’Be the Rose!’
By Neil Armstrong
Gyeongnam FC joined the K-League in 2006. Earlier this year they became notorious, along with several other sides, for press conferences which ended in tearful bows. A number of players had not been dispensing their duties with complete athletic integrity. The profit motive had defeated the Athenian spirit. An investigation was required. But then the investigation was halted and everything was OK again. Back to the football.
On Sunday evening, they took on league leaders Jeonbuk Motors. Parking issues obliged us to jog toward the floodlights. A kilometer away, we could hear the middle-aged male MC over the very loud speaker system.
Simultaneous cheerleader and administrator of notices, his was a brash crackling wail and twenty minutes into the match he shocked the world by introducing the regional governor. The governor had checked, and at no other place that day could the projection of his face onto a big screen prompt thousands of people to applaud.
The MC asked the governor to start the ``wave,” in which the spectators successively stand with their arms raised to form a domino-effect pattern circuiting the ground. Temporarily, all eyes were on him. Would it go clockwise or counter-clockwise? It would be ironic, my friend remarked, if Jeonbuk scored right now. The governor was waiting for a whistle or gunshot to prompt him. Jeonbuk scored.
It wasn’t unexpected. Before that first goal I wondered whether Gyeongnam hadn’t put out a veterans side. The pitch had two halves but didn’t really need them. Jeonbuk’s attack could have dribbled through Gyeongnam’s midfield with a medicine ball. Meanwhile, the Gyeongnam back line’s definition of defending was to run backwards. It was three nil before the governor ever got to ask for that wave to be reheld.
The Gyeongnam ``ultras,” a red mixed gender concentration of vocalists stacked in the central phalanx of seating at the opposite end of the ground, beseeched, as one, the referee to ``sort his head out” (``jeongshin charyeo, simpan”). But this guy was from the egotist’s school of management, going toe to toe with protesting players and gesticulating like a showgirl asked to direct traffic. The ``Mad Green Boys” at the other end began for the third time that evening their arm-in-arm sideways bop along the stands. There was nothing particularly mad about them apart, perhaps, from their choice of Che Guevara as flag totem face of the club. He appeared next to slogans such as My Second Heart and We Are Green Family and as usual Guevara was neither clean shaven nor wearing a tie.
I was amazed at the lack of bitterness shown by the home support as things went from bad to second half. In England, stadium seating has been violently rearranged for less. A couple of their players approached the ball as if it was made of larva, yet the crowd was always conscious not to hurt anyone’s feelings. Beautiful though this is, I’m not sure I agree. Members of the dugout were more active than certain Gyeongnam midfielders. Then, just when Jeonbuk were lighting cigars in possession, Gang Seung-jo put a terrific free kick into the top corner to provide the illusion of contest.
In the second half my attention was taken by the dedication of the home ultras. ``Gyeongnam’s victory is our glory” and ``Ooh-aah, my Gyeongnam” were two vernacular chants I could make out. They even sang ``Come on Gyeongnam” in English but the players obviously couldn’t understand, as they addressed crosses to their friends in the stands.
The non-ultra Gyeongnam fans were the least tense football supporters I’ve ever been around. People milled around the gangways like disinterested guests at a wedding and were generally calm about the prospects of missing a goal on a bathroom trip. They took partisanship only as far as it ever really needs to go and to describe it as a “family atmosphere” is a neutral statement of fact. In England the term family atmosphere was once used to describe any club whose supporters didn’t threaten the opposition’s fancy dress mascot. But this was the real deal.
Halfway through the second half as the wind got angry, Gyeongnam had a heartening flurry of pressure. We dared to believe. In retrospect this was idiocy. Jeonbuk were merely having a whole half breather. But credit to the Gyeongnam players for keeping the final score down to what it had been at half time against the 2006 Asia Champion’s League winners.
And credit to their fans, too. As the bashful Gyeongnam team took an ovation from their ultras, I read their pitch width-length banner: Our fearless hearts sing Gyeongnam’s glory with our whole body. The shuttle bus to Miryang stadium for next week’s game leaves Changwon at 4:30 p.m.
The author is a textbook writer and translator. He can be reached at aex_nba@yahoo.co.uk.