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For most of Theodore Roosevelt’s presidency, he kept a secret. He was partially blind in his left eye.

It was only when he was out of office that he revealed the injury and how it came about: During a boxing match. In the White House.

Today, the White House plans to host UFC Freedom 250, as part of the celebrations honoring the semiquincentennial anniversary of American independence. Fourteen fighters will pound each other in seven separate bouts in a 5,000-seat arena that has been erected on the South Lawn.

Democratic lawmakers have widely criticized the planned event. A new lawsuit filed last weekend by the anti-corruption group Public Integrity Project on behalf of two plaintiffs is attempting to stop the event, claiming the plan is “deeply corrupt” and enriches President Donald Trump’s allies.

It will not be the first time the White House has served as a fighting arena. Last time, it was set against the backdrop of a presidency also marked by controversy over razing sections of the executive mansion.

During his roughly 7½ years in office, Roosevelt frequently invited aides, friends, and even professional athletes to the executive mansion to engage in all manner of sportsmanlike battery and barbarity. He was also frequently injured during these sporting matches.

But the damage to his left eye is believed to have occurred while boxing one of his military aides.

According to a 96-year-old letter sent from renowned ophthalmologist William H. Wilmer to Roosevelt’s biographer, Henry F. Pringle, Roosevelt was seen by Wilmer for the eye injury on Dec. 12, 1904. A transcript of Wilmer’s original letter, found in a Harvard University archive, details the approximate timing and extent of Roosevelt’s injury.

“At that time the President gave a history of having noticed for a while a dimness before the left eye after wrestling, and the further history that about two weeks ago, he was struck in the left eye while boxing,” the letter reads. “Since that time, he had noticed black spots before the eye. At first it seemed rather central and blurred the vision, but, now, it seems to have moved about two inches to the left … Examination at the time showed a few spots of hemorrhage in the retina of the left eye and some floating opacities in the vitreous.”

Roosevelt was told to take a break from “his very vigorous exercises” or else he might completely lose vision in the eye, according to the letter. The president protested, however, because he had already scheduled a jiu-jitsu match for 8 a.m., boxing at noon, a sport called “singlestick” involving wooden swords after that, then a long walk or horse ride in the afternoon. The doctor ultimately prevailed, and Roosevelt took his rest.

While Wilmer claims that the hemorrhage in Roosevelt’s eye healed, he later developed a cataract “reducing vision in the left eye to perception of light” — perhaps a result of the injury, Wilmer wrote.

Only a handful of people learned about Roosevelt’s medical condition at the time. The truth did not become public knowledge until October of 1917, after Roosevelt quietly checked himself in at a health camp in Stamford, Conn.

By that point it had been over eight years since the end of his presidency, but it wasn’t long before reporters discovered him. “The colonel is what is technically described as a ‘patient,’” reported the Springfield Daily News. “There is absolutely nothing the matter with him, except the extent of his girth.” In more polite terms, Roosevelt was there to lose some weight.

During his two terms as commander in chief, Roosevelt had dazzled the country with his relentless exercise regime. But at 58, after years of political setbacks, America’s “most strenuous citizen” — as he was playfully called in the press — was feeling depleted and bloated.

Historian Michael Cullinane, co-director of the Theodore Roosevelt Center, said that Roosevelt was stuck at home on the political sidelines during World War I. “He’s writing ferociously for journals and magazines about the war, and he’s very sedentary,” Cullinane said. “And so, what he realizes is that, if he doesn’t look after himself, he’s liable to have a heart attack or some weight-related illness.”

The health camp offered a rapid weight-loss program. And by the end, Roosevelt had lost 14 pounds, slimming down to 215. He gathered a group of reporters to witness the results. It was there, reminiscing about the glory years of his exercise routine, that he revealed the bombshell.

“The last boxing I did was in Washington. I boxed with my aides most of the time, but one day a young captain of artillery came along and broke some blood vessels in my left eye. I have never been able to see out of it since, although I don’t believe many people knew it.”

When pressed for more details by reporters, Roosevelt refused. “There is to be nothing more to say about the matter,” he said.

The mystery captivated newspapers. “Who hit the Colonel in the eye?” asked the Philadelphia Inquirer. There was no shortage of suspects. Roosevelt made it a regular habit of boxing with all sorts of White House visitors during his presidency.

“Every day, he built into his routine, some amount of exercise. And the people who exercise with him wound up being the ones who then had access to power,” Cullinane said.

Reporters scrambled to discover the identity of “the young captain of artillery” who had delivered the fateful blow. Within days they had uncovered their suspect: Col. Dan T. Moore, a cousin of the first lady Edith Roosevelt.

