On This Day in 2022, Pulisic Put His Body on the Line for the Lone Goal in the World Cup Victory Over Iran
The draw against England felt like progress wrapped in frustration. The Americans had controlled stretches of Friday's scoreless affair at Al Bayt Stadium, rattling the crossbar through Christian Pulisic, generating corners and keeping Harry Kane and company at arm's length. But controlling a game and winning it were entirely different propositions, and now the mathematics were brutally simple: beat Iran on Tuesday, or go home.
Two points from two matches left the United States third in Group B, needing a victory against an Iranian side that could advance with just a draw. England sat atop the group, needing only to avoid catastrophe against Wales. The path forward offered no room for calculation or hedging—just three points or elimination.
The Iran match carried weight beyond the standings. 24 years earlier, these nations had collided at the 1998 World Cup in France, a politically charged encounter that Iran won after the Americans admitted they'd underestimated how much victory meant to their opponents. Gregg Berhalter, who'd been a Dutch television analyst for that game, remembered it vividly. "What I saw from the opening whistle is one team that really wanted to win the game and one team that didn't really want to win the game," he told reporters. He'd shared that observation with his players as both a warning and a motivator.
Off the field, tensions escalated in ways that made 1998 look quaint. U.S. Soccer had posted graphics removing the emblem from Iran's flag in solidarity with women protesting their government after Mahsa Amini died in police custody, sparking demands from Iranian state television that FIFA expel the Americans from the tournament. At Monday's press conference, Iranian journalists pelted Berhalter and captain Tyler Adams with questions about U.S. military policy, immigration, and systemic racism—everything except soccer. Both men navigated the minefield carefully, deflecting and redirecting. "For us, it's a soccer game against a good team," Berhalter said. "And it's not much more than that."
For Iran's players, the tournament had become a torment. Forced to play tuneup matches behind closed doors, banned from discussing protests on social media, they'd declined to sing their anthem before facing England, then appeared to grudgingly mouth the words before Wales. Their team, once a rare symbol of national unity, had become trapped between furious protesters demanding solidarity and a regime intolerant of dissent. The November 29 match offered both sides what they desperately needed—Iran a chance at glory to ease domestic turmoil, the United States a shot at redemption four years after Trinidad.
The Americans emerged at Al Thumama Stadium like a team that had absorbed Berhalter's history lesson. In a surprise move, Cameron Carter-Vickers replaced Walker Zimmerman at center back—a tactical choice, not an injury—while Josh Sargent regained his starting spot from Haji Wright. The lineup averaged 24 years and 321 days, the youngest fielded by any team at the tournament despite 35-year-old Tim Ream anchoring the defense. Youth wouldn't be an excuse. It couldn't be.
Iran sat deep, absorbing pressure, flooding the defensive third and waiting to counterattack. The Americans worked the ball methodically, side to side, probing for openings that never quite materialized. Sergiño Dest and Antonee Robinson pushed high as outside backs, trying to beat defenders on the dribble and whip in crosses, but Iran had calculated correctly—pack the box, eliminate space, force mistakes. Chances came from distance and set pieces, nothing clean, nothing dangerous. The first half threatened to become an exercise in patience-testing anxiety.
Then, in the 38th minute, everything crystallized. Weston McKennie received the ball in midfield and played a perfectly weighted pass to Dest, sprinting down the right flank. Dest's first touch was headed back across the six-yard box. Pulisic, reading the play a second before it happened, came charging from the left. He arrived at full speed, meeting the ball with his right foot and redirecting it past goalkeeper Alireza Beiranvand. The collision was immediate and violent—Pulisic's momentum carried him directly into Beiranvand, both men crumpling in a tangle of limbs as the ball settled in the net.
