mosul in ruins.
The bullet-riddled 20,000-seater stadium, home to Mosul Sports Cub, was not spared, caught up in the deadly battles for control.
Two other smaller stadiums in town were also damaged.
Football 鈥榖rings life鈥
鈥淪adly the central government doesn鈥檛 realize that football is what brings life back to a town, its people and its youth,鈥 Fathi said. 鈥淪o things have stayed the same.鈥
Mosul Sports Club was once a solid performing club that produced some of the country鈥檚 best players.
They include Hawar Mulla Mohammed, who led Iraq to its historic 2007 Asian Cup championship, and who played professionally in Europe.
Decades earlier, Iraq鈥檚 national squad made its only World Cup appearance in Mexico in 1986.
Mosul鈥檚 own son, skilled midfielder Haris Mohammed, ably led his country to the rare international honor.
Founded in 1947, Mosul SC played 18 seasons in Iraq鈥檚 premier league, before its relegation to the first division a decade ago.
With thousands of roaring fans passionately backing their team, locals dubbed it the 鈥渟tadium of horrors鈥 for visiting teams.
But that ominous label would take on a more sinister meaning with the arrival of IS militants.
鈥淚 used to follow soccer matches here, and suddenly out of nowhere convoys of IS militants decked out with guns would show up,鈥 said Omar al-Mosuli, a resident in his thirties.
鈥淚t was a frightening scene, and I used to walk away quietly.鈥
Islamic State鈥檚 austere and terror-ridden reign was marked by beheadings and shootings.
Like so many other facets of daily life, football changed.
Soccer disappeared as a professional pursuit and violence became established a past-time instead.
鈥淯nder the stands, IS fighters transformed the space into a massive weapons depot,鈥 Mosuli said.
鈥淭hey set up launchpads inside the stadium to fire rockets during the battle to liberate the city.鈥
He recalled how the extremists forced people to play in long shorts that reached below their knees 鈥 and there was a strict ban on anyone donning jerseys of their favorite international teams or players.
Football matches would be abruptly halted for prayer time, he added.
Amid Mosul鈥檚 disfigured landscape, its committed players still train on the stadium鈥檚 dusty pitch a couple of times a week.
There are no other suitable fields to play on.
鈥淲e are forced to train here now,鈥 Fathi, the coach, said.
鈥淭he club鈥檚 president and some of the staff even pay for the equipment out of their own pocket.鈥
But the lack of a proper place play for the team is also a reflection of the rampant corruption Iraq struggles with.
The country is consistently ranked as one of the worst performers on Transparency International鈥檚 Corruption Perceptions Index.
鈥淎 foreign aid agency started reconstructing Mosul SC stadium, but the province鈥檚 sports authority reassigned the site two years ago to a businessman,鈥 Mosul-based sports journalist Talal al-Ameri said.
The businessman sat on the project 鈥 a common occurrence in Iraq.
When a respected former captain of the Iraqi national squad became sports minister Adnan Darjal, he reviewed the file.
鈥淒ue to corruption allegations, the new minister has suspended everything,鈥 Ameri said.
But the lack of a stadium has not deterred Maytham Younis, the 34-year-old coach of the aptly-named amateur team Al-Mustaqbal, or 鈥淭he Future.鈥
He urges his young players to train hard, as they practice in a dusty field in Mosul鈥檚 al-Bakr neighborhood in front of a small but loyal following of fans.
It is a far cry from the cheering thousands who once watched in Mosul鈥檚 centerpiece stadium, but it is the best they can do for now as they wait for football to flourish again.
For now, hopes of a return to the glory days the club has seen remain a dream.
鈥淲e have plenty of talent,鈥 Younis said. 鈥淏ut without a stadium, it鈥檚 hard for them to get noticed.鈥
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