Let me tell you about the greatest Gopher football moment that I never saw.

It was 2015. The Gophers were, unaccountably, hanging with Michigan at TCF Bank Stadium. And with 19 seconds left, Mitch Leidner threw deep down the right sideline, a quasi-Hail Mary that Drew Wolitarsky hauled in as he crossed the goal line, giving the Gophers a 32-29 lead.

The Gophers had not beaten Michigan at home in my lifetime. The worst day of my life, as a Gopher fan, happened against Michigan (blowing a three-touchdown lead in 2003 at the Metrodome). The touchdown was a moment that I’d waited a lifetime for, and I promise you that my celebration met the moment. It felt like my head would separate from my shoulders, perhaps through sheer pressure, like a volleyball placed on top of Old Faithful.

All of sports fandom, at its core, is a search for moments like that one - “unexpected delirium,” in the words of Nick Hornby. It was as good as I’d always hoped.

Of course, you might remember what happened next: on review, Wolitarsky was down at the 1-yard line. Tracy Claeys let the clock run like a doofus, Leidner threw an incompletion, then the Gophers went for the win on the final play and got stuffed at the goal line, losing 29-26.

In short, the best moment of my Gopher-fan life never happened.

I have my suspicions that Iran fans can relate.

Egypt-Iran was my third game of the World Cup, the fourth in Seattle, and a considerably different vibe than the previous three. All of the first three had been at noon local time, in part because of the extremely reasonable expectation that afternoon games in Seattle would be something less than dangerous, weather-wise.

Of course, all three had taken place in bright, punishing sunshine, with heat advisories in King County, because when Gianni Infantino plans, God laughs.

This one, though, was at 8pm local time, FIFA After Dark for those not on Pacific time. The heat wave had also finally broken, leading to grumbles from the grumpy in the crowd (me) that these winter World Cups have to be stopped. (It was 60 and windy. I was pretty much fine in a hooded sweatshirt, though I wouldn’t have said no to a parka.)

I had absolutely no idea what to expect from the crowd. Egypt fans had showed up in big numbers for the Belgium game, but Iran… I mean, the USA executive branch went to war with Iran. They’d been bombing Iran, in fact, earlier that day. Iran’s team had started the day in Tijuana, having been prevented from staying anywhere in the country by the American government. Would there be more than zero Iranian fans? Could there be?

I guess I shouldn’t have doubted.

If the crowd wasn’t split 50-50, it was close, though I also happened to be in a corner of the stadium that had mostly been taken by Iranian fans. For almost the entire game, there was at least one fan blowing out the same cadence on a horn for a chant: one, a-two-and three, I-RAN! (Egyptian drum “Masr!” guy could never.)

Of course, many of the Iran fans also booed their own national anthem, and after the game there were groups of Iranian fans everywhere, protesting, including one guy in an Iran jersey with a bullhorn, loudly reciting his reasons for cheering for Egypt. It was, safe to say, a confusing vibe.

It was also Pride Night at the stadium, meaning that the third-most popular outfit choice among the fan base, for once, wasn’t a Mexico jersey. There were rainbow-clad fans everywhere, and while both the Egyptian and Iraninan federations had made it clear they weren’t happy about it, I’m not sure there were Egyptian or Iranian fans that cared one bit.

Iran striker Mehdi Taremi could teach, for example, the San Francisco Giants pitching staff about how to respond to Pride Night: “Our religion doesn’t accept that, but we respect all of the LGBT people,” he said after the game. “It’s not about us. We are here to play football. We respect all of those guys.”

With an 8pm start, I also wondered if the crowd would have had more time to get itself into a state of lowered inhibition, as it were. On the other hand, we’re talking about two Muslim countries here, so I figured there was at least a chance of a teetotal atmosphere, Baptists against Mennonites in the church softball league.

When they played the Egyptian national anthem, the Egypt fan in front of us stood up, feeling the emotion for his ancestral homeland. He put his fist in the air in celebration, a fist that held two things: a vape and a Michelob Ultra. I wanted to shake his hand.

I also saw a guy wearing a T-shirt reading “MY WIFE IS IRANIAN: NOTHING SCARES ME.” Wife Guys transcend cultural differences.

