Early Tuesday evening. The air is warm and muggy, close with expectation. Outside Deoksu Palace stands a man with Fighting Korea on his left cEarly Tuesday evening. The air is warm and muggy, close with expectation. Outside Deoksu Palace stands a man with Fighting Korea on his left cheek. I ask him for his prediction on the upcoming game. Thoughtfully he replies, “We hope we can be like Australia.”
1-0 down until the last ten minutes of their game against Japan, Australia had displayed tenacity any Korean would be proud of. Patience had paid off, and three late goals robbed Japan of victory in a dramatic turnaround. Mr. Fighting Korea had summed up what drives the average Korean fan: their nation coming back against the odds. Would Korea dominate tonight, or would they have to come back against the odds?
Downtown Seoul, 5pm. Seoul Plaza a sea of red. A helicopter buzzes overhead. Down below, traffic fights a losing battle with swathes of supporters streaming across the streets. Kick-off is still five hours away. By 7 o’clock the atmosphere is already electric. Gwanghwamun is filling fast. Young stars of Korean youth lead the growing crowds in chants of victory from the stage at the Sejong Centre.
The kick-off, when it comes, is celebrated with fireworks. Buildings emblazoned with giant banners are backdrops for slogans from lasers dance to the beat of the chanting crowd. Anticipation is damped as the first 20 minutes produce little of interest until at 23 minutes, the Togo captain, Abalo receives a yellow card for a foul on Ji Sung Park. While it seemed a typical booking, this was to be first crack in Togo’s game.
With Korea providing little inspiration, the crowd at Gwanghwamun grow listless. The cheers are half-hearted. And when Togo score at 31 minutes, it takes a while before anyone notices. They are stunned, and the sight of thousands of Koreans sitting with their mouths hanging open is sadly comical.
Half-time. The stage show at Seoul Plaza is beamed back to the screens in Gwanghwamun. Gradually, they are lifted by the stars and start to believe their chants of Oh! pilseung Korea. There’s work to do though.
Korea come out fighting. Striker, Jung Hwan Ahn is now among them. The crowd is back in chanting form. Suddenly, Ji Sung Park is brought down on the edge of the area. Abalo receives a second yellow and leaves the pitch. The crowd goes crazy for minutes. They know that with ten men against them, their hopes of repeating Australia’s comeback are real - very real indeed.
Seconds later, the joy continues. Chun Soo Lee curls his free kick into the net. Korea are on level terms and there isn’t a still body or quiet voice in the whole of central Seoul. The fans go crazy. Fireworks leap into the night. Their hope is rising.
Togo can defend with ten men and hold out for a point. Instead, they push forward looking for three. This leaves the back door open for Jung Hwan Ahn. The golden goal wonder boy of the 2002 World Cup has matured. At 71 minutes he fires a fine drive into the net and into history. The crowd are beside themselves. The tension on the street is unbearable. Every time Togo get the ball, worried shrieks pierce the night.
But then it’s all over. Pandemonium breaks out. Fireworks stream from buildings. Everyone is on their feet: screaming, chanting, dancing, hugging. Unable to contain themselves, people start climbing the plinth where the statue of Admiral Yi has been watching it all unfold in his quiet but defiant way. They wave flags in the spotlights before police force them down. The stage show erupts again and a street party breaks out.
As I watch the celebrations, I wonder where Mr Fighting Korea is. I want to shake his hand. His hope is a reality and the Koreans have overcome. Coming from behind, they finally have their historic first victory in Europe.
- John Grummitt
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