Blood soaks the grass burnt by the harsh desert sun. Before the packed stadium, an Ashorta (Police) official beheads a rooster at the edge of the pitch. “A sacrifice offered for Ammar Ahmed, who failed to score in the last three matches,” he explains.

It fails to placate the gods. The attacker remains jinxed. Police, the undefeated leaders of the Iraqi national football league, draw 1-1 with third-placed Najaf, just two points behind and, to make things worse, Students thrash Air Force to join Police at the top of the table.

The Iraqi football league includes powerful services teams from the Army, Air Force, Anti-Aircraft Corps and Oil Ministry, although they refrain from any interference in the sport and contend themselves with simply flying the banner. With the Kurdish-dominated north of the country practically beyond control of the central Government in Baghdad, even that has political significance. The “real” Army does not even attempt to drive to places such as Zakho on the border with Turkey but, as the Jaish football team, they regularly play in Kurdistan. The only Air Force unit that can enter the no-fly zones without fear of being attacked by Allied aircraft is Al-Jawwiya, its football squad.

Apart from a single zealous supporter carrying a picture of Saddam Hussein, fans appear no different from those elsewhere in the world. In fact, they are more peaceful than in most parts of Europe: Ashorta drummers and trumpeters noisily salute their team alongside fans from Najaf, the regional capital, who wave their blue flags. Others wear foreign kits. Brazil, Italy, England and South Korea seem the most popular nations while, among clubs, Manchester United, Arsenal, Real Madrid and Inter Milan are well represented.

“I love Manchester United,” Nassir Salah Hadi, a 29-year old construction worker, says. Proudly displaying Juan Sebastián Verón’s jersey, he recites the United line-up. He is genuinely perplexed when asked whether he would continue to love his team if Britain took part in a war against Iraq. To him, connecting football and politics is sacrilege. “I would still wear it, why not?” he replies. “I love football. Manchester United is not politics, it is a passion and it is sport.”

Not all agree. “If they bomb us, I’ll throw this jersey away,” Hassan Hadi, a 24-year-old waiter who is wearing England’s 2002 World Cup shirt, says.

“Sure there is politics in football in every country,” Dr Shamil Kamil, a member of the Iraqi Football Association, says. “Before 1990, we were one of the top teams in Asia, but sanctions cut our football off from the rest of the world. But we keep trying, for the sake of the game. Even if a war breaks out, we will try to continue playing league matches.”

Iraqis claim that their football is suffering from the bad image of their country. “The best international teams refuse to come here, our opportunity to travel is limited and players have no opportunity of learning new techniques,” Naji Hamoud, the Najaf manager, says.

Fans seem less deprived. The Sports Channel regularly airs international matches and leading European leagues. Newspapers and magazines report on the big stars in detail. Merchants who sell Chinese-made football gear offer popularity ratings. “Ronaldo’s kit is by far the best seller, closely followed by Beckham’s,” one of them, Duarid Malik, says. “Children are crazy about them. United, Arsenal and Liverpool are among the bestselling team jerseys”.

But at 12,000 Iraqi dinars (about £5), they are not cheap by local standards and shopkeepers cannot get rid of all their wares. Bashar Bashir is considering throwing away two Middlesbrough kits. “In six months, nobody has even touched them,” he says.

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