The atmosphere was electric. Egypt started the evening on top of Group G, on four points, and could clinch with a win. Iran started in second with two points, albeit only ahead of Belgium (also on two points) on goals scored. Like Egypt, they knew that a win would put them in the knockout round; unlike Egypt, a draw meant they would sweat out the final day of group games before learning whether a third-place finish would put them into the Round of 32.

So Egypt could play for a draw, knowing that it might be enough to win the group, but also might put them in second place if Belgium hammered New Zealand, while also knowing that a loss would potentially drop them to third. And Iran couldn’t afford to lose, but might not qualify automatically if they didn’t win. In other words, almost everything was in play, for two countries that had never in their histories made the knockout rounds at the me’s World Cup.

What I expected was a cagey, 0-0 first half. What we got was 15 minutes of insanity.

Four minutes in, Mahmoud Saber had Egypt on top, driving a rebound though the keeper’s wickets and past a slow-to-react defender. Five minutes later, Iran won a penalty, which Taremi missed, his attempt low and to the keeper’s left batted away by Mostafa Shoubir. Any Egyptian euphoria lasted just three more minutes before Ramin Rezaeian pounced on a loose ball and roofed it from an impossible angle, making the game 1-1.

So much for cagey, cautious soccer.

It must be said, though, that both teams did manage to reign in what I thought was about to become the longest Tactics-Free Zone of all time. It looked like we were set for a certain 5-4 classic, but it was 1-1 at halftime. And as the second half wore on, it looked like both teams might be happy with 1-1.

With Belgium-New Zealand going on simultaneously, FIFA settled on what I thought was a very entertaining system of updating the masses on the status of the other game: when a goal went in, they’d play a set of chimes over the loudspeakers, like there was about to be an important flight announcement at the airport, then display the other game’s score on the board. So we knew by halftime that Belgium was winning, and we knew five minutes into the second half that the Belgians had scored again, pulling even with Egypt on both points and goal difference (though still behind on goals scored).

Then things began to happen.

First, the chimes alerted us that Belgium had scored again, pushing Egypt back into second place. Then the chimes told us that New Zealand, unaccountably, had scored one of their own, making Egypt once again the top team in Group G.

(A note: it’s a little hard to say which group position results in the best draw in the knockout round. First place gets a third-place winner, in Seattle, but then would have to [likely] play the USA in a true road game in the Round of 16. Second place takes on Australia, but if they won that game, would probably have to play Argentina. Third place would be a crapshoot.)

Just before stoppage time, Belgium scored again, leaving the match poised. If Egypt could hold on for 1-1, they’d finish second and Iran would have to wait to find out if three points was enough for the knockout round; if Iran could score, they’d finish second and Egypt would drop to third; and if Egypt decided to commit forward, they could get a late winner and finish first (and probably eliminate Iran).

In stoppage time, Iran lined up a free kick, from just inside Egypt’s half.

From the highlights, you can see what happened: Shoubir tried to claim the free kick, didn’t get there, made the first save off a loose ball but the rebound fell directly to Shoja Khalilzadeh, who slammed it home. In the stadium, it looked like Shoubir got caught in a car crash, then there were about 40 deflections, and then the ball was in the net and every Iranian fan had lost his or her mind.

Every Iranian player was on the field. At least one Iranian fan was on the field, along with about eight security guards, tackling him. It was bedlam, joyous bedlam for the Iranian fans, Iran was into knockout round for the first time ever, Egypt was into the knockout round too but in third place, it was…

The scoreboard said “VAR check.” You could see referee Szymon Marciniak explaining to players, signaling that they were checking offside, and I will bet that not one player or staff member on the field could have said with any better than coin-flip certainty how the decision was going to come out.

Finally, the announcement came. Offside. They put the graphic on the scoreboard; Khalilzadeh’s toe, not even toes, perhaps half his boot, had been offside.

What happens when the best moment you’ve ever had never happened?

Epilogue: If anyone knows what happened to the fan who ran on the field, please let me know. After all, if nobody scored a goal, then it then logically follows that nobody would have run on the field. And if nobody ran on the field, it logically follows that nobody could be arrested for running on the field. Has anyone ever escaped a criminal conviction because of VAR?