Sport

Letter From Beijing; Korea boys of '66 are alive and kicking
Calum MacLeod

11/12/2001
The Independent - London
(Copyright 2001 Independent Newspapers (UK) Limited)

"THE FALL of the Roman Empire had nothing on this," shouted the Northern
Echo, and it was hard to disagree. Italy, the world's richest, most
illustrious team, faced the no-hopers of North Korea - "so little- known
they might be flying in from outer space," said a BBC announcer. But on 19
July 1966, the team from the wrong side of the 38th Parallel dumped Italy
out of the World Cup, and into a hail of rotten tomatoes at Genoa airport.

Meanwhile, the 1-0 victors at Ayresome Park basked in the warm and genuine
welcome Middlesbrough accorded its unusual Asian guests. Temporarily free of
restrictions and privations, the North Koreans reputedly celebrated with
wine, women and song. Some 3,000 Middlesbrough fans then followed them
across England to Goodison Park for the quarter-final with Portugal.

It was a classic game of two halves. In the first, Korea raced 3- 0 ahead,
before man of the tournament Eusebio grabbed two back. In the second, he
scored two more as Portugal won 5-3. Yet the Koreans returned to their
country of two halves with heads held high. They enjoyed a hero's welcome,
then disappeared, seemingly forever.

Dark rumours later escaped their Stalinist state suggesting the players had
been banished to labour in the gulag. Exiles claimed dictator for life Kim
Il Sung was outraged that all-night benders had corrupted his side before
its Portuguese test, and, more importantly, exposed moral weakness
unacceptable from ambassadors for Kim's bizarre hybrid of socialism.

For years Italian journalists tried in vain to find Pak Do Ik, the only
scorer of the game, and the man they call "the dentist" for the pain his
goal still inflicts on Italy's football psyche. But all efforts to contact
any of Korea's 1966 heroes were rebuffed, until two enterprising Englishmen
finally broke through the political barriers sealing the capital Pyongyang.

"Before we left for England, the Great Leader [aka Kim Il Sung] had asked us
to win one or two games," 59-year old Pak Do Ik proudly recalled last month,
breaking a 35-year silence. "After we beat Italy we were all crying. I ran
up the steps to the top of the stand and made a speech to the Great Leader.
And then I cried some more."

Daniel Gordon, Director for VeryMuchSo Productions, and Nick Bonner, a
Beijing-based Korea expert, were sitting in Pak's Pyongyang home at the end
of a four-year search. The two-storey apartment, gifted by a grateful
government, was strewn with pots of kimchi, Korea's beloved pickled cabbage,
and assorted football memorabilia. Pak's son, now a football coach, also
played for his country, managed for a period by his father, while Pak's
grandson shows promise on his school team.

Filming the documentary "The Game of their Lives", Gordon and Bonner were
heartened to find seven surviving members of the 11-man team behind the
greatest shock in World Cup history. To win the quarter-final, the
Portuguese were promised pounds 500 a man. The Koreans were promised another
sports medal, of the type weighing down the magnificent seven as they
recently clanked around for the cameras, in full military uniform, on the
pitch of Pyongyang's vast Kim Il Sung stadium. But their most profound
memories concern their reception in north-east England. "Before we arrived
in Britain, we were not sure how the people of England would treat us,"
centre-half Rim Jung Son told Gordon. "We thought we would be shunned," Rim
admitted, for the Korean War was only 13 years cold. "But the mayor of
Middlesbrough and all the people went out of their way to make us feel at
home. I still cannot understand why they did it, but I am glad they did."

All seven enquired after the health of the good mayor, only to learn they
had outlived their host. His working-man's town had responded with fervour
to the plucky outsiders.

Moreover, they played with a speed that resembles today's game. "The Great
Leader had told them to play Chollima football," inspired by Korea's
legendary Chollima horse, says Gordon. "So they played to their strengths,
they were small and quick, and there was no point booting the ball as
England did."

Pak Sung Jin, also 59, coaches one of Pyongyang's First Division sides. In
1966, his spectacular volley earned Korea a last-gasp equaliser against
Chile, and the crucial point that set them up for Italy. South Korean
newspapers claim Pak spent years incarcerated at Yodok internment camp,
living off the insects he could catch, but he denies suffering any direct
fall-out from his English sojourn.

The names of Pak Sung Jin, Pak Do Ik and their team-mates, all of whom are
still involved with football, are revered nationwide as the Peles of the
Pensinsula, although their faces, from Korea's pre- television age, are less
well known. They showed their undimmed passion, and gratitude to their
masters, with a rendition of their World Cup song, before they saw off the
English film-makers at Pyongyang railway station.

When the World Cup visits South Korea and Japan next year, the Asian
benchmark still remains that set by this class of '66, the first Asian team
to qualify. "We have some great players in the north and south," a North
Korean border guard ruefully remarked to Gordon beside the 38th Parallel.
"If we could play together, what a strong team we would have!"