Pulisic lay twisted inside the goal, clutching his "midsection", as teammates celebrated around him. Medical staff rushed over while the rest of the team played shorthanded for several minutes. He eventually returned to finish the half, clearly laboring, struggling to run. At halftime, Berhalter made the call—Brenden Aaronson came on for the team's most important player, and Pulisic was driven to the hospital for scans on what would be diagnosed as a pelvic contusion. "He would do anything for this team in order for us to win," Adams said later. On the sideline, the American bench held its collective breath.
Just before halftime, Tim Weah streaked free toward the goal and calmly rolled the ball into the net to double the American lead, but the goal was ruled out after an apparent offside. The second half turned into precisely the kind of test Berhalter's young squad had been built to withstand. Iran, needing a goal, abandoned caution and pressed forward with increasing desperation. Saman Ghoddos found space inside the box twice. Balls rained into dangerous areas. The Americans defended with grim determination, Carter-Vickers justifying Berhalter's selection with crucial interventions. Matt Turner, the backup keeper from Arsenal who'd inherited the starting job when Zack Steffen was left home, made the saves required of him without heroics.
During nine minutes of stoppage time, the stadium became a pressure chamber. Ramin Rezaeian's diving header streaked just wide of the near post. A scramble in the box saw Zimmerman, subbed on late, clear a ball from behind Turner while Iranians screamed for a penalty. The clock refused to move. Then, finally, the whistle pierced through the chaos. The Americans collapsed to their knees, some in tears, others motionless from exhaustion. They'd absorbed everything Iran could deliver and held firm. One goal—Pulisic's goal—was enough.
At the other end of Al Thumama Stadium, Iranian players lay sprawled on the turf, chests heaving, unable to process what had slipped away. Only striker Mehdi Taremi remained standing, arguing with the referee before walking to the few hundred Iranian supporters still in their seats. Together with teammates, he applauded their effort, their noise, apologizing for falling short. For a moment, players and fans united in disappointment, a rare instance of solidarity in a tournament that had become an ordeal.
In Tehran, the reaction split along familiar fault lines. At Shahrak Ekbatan, an apartment complex that had been a hotbed of protests, people cheered Iran's defeat and danced in the streets. Videos showed residents chanting "America, America" at one in the morning, celebrating not because they loved the United States but because they despised what their government represented. The regime had wanted victory as propaganda. The protesters wanted the spotlight to remain on their cause. Neither got what they needed, but the streets belonged to defiance that night.
For the Americans, the victory delivered validation Berhalter had been building toward since 2019. "You see how resilient this group is, you see how unified this group is," he said, his voice tight with emotion. The team had communicated with Pulisic via FaceTime from the locker room—"He said, 'Best believe I'll be ready on Saturday,'" McKennie reported—and the Chelsea forward would indeed be cleared to face the Netherlands. Two shutouts in three matches, just one goal conceded from open play. The defensive foundation was real.
Saturday brought the Netherlands and reality's cold assessment. Despite Pulisic's gutsy return, the Dutch displayed the clinical efficiency that separates tournament contenders from hopeful overachievers. After Pulisic missed the Americans' best chance of the first half in the opening five minutes of the game, Memphis Depay finished a flowing move in the 10th minute. Daley Blind doubled the lead seconds before halftime. Haji Wright's bizarre flicked goal—the ball looping off his shin over Andries Noppert—offered brief hope before Denzel Dumfries sealed it. The 3-1 defeat felt less like a collapse than an education. "When you play a team with so much quality like that, and you give them three, four chances, they're going to put three or four away," Adams said.
Still, perspective mattered. The Americans had reached the knockout rounds with the tournament's second-youngest roster, had beaten Iran when victory was mandatory, and had shown they could defend under suffocating pressure. They'd controlled possession against Wales, matched England, and competed with the Netherlands before experience and quality created separation. "We can show that we can hang with the best teams in the world," Adams reflected. "That's a lot of progress for U.S. Soccer. We're moving in the right direction for sure, but we're not there yet." The 2026 World Cup, on home soil, loomed as the next test. For now, they'd proven they belonged. That would have to be enough until they proved they could win.