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World Cup fever is in full swing here and the populace is proudly marching through its days in red T-shirts decrying "Reds Go Together" and "One more time, Korea!" The streets are awash in crimson; subway cars bleed red as they race through the night.

Rabid soccer supporters are widely known as 'Red Devils' and this week we hit Seoul's city center to partake in local satanic rituals. Team Korea was pitted against that mighty African juggernaut, TOGO, for its first World Cup match and anticipation was high. As our train approached City Hall, the colour balance of clothing skewed wildly toward cardinal, and sightings of painted faces increased fiftyfold.

We forced our way through an anthill of activity at the station, passing groups of fans praying, drinking and doing whatever else they felt necessary to ensure national glory. Outside, the streets were jammed with vendors hawking beer, flags and styrofoam pads for sitting on... but there wasn't much room to sit. A glowing sea of crimson, spotted with the soft light of devil horns and noisemakers, spilled out across the sidewalks and into the street. People were balanced on railings and hanging from trees, securing their view for the game that was still two hours off. A myriad of huge televisions were affixed to skyscrapers and corporate head offices up and down the road, dwarfed by still larger advertisements: KTF supports Park Ji-Sung, and you can't possibly forget it!

I found out later that there were 400 000 or so people crammed into the blocks surrounding City Hall. A very believable statistic. The pounding of drums and war cries swept periodically through the streets: Daehan minguk! *clappa-clappa clappa-clappa clap* (Translation: Republic of Korea! clap-clap clap-clap clap. It sounds much lamer in English.) As bios and stats of beloved Korean players swept across the screens, applause and screams greeted them. Togo players were welcomed with hearty boos.

The game underway, a blanket of solidarity covered the city as every zealous witness fervently pushed their hearts towards a single word:

GOAL!!!

Less desirable would be a moment of shocked silence, followed by:

...goal.

which would, of course, signal the unthinkable atrocity of an African achievement. This very thing happened late into the first half, temporarily casting a hush over the massive crowd. Nearby girls covered their faces as the goal was replayed, and freshly belligerent teens clamoured angrily in response to this shocking betrayal. Rallying in the second half, the congregation steadily drummed their support through the crisp night air and, finally, a beautifully netted free kick pulled everyone to their feet, screaming wildly. Hugs were exchanged and minutes later, a second goal was hammered home and the city tore itself apart in ecstasy.

As the final whistle blew and the sky was painted with fireworks and great gouts of flame, an interesting thing happened: in the midst of the celebration, people were kicking garbage and the newspapers they'd been sitting on into piles, effectively cleaning the streets. Mike noted that in London those very newspapers would be used to set huge scarring bonfires. Even while rioting, Koreans seem to be pretty conscientious. We dutifully added our own trash to the mounting piles and set off into the wilds of the mob, blasting fireworks this way and that.

I carried a Canadian flag with me, as I didn't have a Korean one and the red and white of the homeland matched the Red Devil colour scheme rather well. Canadian support was appreciated by most, although I think that if Korea had lost I might've got stomped. We recklessly jumped into drum pits and huge expanding circles of joyous dancers (or stumblers), drinking in the universal upper of victory, and then Sun-hi treacherously shot me with a roman candle. Luckily I fell down, but the flag took the brunt of the damage and was riddled with burns and holes. I sternly told Sun-hi that under Canadian law she could be arrested and beaten with soup ladles for desecrating the flag, and then we watched an exceptionally rowdy subset of the mob surround a car and rock it like the cradle of an unwanted baby.

Overenthusiastic fans crawled over buses like bugs, but wanton destruction was happily kept to a minimum. I'll never understand why fans would sack and torch their own city in triumph. In the context of historical warfare, wouldn't it make more sense to go pillage Togo after defeating their finest warriors? It's a little far away, but still. An age of enforced peace leads to some strange aggressional outlets.

Down in the subway, the trains were as full as I've ever seen them. The system was running two hours past its usual closing time - isn't it great how an entire country can retool its civic services for a sporting event? - but every car was jammed full. People were taking running starts and throwing themselves into the mess of weary, enthused humanity inside. Me and Mike benevolently helped with the pushing, whether our assistance was asked for or not. Three hours, two trains and one taxi later, we were home: breathless, unconscious and nowhere ready to teach the following morning.

But still, some things are more exciting than a good night's sleep.

[World Cup] [Korea vs. Togo] [soccer] [Seoul] [Red Devils]

Posted by Chris at 09:24 AM >> Commentations (0)