Wrestling Hall of Fame

Coach Abedi’s wrestling career began 7,805 miles from where we sit today. Coach Abedi was born in Kermanshah, Iran. As a young man in 1982, the world champion gold medal was placed around Coach Abedi’s neck. With the Iranian National Anthem playing, he both swelled with pride and trembled with fear.

That night, Reza and 3 other Iranian wrestlers defected from Ayatollah Khomenie’s brutal Iranian regime. Their daring escape and subsequent survival was fueled by the strength, the passion and the guts that can only come from the oldest sport known to man–wrestling.

After narrowly escaping multiple attempts on their lives, they are granted visas to live in Southern California. Coach Abedi worked one and sometimes two jobs while going to school full-time and wrestling on scholarship. As a collegiate wrestler, he took 2nd place in junior college for Cerritos college in state of California 1986, 1st place Olympic trials western USA, 4th place US open and 5th place Div II nationals as a freshman for CSU Bakersfield. Even though English was his third language, he earned a college degree, a teaching credential and a Masters Degree from Cal State Fullerton.

He continued his love for the passion of wrestling through teaching and coaching. During his tenure at Dana Hills High School, he coached 70 C.I.F Placers, 24 Masters Placers/State Qualifiers, and 7 State Placers.

As a boy in Kermanshah, he used to sleep on the roof with his brothers during the hot Iranian summers. The dark sky so clear, and the white stars so bright–it made it seem to him that anything was possible. But never in his wildest dreams could he ever envision the possibility of impacting so many lives as a teacher and a coach.

Wrestling is many things to many people.
For Coach Abedi, wrestling is strength, it is courage, it is grit and it is freedom.

2021 National Wrestling Hall of Fame Speech

As the world champion gold medal was placed around my neck, I swelled with pride and trembled with fear.

My next decision might place a noose around my younger brother’s neck so they could hang him in front of my family. So they could punish him for the shame I would bring to the country.

My journey that brought me to America was fueled by the strength, the passion and the guts that can only come from the oldest sport known to man–wrestling.

I grew up in a small town called Kermanshah located in Iran when Shah was in power. As a teenager, I excelled as a wrestler and dreamed of representing Iran in the Olympics. Like many of you, my father both saw my talent and was relentless in pushing me to be better than I could have ever imagined. He saw in me what only a father can see in a son.

However in 1979, Iran underwent a Revolution altering the course of not just my life, but of contemporary history. Iran changed in such profound ways, that I no longer recognized it. I wanted to escape and live where I would have greater freedom, but we were not allowed to leave and I couldn’t afford the fees of the smugglers.

It was 1982 and Iran was at war with Iraq. As was expected by every young man my age, I joined the military. In the military, I made the Air Force’s wrestling team and had my chance to defect when we traveled to Caracas, Venezuela to compete.

Cutting weight until I could barely stand and being forced to unfair and politically driven rematches to qualify, wrestling was to me so much more than a sport. Beating my opponent literally meant life or death.

Just before the team left to travel, I returned home to announce I will be competing in the International Military World Wrestling Championship in Venezuela. To my horror, my father reveals my thirteen year-old brother has been imprisoned by the Ayatollah Khomeini for bringing food to starving Kurdish children.

As I said good-bye to my parents, brothers and sisters, I couldn’t share my plans to escape and risk their lives. But weighed most on my heart was the reality that my imprisoned brother would pay with his life for the humiliation I would cause Iran by defecting.

Remember, in Iran, there was no football, baseball, basketball or other Western sports. In Iran, kids played soccer or were in gymnastics. The strongest wrestled and the wrestlers were the pride of Iran. Wrestlers are considered the warriors, known as Pahlavan and we were the first team to travel after the revolution.

To follow through with my intent to defect, meant I was not only risking my life, but my family’s as well. Certainly, my imprisoned younger brother would pay with his.

With my team, strictly monitored by the Revolutionary Guard, we boarded the plane for the international Military tournament in Venezuela. At the Military Championship, teams from other nations enjoy comfortable, posh accommodations. We report to crude barracks with rickety cots, barred windows, armed guards and no chance for escape.

While practicing in the gym, I notice a fellow teammate whispering with American wrestlers, away from the watchful eyes of the guards. Later, I approach him in the showers. “I know what you’re doing. I want to defect too.”

Mind you, the young wrestlers who agreed to help us escape were just simply American wrestlers. They were not secret service men or Liam Neeson. Remember too In 1982, relations between America and Iran were highly strained.
Yet, the sport of wrestling crossed all those boundaries. As with so many sports, the human connection formed on teams and melded in competition continues to define who we really are.

It’s 2am, on the final night of the tournament. I wrap my only pair of clothes around my Military World Champion gold medal and push them out the barred window to the ground below. Then, with the help of those very very brave American wrestlers, we escape.

We spend the next several months in Venezuela sharing a leaky apartment and scrounging through dumpsters for food. In Iran, my family is ruthlessly interrogated daily and my father loses his job. My older brother is finally able to buy my younger brother’s freedom, but with one major stipulation: they must leave Iran immediately. Without money, this command is nearly impossible.

Back in Venezuela, we have no money, no food and time is quickly running out. We formulate a plan to surrender ourselves to the Iranian Embassy, claiming we were simply “stupid kids who didn’t know any better.” With no money to our name, it is the only way to secure a plane ticket and leave Venezuela.

We know The Revolutionary Guard will be waiting for us at the terminal and our capture will mean our death. I steal a sharpened can opener from the stewardess silently vowing to fight them off or slit my wrists if we’re caught.

The flight is delayed unexpectedly, throwing off the Revolutionary Guards in Madrid. As we elude capture, we encounter an Iranian Mujahideen selling Farsi newspapers. He secures for us food and shelter, in exchange for exposing the Ayatollah’s terrors in an international press conference. Covered by news media from all over the world, we share the broken promises of the Ayatollah Khomeini.

Shortly thereafter, we are granted visas to live in Southern California. I worked one and sometimes two jobs while going to school full-time and wrestling on scholarship. As a collegiate wrestler, I took 2nd place in junior college for Cerritos college in state of California 1986, 1st place Olympic trials western USA, 4th place US open and 5th place Div II nationals as a freshman for CSU Bakersfield. Even though English was my third language, I earned my college degree, a teaching credential and a Masters Degree from Cal State Fullerton.

As a boy in Kermanshah, I used to sleep on the roof with my brothers during the hot Iranian summers. The dark sky so clear and the white stars so bright–it made it seem to me that anything was possible. But never in my wildest dreams could I ever envision the possibility that my name would be mentioned in the Wrestling Hall of Fame alongside U.S. Presidents and Olympic athletes.

Wrestling is many things to many people.

For me, wrestling is strength, it is courage, it is grit and it is freedom.