Watching Korea Republic: the neutral perspective | OneFootball

According to Futbology, this was my 20th time watching the Korean national team. I can’t remember every game in detail, but November’s turgid affair would certainly rank among the least memorable. My personal record is impressive: 11 wins and only three defeats (two of those friendlies against Brazil). Looking through the list of opponents is revealing; with the exception of a high-profile friendly against South American opposition and grudge qualifiers against Iran, most visiting teams have been mediocre.

There is very little buzz around the Korean national team these days. Only 33,256 paid spectators attended this narrow victory. Lee Tae-seok scored the only goal midway through the second half. Aside from that, Cho Gyu-sung missed a penalty, and Ghana had two goals ruled out for offside. I wish I had stayed away. Cold weather football in a large concrete bowl - half full - isn't my idea of a good experience. But it was't always that way.

Empty seats greeted the Korean and Ghanian players.

Plenty of theories have been bandied about to explain the apathy toward the Taeguk Warriors. Hong Myung-bo was a highly talented centre-back who led Korea to their finest moment, finishing fourth at the 2002 World Cup. However, he is now a deeply unpopular manager whose face is booed whenever it appears on the big screen. Fans are also unhappy with those higher up, particularly Chung Mong-gyu, President of the Korea Football Association.

So what are the primary complaints from fans across the country?

There are too many matches in Seoul, and travelling there for a midweek friendly in cold weather is not enticing for supporters from farther afield. Unless there is a contractual obligation preventing Korea from moving friendlies around, it is difficult to understand why they do not tour more often. It makes perfect sense for Sangam to host major World Cup qualifiers and glamour friendlies. This is the capital city, with the largest population and the country’s only football-specific stadium. But Ghana is neither glamorous nor a qualifier.

Before Ghana, Korea hosted Bolivia in Daejeon, a centrally located city. Official stadium capacities vary depending on the source, but Wikipedia lists Daejeon World Cup Stadium at 40,903. Ulsan, Jeonbuk, and Gwangju (which includes a running track) are also World Cup stadiums with capacities exceeding 40,000. These cities are far from Seoul, and the former two boast strong K League fan bases.

Once upon a time, getting a ticket was a difficult process.

If my calculations are correct, Korea have played 40 matches since their elimination by Brazil at the 2022 World Cup. Twenty-one of those were played at home, including World Cup qualifiers, the EAFF E-1 Championship, and friendlies. Here is the breakdown:

While 52% of matches being held in Seoul may not seem excessive, Yongin, Goyang, and Suwon are all part of metropolitan Seoul and each has a subway connection. Combined, that means 17 matches—or 81%—were played in the capital region.

Ghana coasted through a weak qualification group, winning eight of their ten matches to finish six points clear of Madagascar. The Black Stars recorded a couple of 5–0 victories along the way, with the only surprise being a draw away to Chad, which gifted the hosts their sole point of the campaign. At the time of writing, Ghana are ranked 72nd in the world, behind Cabo Verde, Jamaica, and Burkina Faso, making them one of the lowest-ranked teams set to appear at next year’s World Cup.

They come far and wide to see their captain.

As a result, local fans were not scrambling for tickets when they went on sale earlier that month. Matters worsened when almost all of Ghana’s recognised stars failed to show up. Although ranked low in according to FIFA, Ghana do possess players familiar to global audiences—Kamaldeen Sulemana, Antoine Semenyo, Thomas Partey, Mohammed Kudus, Jordan Ayew, and Iñaki Williams. Yet when the squad for the November friendly was announced, only Sulemana was included.

Ticket pricing is another frequent complaint. The cheapest seats cost ₩30,000 (€18). By most standards, that is reasonable to watch players of the calibre of Son Heung-min, Kim Min-jae, and reigning AFC Player of the Year Lee Gang-in. The issue is that unless South American opposition are involved, there is rarely anyone on the opposing team worth getting excited about. Perhaps midweek friendlies should be priced differently to encourage greater attendance.

The argument about opposition quality carries some weight. Although Korean fans idolise their stars, there are now many opportunities to see them play. Perhaps the novelty of watching Son, Kim, and Lee has worn off for much of the fanbase. Or perhaps the lack of strong opposition is the real deterrent. Look at Korea’s World Cup qualification group: Jordan, Iraq, Kuwait, Palestine, and Oman. How many players could you name from any of those teams?

Sangam's Decibel Meter.

For me, pricing is acceptable, but I do believe more effort should be made to rotate venues. That said, my biggest annoyances relate to the Decibel Meter and the matchday atmosphere. The Decibel Meter appears on the big screen once each half, usually when fans are chanting “Dae-han-min-guk!” Predictably, the crowd responds by shouting even louder. That in itself is fine. The problem is the spectacle of grown men bellowing and shrieking at full volume for several seconds. It is unpleasant and adds nothing to the atmosphere.

While the adoration shown toward players is a refreshing contrast to the abuse professionals endure elsewhere, it is clear that some spectators attend to see a small handful of individuals rather than to watch the match itself. The screeching that accompanies a face appearing on the screen or a minor piece of skill on the sideline can be excessive. The same applies to Mexican waves during routine qualifiers against substandard opposition. It often feels as though these distractions arise from boredom rather than engagement with the football.

Other than that, the experience is genuinely enjoyable. One of the standout aspects of watching Korea is the way fans idolise their players—something that may feel unfamiliar to readers in Europe or North America. At times, it borders on hero worship, with Son’s face triggering ear-splitting screams from men and women, young and old alike.

Although Hong or Chung occasionally receive boos when shown on screen, the reaction is not vitriolic and remains the exception. Television directors understand what the crowd wants: a smiling Son, a winking Kim, or a clapping Lee. Cho Gyu-sung is another fan favourite. Seeing such delight is a welcome contrast to places where athletes are routinely booed, spat on, or subjected to abuse.

Food tents outside Seoul World Cup Stadium.

In addition, the K League has developed a strong food-truck culture in recent years. While the selection is limited, it offers a good opportunity to mingle with supporters and soak up the pre-match atmosphere. For internationals, this is amplified exponentially. Alongside food trucks are tents selling classic pocha-style fare—fried chicken, fish cake, squid, blood sausage, and, of course, beer—interspersed with stalls selling Korea and Son merchandise.

Finally, Korean star players almost never withdraw from friendlies or qualifiers, no matter how irrelevant or straightforward the fixture may seem. Representing their country remains the highest honour for well-paid professionals who often travel long distances to face teams like Bolivia or Laos. That commitment alone is worth the price of admission.

Twenty matches across five different stadiums is a reasonable sample size from which to judge the experience. The biggest disappointment is the quality of opposition Korea faces. As mentioned earlier, there is little buzz around the team these days. In truth, it is surprising that interest has lasted this long. Having a generational talent like Son helps drive ticket sales, but with consistently weak opposition, one might have expected fans to drift away years ago.

The question posed at the beginning was whether attending an international match in Seoul—or, on rare occasions, elsewhere—is worthwhile. The answer is unquestionably yes. Watching international-standard football featuring top-level talent is a privilege. Experiencing it alongside fans who truly treasure these moments makes it unique. The positives outweigh the negatives—except when the opposition is taken into account. Unfortunately, that is something beyond our control.