A League You Have to Walk To: Football and Geography in Korea | OneFootball

Football doesn’t start at kick-off. It starts when you leave the house. As the new season gets underway this month, let's reflect on what has earned K league a permanent spot in our hearts.

The growing desire for more analytically based football commentary has seeped its way into Korea. This is partly due to the surge of young talent, and to established K League players, now attracting the gaze of European (and sometimes Asian and North American) scouting departments. Oxford United supporters will want more substance than“Jeon Jin-woo is a really good player” before welcoming him to the Kassam Stadium.

Always a special moment. The floodlights are on as they appear for the first time.

However, even I must draw the line somewhere. Covering Suwon Bluewings has been both fun and tragic - depending on the fortunes of the club - but delving deeper into the tactical approach of Byun Seung-hwan during his ill-fated spell in charge of the Bluewings doesn’t keep me awake at night. Nor does duels won, or any of the following in the alphabet soup; xG, xA, PPDA, OBV, and npxG.

What excites me far more is the smell of a K League stadium on matchday. Regular viewers will know Korean grounds come in all shapes and sizes: from giant 2002 World Cup venues, to rudimentary multi-purpose local grounds with basic amenities, to city-built concrete bowls with temporary seating added to improve the experience, to the small - but hopefully increasing - number of football-specific stadiums.

If you are looking for club names that represent all of those styles, I give you: FC Seoul (2002 World Cup), Busan IPark (basic structure), FC Anyang (temporary seating), and Daegu FC (football-specific). Korean geography experts will be aware that these clubs are situated from north to south, in different cities across different provinces. It is a hotchpotch of styles, sizes, and designs.

Big Bird: Defined by that roof covering those seats.

And let’s pay tribute to the grounds I haven’t mentioned yet. For World Cup memories, how about Suwon’s magnificent Big Bird, with its landmark roof covering the main stand? Or Jeju’s own version, accompanied by views of the ocean and an extinct volcano? How about the football-specific marvels in Pohang and Incheon - easily two of the country’s best venues? Like Anyang, Bucheon and Gangwon have sought to minimise the impact of the running track. But if you prefer big, brutalist concrete bowls, trot along to Gimcheon, Cheongju, or Paju.

One thing Korean stadiums have in common, though (with the occasional exception of Daegu and Incheon), is that getting a ticket to see the football is rarely a problem. Daegu’s small capacity of 12,419 means a sell-out is possible, but for almost every other stadium in Korea, access is guaranteed - even without buying a ticket in advance.

When the last of the winter snow finally melts away, Korea really comes alive. Nothing grows in winter. The trees are bare for several months. No flowers can pierce the icy ground. A country so vibrant with colour and vegetation becomes a post-apocalyptic wasteland during the short, bitter days of winter. There is an absence of green. Even the ground is brown and lifeless.

The end of that is the beginning of football.

Incheon's South Stand is one-of-a-kind in Korea.

How tragic would it be if the K League decided - or was forced - to adopt a more global calendar, playing through the winter in what is rapidly becoming the September-May norm? The heat and humidity of July and August are genuine concerns, but is that worse than frozen pitches, the possibility of heavy snow causing cancellations, and temperatures in some parts of the country dipping to -14°C? I’ll let you decide.

That debate can be saved for another day. Like most football fans, the itch to return to a stadium is becoming unbearable. I miss football, but I don’t yearn for discussions about our main striker’s xG, the new formation the manager is trying in pre-season, how the foreign imports will adapt, or how good this teenage local lad might be.

As much as anywhere on the planet, Korean football is about the matchday experience.

It starts with an early-morning KTX trip from Gwangmyeong Station to Gimcheon. From there, a local bus to the city centre for lunch. By now, you’ve already caught your first glimpse of jerseys walking down the street. This is when the excitement and anticipation really begin to rise. Follow the crowd until you catch sight of a stadium wall, or a floodlight set against the backdrop of a magnificent mountain.

Over the years, I’ve accumulated some great K League memories simply from walking to a stadium. From Seogwipo, the walk to Jeju’s wonderful stadium is around five kilometres. It is long - and probably excessive - but the glorious coastline keeps you company along the way. The sparkle off the sea as the sun sets in the west is a joy to behold. You cannot escape the gaze of Hallasan to your right, nor the rich vegetation and palm trees spread out in all directions.

