Courtesy of David Tizzard
There's a place in Korea where politics doesn't matter. Where no-one cares about K-pop. North Korea is largely inconsequential. And the economy recedes to the background. All that matters is your teammates. Whether you turn up or not. Do you duck out of challenges or do you remain committed? Can you take being abused when you mess up? Are you comfortable around other people?
When I first arrived in Korea, it was in the wake of the 2002 World Cup. The Dutch master Guus Hiddink had come and transformed the national team by ditching the concepts of seniority and rank that ran through Korean society. Instead, he played those with the talent and fitness, irrespective of age. This, alongside some "lucky" referee decisions, some excellent performances, and the support of the nation, resulted in Korea shocking the world by reaching the semifinals of a tournament they had no right to win.
Far from the World Cup Stadium, however, I was playing on mud pitches by the Han River and Cheongnyangni. I began playing when foreigners weren't as commonplace as they are today and social media was just the pub. A Scotsman approached me in a bar, said I looked like George Best (really!), and that there was a game tomorrow. "Can you play centre midfield?" The beer said yes, even if I didn't. A few hours later, I was sat on the back of his motorbike careening through the early morning traffic questioning my life choices and wondering whether the kebab would stay in my stomach or decorate the back of the Scotsman's leather jacket.
Before we kicked off, people had to run round kicking stones off the pitch and sometimes even pouring flour on the ground to make sure we could see the lines. Having grown up playing in the fields of England and private schools of Australia, it was something else to be clattered into by people stinking of soju every Saturday morning and going home with your knees ripped to shreds by the dirt. A few weeks later our goalkeeper was deported for smoking weed. Our Irish centrehalf rarely turned up, and when he did he hadn't washed his kit in weeks. The lads up front could score goals though so we didn't get relegated.
When they still existed, we used to get signed onto the American army bases to play teams there. They had the best pitches, if not always the best teams. It was surreal to go from the windy grimy streets of Haebangchon into something which looked like an American suburb with people called Bob walking their dogs and supping on a Bud in a matter of mere minutes. But this was a time when American military police still roamed the streets of Itaewon at night with very big guns asking to see the IDs of anyone they suspected of being a soldier out past curfew. On the bases, I remember taking in all the American military information I could, from the AFN network on the television, Dragon Hill Lodge offers, to the local bars military personnel were banned from attending (Star Butts being one on the list that always made me chuckle).
Over the years, the weekend football league here developed alongside the country. Dirt was replaced by astroturf. Seats and benches allowed friends and family to watch. The pitches looked great, even if grass was still at a premium. The teams also began to change with the Americans, Brits and Canadians slowly joined by people from all over the world: Brazilians, Ghanaians, Russians and many more. A system of promotion, relegation, statistics, social media and lots of enthusiasm meant that playing football on the weekend in Korea was now something enjoyed by serious players and people as keen on fitness as those driven by cigarettes and birds.
Korean football
Having badly injured my ankle twice and with my professional life becoming ever busier, I had to step away from football for a while. It was no fun hobbling into lecture halls or trying to feed kids in the middle of the night on one leg. But a few years ago I decided to get back into it. I was invited to join a Korean team that plays every Wednesday evening. The pitches are incredible now. It's also interesting being the only foreigner. Everyone speaks Korean and I'm expected to do the same. And this is where the politics and everything else goes out the window. I see Korean people in all their beautiful diversity.
Courtesy of David Tizzard
Our manager is about 150 centimeters tall, has a ponytail, and turns up in a little Bongo truck every week. Despite his size, he has the loudest voice I've ever heard. He brings water and Choco Pies, sometimes watermelon. He also owns a parrot and shares photos of that in the group chat. One of our coaches is pretty famous on social media for being an eyebrow design artist. I didn't know that was a thing either, but he travels around the world helping ladies make their eyebrows look amazing and has tens of thousands of followers. The right back is diabetic and has a medical system attached to his body. His digital watch informs him of various health updates that I admittedly don't quite understand. One of my best friends on the team is in his 60s and doesn't have an ounce of fat on him. During breaks he starts doing press-ups and runs around the pitch. He gave me a pair of trainers as a gift the other week for no apparent reason. He's also never been outside of Korea so he's always asking me questions about foreign lifestyles. "Do you have rice in England?"
There are five or six youngsters that play with us as well. In their early 20s, they do a lot of the running but get bounced off the ball fairly easily. A couple of them will leave to do their military service soon and there's a sense of sadness and nostalgia when that conversation comes up. The elder lads speak fondly of their own time there, slap them on the arses and offer reassuring "gwaenchana"s. We will miss them. But, at the same time, we are also slowly welcoming back those who have finished their service. They turn up in loads of ROK exercise gear and with far more muscles than they left.
Everyone older than me is "hyung." The younger players bow to me and place their hand under their forearm when they come to say hello. I speak non-honorific language to them and back them up when they're getting kicked by the opposition. It's rather beautiful to see salarymen, university students, professors, blue collar workers, and people aged from 20-60 all mingling together. When I missed a penalty last year in a big game, they all took great delight in teasing and tormenting me for days. That was when I knew I had been accepted. I'm not treated any differently to anyone else. They don't speak slowly. They don't not swear. And they don't expect me to be any different from anyone else. It's a perfect way to experience Korea.
The Future
The latest chapter of my football experiences in Korea is coaching the team at Seoul Women's University. This more than anything reflects changing social norms and values. The young women turn up in Arsenal shirts and speak about Juventus. They love Mbappe and Salah. They've been turned on to the western world not by Friends and Harry Potter but by Tottenham and Barcelona. They have all the enthusiasm of youth, running into each other, determined to kick something. When one of them heads a high ball, they will often turn to me on the sideline smiling. "Did you see that?!" their eyes gleam at me.
I'm not the best football player but showing them how to control a football, to pass, to do keep-ups, and to play heads and volleys brings me a lot of joy. The "oohs" I hear from them when I put my foot through the ball and show them how to shoot powerfully is a reminder that much of this is new to them but they are keen to learn. There might have been some local and domestic women's football teams in Korea 20-odd years ago, but watching my team play games against other clubs and universities shows me that the country is changing quickly. And it's a humbling thing to not only observe these changes but also in some way be part of them. Football really is the beautiful game.
David A. Tizzard has a doctorate in Korean Studies and lectures at Seoul Women's University and Hanyang University. He is a social-cultural commentator and musician who has lived in Korea for nearly two decades. He is also the host of the "Korea Deconstructed" podcast, which can be found online. He can be reached at datizzard@swu.ac.kr.