closed off with 3 TVs 10-15 stories above the crowd and other moveable ones set up here and there and reveled in being part of 7 million street cheerers. I took photos from a window high above the crowd and ran into former students of mine. We shared snacks and talked as game time drew near. The cheering was intense, people seemed like professional pep squads by now, engaging in more than half a dozen different cheers with amazing precision. Unfortunately unseasonably cold I was freezing at halftime and rushed to catch a bus home. I got off the bus smack dab into a mini-street cheer squad with 50 or so neighborhood people gathered around a 4 foot high television. Two minutes later Germany scored, and no matter how fervently I prayed we could not equalize the score before the final whistle. And then, having been defeated, with no hope of going to Yokohama, you know what the Koreans around me did? Did they cry? Did they scream? Did they voice strong anti-German sentiment or say the refs were wrong? No, in fact they just said “Oh, well” and walked off, still cheering.

Last Game

The 3rd/4th place match was held in Daegu, and I couldn’t help but kick myself that I hadn’t bought tickets for every Daegu match way back in the beginning. I took the bus out to the stadium and soaked in the atmosphere. It was so fun! And so friendly towards Turkey, who had been a great help to South Korea during the Korean War. Korean fans had Turkish flags as well as Korean, and Turkish people attending the games were treated like minor celebrities. Japanese, Germans, even some Mexicans who’d stayed even after their team went home were all milling around with the thousands of red Koreans. In fact the Turkish were also wearing red. I was hardly the only Western fan of the Korean team. Hundreds of teachers and literally thousands of SE Asian factory workers were caught up in the wonderful feeling of for once being an equal part of something in Korea. Snapping until thirty minutes before game time, it was obvious I was hardly the only one with no ticket. Hundreds of fans were already camped out where they could catch a bare glimpse of a corner of the pitch from outside on a hill above the stadium. At last with the sound of the stadium roaring in my ears, the cries of “Dae Han Min Guk” nearly rocking the building on it’s foundations I ran off to take a bus home. The radio on the bus was naturally tuned to the soccer game and it was hard for me to believe I was hearing right. How could the score be 1-0 already? How could it be 1-1 and then 2-1 when I’d hardly gotten halfway home? I used my cellular phone to call my best friend to explain what was happening. Arriving at a friend’s house I could hardly sit still to watch the game. What in the world? 3-1? I know the Turkish team is good, but really, where had our fire gone? In the second half Korea rallied and showed good form and in the last minute of injury time brought the score to 3-2.

So, we lost. But what other countries would have celebrated a loss with huge letters flashing on the screen “Korea is 4th!” And the TV broadcast scenes of celebration allover the country as the organized official section of the Red Devil’s in the stadium unrolled a gigantic Turkish flag. The Turks and Koreans on the field walked arm and arm, wearing each other’s shirts and hugging as though they were long lost kin. In the end, so in the end, really, we won after all.