Compare that with modern-day Anyang. Leaving the city centre towards the Sports Complex, the scenery shifts from the quiet beauty of the Anyang River to the incomprehensible scale of heavy construction surrounding the stadium. I have photos of Anyang Stadium from 2020, with Gwanaksan and planes landing at Gimpo clearly visible. Those days are gone now, but it does highlight the immense potential of the club as they look to prolong their stay in K League 1.

As the skyline changes rapidly around Anyang Stadium, treasure moments like this. 

I don’t think any walk compares to a visit to Pohang Steel Yard. This is partly out of necessity - Pohang is a small city with no subway system. The stadium sits across the river from the city centre, buried deep within the POSCO complex. Buses and cars crawl along at a snail’s pace. But the walk itself is fascinating. Only then can you truly appreciate the size and scale of POSCO; the stadium is dwarfed in comparison. If you’re lucky, the stroll will be interrupted by a slow-moving cargo train.

Afterall, Korean stadiums are shaped by their surroundings. Like Pohang, the backdrop to Jeonnam Dragons' home stadium isn't defined by lush forests or imposing mountains. Smoke towers from another POSCO factory puncture the skyline. Busan's Gudeok couldn't be more distinct. The stadium has no remarkable features, but that is compensated by the backdrop of Gudeok Mountain.

Sadly, we mourn the loss of Gangwon FC's former home. It is a massive shame Chuncheon is off the menu in 2026, although it will host K3 matches. Chuncheon has one of Korea's best culinary experiences indakgalbi - stir-fried chicken marinated in a spicy gochujang-based sauce. The 45-minute walk to the stadium is irrelevant when you reach the banks of North Han River, with its breathtaking views of the river and mountains. You can even go canoeing or take a cable car before kickoff.

Korean football is a league of journeys. Some are short, whilst others require an airplane. None are long enough that can be considered burdensome. Seongnam's Tacheon Stadium is next to the river by the same name. River paths and biking go hand-in-hand in Korea. Hwaseong Stadium is the only one that tests your sense of adventure. Good luck getting there if you don't have a car.

To give the K League some credit, player names on jerseys are still written in hangeul. Outside the stadium, an hour before kick-off, as you sip a cold can of beer, watch the supporters shuffle past in their own unique colours, with hangeul characters on their backs. The green of Jeonbuk Hyundai to the orange of Gangwon FC. Jeonnam Dragons in yellow to Cheonan City in sky blue. Different names, colours, crest. Each adds something to the rich tapestry of K League football.

Once inside, it doesn’t get much better than a sunny Saturday afternoon in Suwon. The seating colour scheme, the razor sharp edges of the stands, the blue jerseys, flags, the second-half umbrella display, and the constant beat of La Banda de Uman. It is the best stadium in Korea to sit back and reflect on the meaning of it all, as 22 players and 14,000 fans put on a show for you.

There are more. Anyang under the lights is raucous. FC Seoul can attract Premier League-level crowds once or twice a season. Incheon United’s stadium oozes class, not least the single-tier terrace behind the goal. Then there is the aforementioned Pohang: a distinct two-tiered stadium with steep stands offering perfect sight-lines.

Pohang Steel Yard with its steep stands is very atmospheric.

This is not to say analytics are unimportant in football. There is clearly a market for them, as fans try to understand more about a new signing or a rumoured name arriving from overseas. But that conversation has never been what draws me back, week after week.

For me, football lives in the hours before kick-off. It lives on train platforms, on crowded buses, and on long walks through unfamiliar neighbourhoods. It lives in the first sight of a floodlight between apartment blocks, in the slow build of noise as more scarves and jerseys appear, and in the way a stadium reveals itself - suddenly or gradually - depending on where you are.

The K League is not something I analyse. It is something I travel through. It changes with the seasons, with the cities, and with the people who follow it. You can measure passes, pressing, and probability if you like - but you cannot evaluate the feeling of arriving.

That is the side of Korean football I want to share with you in 2026.