“I was one of the military aides at the White House in 1904 and 1905,” Moore confessed to the Evening Star. “The colonel and I boxed four or five times a week, I guess.”

Roosevelt’s injury had been such a secret, it had even been kept from Moore.

“I never knew the colonel had lost the sight of one eye in a glove bout until I read that interview the other day,” Moore told the Evening Star. “And I certainly do hate to think I was responsible for it.”

Cullinane said it was kept secret to protect Roosevelt’s modesty. “I mean, health issues, it’s no different now as then,” he said.

Roosevelt didn’t seem to have any hard feelings, which Cullinane credits to his sportsmanship. But this also wasn’t a fluke. Roosevelt was constantly getting himself injured as president. According to newspapers, he had almost had the same eye poked out the year prior, in fact, while fencing at the White House.

The rapier of his sparing partner, Gen. Leonard Wood, thrust through Roosevelt’s mask, narrowly missing his eye and leaving a serious bruise on his forehead. Then, just a week later, Roosevelt’s right wrist was severely injured in a singlestick match, again against Wood. “Such a collection of scars as that borne by President Roosevelt was never owned by an American Chief Executive before. He is the ‘most wounded’ President of the United States,” the Boston Post declared.

One mystery surrounding the injury to Roosevelt’s eye is pinpointing where the match occurred on the White House grounds. While newspaper accounts refer to a “gymnasium,” the White House Historical Association, which tracks these sorts of things, has no record of such a designated facility existing in 1904.

The White House underwent a massive renovation during Roosevelt’s tenure. After a century of different presidents and first ladies redecorating random rooms, the Roosevelts decided the whole house needed an overhaul.

“The decor was like a mix of like a Gilded Age, Victorian hotel, and steamboat gothic,” said Matthew Costello, chief education officer at the White House Historical Association. “When you see the photographs post-1902 renovation, I would argue, you see a White House that is much more recognizable to us today.”

Both the West Wing and East Wing were built during Roosevelt’s renovation, and many of the mansion’s iconic spaces were transformed. Not everyone was happy, though.

Among the most unpopular parts in the renovation plan: tearing down the enormous 45-year-old greenhouses on the west side of the mansion to make room for the new West Wing and turning the East Room into a state dining room, which would also function as a “handsome ballroom,” according to the Marion Star.

“Criticism of all these alterations are frequent and various,” wrote the Chattanooga News. “Many shake their heads, as though something were ‘rotten in the state,’ and mournfully talk of the desecration of the old mansion where Jefferson, Madison … and all the other noble executive chiefs were wont to keep ward over the nation’s destinies as they sat in stately communion.”

But Roosevelt’s “desecration” of the White House didn’t stop there. The venerated Cabinet Room, where for decades former presidents like Ulysses S. Grant had consulted with their top advisers, was rumored to have been converted into Roosevelt’s “department of physical culture.”

After the renovations were complete, Roosevelt was leading a group of guests on a tour of the second floor, taking pains to point out everything he had kept intact, when they arrived at the old Cabinet Room. “When the door was opened, ‘Presto change!’” the St. Louis Globe-Democrat reported: “All the guests rubbed their eyes. Before them were floor mats, shields, boxing gloves, wire masks, fencing gloves, padded vests, swords and foils, single sticks and other athletic paraphernalia.”

An unnamed White House official dismissed the rumor in the Times Herald. “It all depends on what you think is necessary to make up a gymnasium,” the official said. “If you require trapezes, and parallel bars, and flying rings, and all sorts of apparatus for exercising the muscles you would never be satisfied with the old Cabinet room for that purpose; for those things are not there. But if the President wants to singlestick there, I suppose he can find room enough, just as in any other of the rooms in the house.”

He might have injured his eye in that room — or not. According to historical accounts, it would appear Roosevelt was fighting all over the White House. There are stories of him wrestling and fencing in the basement, practicing jiu-jitsu in the library and boxing in the attic. The whole house served as his gymnasium.

Last month, the White House began erecting the UFC “octagon” fighting arena on the South Lawn.

Every president makes the White House their own to some extent. While the White House has long been a sacred symbol of American democracy, it is also a private home, and the history of the mansion is filled with these personal touches from past presidents, some more controversial than others, Costello said.

“There’s been tree houses, jungle gyms, swing sets, victory gardens, tennis courts, basketball courts, swimming pools, putting greens, Hoover ball — that was a big popular game during Herbert Hoover’s presidency,” he said. “But to the best of my knowledge, no octagons.”

TIJUANA, Mexico — The three SUVs pulled into the gas station parking lot, one after the other, Iranian flags taped onto the hoods and fluttering from the windows.

