So I leaned across and asked her if she spoke English. ‘I didn’t know what to do,’ he recalled. ‘But I noticed this nice looking girl stuck in her car right next to me. Turning onto the Champs Elysees, he got stuck in the inevitable New Year’s Eve traffic jam. A year later, at 11.51 on 31 December 1981 to be precise, fate took hold of his life. So in 1980, leaving his family behind, Bahrami fled to Paris, speaking only English and Farsi. ‘But I had a friend called Reza who knew someone high up in the Iranian Government, and I got a visa to travel to France and Switzerland.’ ‘I didn’t know what I was going to do,’ Bahrami told me when we recalled those dramatic days in Iran’s history in a recent phone conversation. ‘Yes, please,’ I said quickly, and within a few minutes a remarkably unruffled Mansour appeared, picked up his tennis bag and went straight off to the Ghezira Club to practise. He needed to stretch his legs.īahrami was still playing under the Iranian flag at that time, but all that changed three years later when, in 1979, the Shah was ousted and tennis was banned by the new Islamic regime in Tehran which considered it an American capitalist sport. Offers to play in exhibitions poured in, and Bahrami has made a handsome living.I think I used the art of friendly persuasion rather than an outright bribe on a friendly Sudanese doctor to get the certificate before flying up to Cairo, so I was well equipped when the Egyptian immigration official looked down his list of detainees and said, ‘Ah yes, Bahrami. Along the way, he developed his brand of tennis showmanship.īahrami’s penchant for entertaining crowds with trick shots, humor and dazzling racket work once considered a liability earned him a wide following.
THE COURT JESTER MANSOUR BAHRAMI FULL
Visa restrictions prohibited him from playing the ATP Tour full time, but he excelled in France, even reaching the French Open doubles final in 1989.
An intellectual whom Khomeini considered a second son, Ghotbzadeh was nonetheless executed by a firing squad after a short trial.ĭespite many obstacles, Bahrami continued his tennis career. Ghotbzadeh’s tenure in the government was short-lived, however he was accused of treason for plotting to overthrow the regime 18 months after granting Bahrami’s visas. Ghotbzadeh approved the request for visas, and Bahrami landed in France soon after. “He said, ‘Give me your passport and papers, and I’ll get your visas,’ ”Bahrami said of his friend. “I never thought I would get the visas, so I didn’t get my hopes up,” Bahrami said in a phone interview from his home in Paris.Ī friend offered to help secure the visas from the foreign minister, Sadegh Ghotbzadeh. It is the story of one mans success against all the odds, set against the backdrop of a country in the midst of revolution and war. It was called the Revolutionary Cup, and the first prize was a round-trip ticket to Athens.īahrami, right, and Henri Leconte during a senior doubles event. Contents 1 Tennis career 1.
While only moderately successful on the ATP Tour, his showmanship has made him a long-standing and popular figure in invitational tournaments. He is Iranian with dual French nationality since 1989.
THE COURT JESTER MANSOUR BAHRAMI PROFESSIONAL
The government finally relented, and a tournament was organized for the last week in July 1980. Mansour Bahrami (Persian: born 26 April 1956) is a former professional tennis player. With tournaments in Iran canceled and foreign travel out of the question, the players pleaded with the minister of sport for the opportunity to compete. To Bahrami, Madani and the handful of other fledgling world-class players, the edict was a crushing blow. Almost overnight, tennis was forbidden, as Ayatollah Ruhollah Khomeini viewed the game as pro-American, capitalist and decadent. Bahrami and Madani, who are now 53, were swept up in the political turmoil of the Islamic revolution. Three decades ago, their fates in sports and in life were determined by a tennis match. On an indoor court in Acton, Mass., Ali Madani, Bahrami’s boyhood friend and former teammate on the Iranian Davis Cup squad, was teaching the game.
Playing one deft trick shot after another, he captivated the fans at Albert Hall in London with a comedic sense that was part Buster Keaton and part Meadowlark Lemon. Before a capacity crowd in December at the season-ending ATP Masters tournament, Mansour Bahrami worked his tennis magic once again.
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