It was barely 4 a.m. The city’s nightclubs were closing, and the streets were dark. But this caravan had hatched a plan to stake out a national soccer team they never imagined they would see in person, and especially not here. So 4 a.m. at the gas station it was.

Like so many in Tijuana, the Iranian national soccer team was never supposed to end up here. They originally had planned to spend the month across the border, in Tucson, preparing to play their World Cup matches in Los Angeles and Seattle.

But for the first time in World Cup history, a host country is at war with one of the tournament’s contenders. FIFA, global soccer’s governing body, with tensions high and uncertainty about whether the team would even be allowed into the U.S., sought an alternative.

Co-host Mexico agreed to house them, with President Claudia Sheinbaum telling reporters that FIFA had asked for help because the “United States does not want the Iranian team staying overnight in the country.” Organizers opted for Tijuana, a border city close enough to the U.S. matches, with a stadium where the team could practice and a local government eager to welcome them.

Now Sadegh Galavi and his relatives were piled into these SUVs, hoping to welcome their national team to the city that adopted his family. They knew what the world thinks of Tijuana, the dangerous, gritty border city from the movies, a hub for drug smugglers, and a cheap destination for Americans seeking parties and sex.

But they knew Tijuana as something different: a transient, multicultural city that embraces migrants and misfits, offering creole schools for Haitian children whose families are stranded there, and welcoming Sadegh and his wife four years ago when they knew no Spanish and not much more English.

It was just the place for a global soccer tournament, they thought, an unlikely but ideal refuge for their home team.

Sadegh and his friends spent the past two weeks working to convince the Iranian Embassy and team that Tijuana is safe. Now the team was minutes away from landing at Tijuana International Airport.

He had slept barely an hour, anxiously tracking the team’s flight, worried he might miss his chance to greet them. The jerseys ordered on Amazon hadn’t arrived on time, but the Iranian Embassy sent replacements at the last minute. The ambassador asked Sadegh’s wife, Maryam Asidi, to take photos and videos of the fans at the airport, to show Iranians back home that Tijuana isn’t as dangerous as they might fear.

“Hi brother, yes, please,” Sadegh said, answering his phone as he pulled into the airport. Military and police forces surrounded the airport’s entrances. The players must be landing soon, he thought.

He pulled over, hopped out of the car and power-walked toward the flight arrivals, waving his small Iranian flag.

A divisive team

Known affectionately as Team Melli, Iran’s national team was near-universally loved in Iran for decades.

“There was absolute mania around Team Melli,” said Arash Azizi, an Iranian author and historian who recalled celebrations breaking out in the streets in Iran after the team qualified for the 1998 World Cup. “It was one of the most trusted, beloved institutions in Iran across political differences,” he said.

But after years of government mismanagement and repeated, brutal crackdowns on civilian protesters, many Iranians began to see even their national soccer team as an extension of the country’s leadership.

During the 2022 World Cup, in Qatar, Iran was engulfed by nationwide “Women, Life, Freedom” protests, and its men’s national team faced criticism for not vocally supporting the protesters. The team stood silently during Iran’s national anthem, but some fans were unsatisfied. Social media videos showed Iranians honking horns and setting off fireworks after their team’s 1-0 loss to the United States, which they viewed as a symbolic defeat for the regime.

Then, this March, the Iranian women’s team came under criticism from pro-government media outlets for standing silently during the national anthem, after reports that Iranian security forces had killed thousands of people in a violent January crackdown on protests.

Australia granted six players and a staff member humanitarian visas, citing concerns they would be persecuted for failing to sing along. Eventually, five of the team members withdrew their claims and were welcomed back to Iran with an elaborate ceremony.

Then came the war, which threw the men’s team’s season into chaos. Most play in domestic Iranian leagues whose games were suspended Feb. 28. A friendly, scheduled to be played in Arizona, was canceled. President Donald Trump, in a Truth Social post, said the Iranian team was “welcome” to play in the World Cup but advised them against it “for their own life and safety.”

Just days before the team was scheduled to travel to Mexico, it still hadn’t received its U.S. visas. Earlier this month, the players learned their visas had been approved, but visa applications for 15 members of the team’s support staff had been rejected.

In an interview with the Washington Post in Tijuana, Iran’s ambassador to Mexico said the 15 people included trainers, managers, a media director, a security leader and a delegate from the Foreign Ministry. He accused the United States of failing to follow FIFA rules.

On Tuesday, Iran’s soccer federation said the ticket allocation for Iranian fans had been revoked, in an “unexpected move.” FIFA requires that participating federations be allocated 8% of ticket capacity, so fans can purchase entry to their team’s games.

“From my perspective, politics needs to be separate from sports,” Abolfazl Pasandideh, the Iranian ambassador, said through his translator in Tijuana. “And if in this case they want to mix the two, it has to be the other way around. Politics must be at the service of sports.”

But to some in Tijuana’s small Iranian community — the ambassador puts it at 20 or so, in a city of over 2 million people — politics are inherent to Iranian soccer.

“For the team to come here while the country is grieving … I don’t think that celebrating the football team right now is appropriate,” said Pedram Maymand, 31, who moved to Tijuana from Fresno, Calif., when his student visa expired after graduation about five years ago. “They’re representing the government that is killing our people.”

If he could meet the players, he would want to send them a message, he said: “Have you any shame?”

Sadegh understands the complex feelings. But to him, Team Melli is still a symbol of national pride, of a country he chose to leave but that remains a core part of who he is.

How Tijuana became home

Sadegh’s family’s path to Tijuana, like the stories of many in this city, began with a romance across borders and cultures.

About 50 years ago, Maryam said, her father visited San Diego as part of the Iranian military. He fell in love with a Mexican woman, who eventually gave birth to their son.

Maryam grew up hearing about the half brother she had never met, who lived in the faraway city of Tijuana. But she didn’t believe the story until her half brother came to visit Iran for the first time when he was in his 20s, and she was 13.

Many years later, after marrying Sadegh, Maryam decided to visit her brother’s city, not knowing anything about Tijuana’s reputation. Within two weeks, they had decided to stay.

“Here, you never feel you are from another country,” Maryam said. “This country makes you feel good. … And as a woman, you are more free.”

She shed her hijab, a head covering that is mandatory for women in Iran. Within weeks of leaving the Islamic republic, where drinking is banned, Sadegh tried mezcal for the first time. The music coursing through Tijuana’s streets on Friday and Saturday nights made Maryam feel alive.

They longed for their family and for home, but they soon began finding the other Iranians. One day Sadegh saw a car parked on the side of a road with vanity plates: “Tehran.” He left a note on the windshield with his phone number; the car‘s owner is now his friend and boss, at a car-restoration business in town.

Sadegh and Maryam gave birth to a Mexican son, Sepehr, whose middle name, Mayahuel, was a reference to an Aztec god. “We want him to feel he’s from here,” Maryam said.

When her mother died unexpectedly of a heart attack last year, Maryam fell into a deep depression and returned to Iran for a long visit with her 9-month-old son. The trip coincided with the U.S.-backed Israeli attacks on Iran, and she had to flee the country by land. As soon as she landed back in Mexico, she was moved by the strangers who offered to help carry her suitcase.

She worried her grief would taint the city for her. Instead, Tijuana pulled her out of it. This was the place where she wanted to raise her son, she decided. The couple bought a house in Tijuana and began applying for Mexican citizenship.

Then, with the World Cup on the horizon and the war raging, rumors started circulating: Their country’s team needed a home.

‘I am in my country’

Late last month, FIFA announced the team was heading to Tijuana.

Sadegh could hardly believe it. When Iranian news outlets raised concerns about security, he began messaging the players directly on Instagram to tell them about the city he loves and assure them they would be safe. He knew he would never get a response but kept typing anyway.

His boss and friend, Dara Makoipour, met with the Iranian ambassador and showed him around the city — to the stadium, to the restaurant known as the origin of the Caesar salad. Local tourism and Chamber of Commerce officials were eager to use this as a chance to change Tijuana’s reputation and put it on a global stage.

Sadegh started a WhatsApp group with his small circle of Iranian and Iranian Mexican family and friends in Tijuana, and they came up with a plan to welcome them at the airport for their 1:30 a.m. arrival. When the flight was delayed to 5 a.m., some in the group pulled out.

But his small family caravan had powered through, and now they were gathered in international arrivals, surrounded by heavily armed Mexican national guard troops, trying to scope out where they might be able to catch the team.

They walked around a security roadblock to a group of reporters and a handful of other fans from across the San Diego area.

Suddenly the team bus approached with a military escort. The small crowd cheered, raising their flags and chanting the name of one of the players. A team representative briefly rolled down the window and waved straight toward Sadegh.

“Merci,” the Iranian representative said with a smile.

Sadegh, his heart racing, accidentally spoke to them in English, calling out, “welcome!” He had forgotten he could speak to them in Farsi.

“Bienvenidos!” his Mexican relatives shouted.

Reporters surrounded the couple to ask them how they felt. Maryam beamed.

“I think now I am in my country,” she said.

The team later circulated a photo, taken from the bus on their arrival that morning, of Sadegh waving his flag. He proudly shared it on Instagram, writing in English and Farsi that “the Iranian national team belongs to all Iranians,” regardless of their beliefs, religion or political stance.

“Welcome to Tijuana,” he wrote.