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23 Days in Korea: An American at the World Cup

by Andy Gustafson

235 pages; quality trade paperback (softcover); catalogue #03-0694; ISBN 1-4120-0325-3; US$22.00, C$28.50, EUR18.60, £12.90

At the 2002 World Cup the United States stunned the world by advancing to the Quarterfinals. From the shocking games to the outrageous victory parties, author, Andy Gustafson, recounts it all.

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about the book      about the author      reviews      sample excerpt      catalogue info

About the Book At the 2002 World Cup in South Korea, the United States National Team proved to their fellow Americans and everyone else in the world that they could play the world's game. Avenging their last place finish in 1998, the Americans stunned the world by advancing to the Final Eight, shocking one of the favorites, Portugal, and eliminating their archrivals, Mexico, along the way. Part-time journalist and full-time fan, Andy Gustafson, was there for it all! In 23 Days in Korea, he brings the reader along for the very wild ride. Cheer with Sam's Army from the cheap seats as the US shocks opponent after opponent. Revel at the outrageous victory parties. Hear the songs and taste the kim'chi. Meet fans from around the world and travel to exotic cities, stadiums and restaurants. The descriptions are so vivid, the readers will be able to experience all the action, both on and off the field.

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About the Author Andy Gustafson is the co-host of the bi-weekly television show, This Week in Soccer. Currently, he writes for www.OnTheSidelines.org and has been featured on www.Sams-Army.com, as well as the Emerald City Gazette. He previously appeared on the weekly radio show, The Soccer Show. Andy is a graduate of Mary Washington College in Fredericksburg, VA. Originally from Roanoke, VA, Andy now resides in Annandale, VA with his wife, Ivy.

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Reviews "I laughed, I cried, I proclaimed "I really did that?" Bigdog "Andy, you have captured all the great moments of one of the most memorable 15 days in my life, thank god you left out the un-memorable parts!" Bigdog "I received your book yesterday and I read it all already. Your book took me back to Korea once again and thank you for letting me relieve my greatest vacation." "I just got your book and I've barely begun to read it but it is already taking me back. Amazing job." Sample Excerpt Day 16 Monday, June 17 Somebody Stole My Sombrero I think U.S. soccer fans have waited all our lives for this day. Due to the lack of coverage the sport receives, we have had to go through many things. We have driven and flown far to see out team play in friendlies. We have bought expensive European magazines to learn more about this great game. We have ordered Pay-Per View to see meaningless exhibitions. And we have been forced to do what would be the unthinkable elsewhere in the world; we have been made to huddle over our computers and stare at a seemingly unmoving screen in order to read scattered and unreliable reports as our team play important qualifying matches! I will never forget nearly going blind as a ten man U.S. side fought bravely to hold an attacking Mexico to a vital nil-nil draw in 1997. At least I read that they fought bravely and that Mexico attacked. I do not know for sure because it was not on television where I lived. Yes, we have suffered many indignities while awaiting this day. For this is a day in which the U.S. has a good chance to advance beyond the second round in the World Cup. In fact, in my 32 years of life, we have only had this opportunity once before. In truth, playing Brazil on the Fourth of July in 1994 was not much of an opportunity. Brazil was the best side in the world, and we were still pretty naïve. Couple that with the suspension of John Harkes that day and only the most optimistic gave us a half chance. Even at halftime with the score 0-0 and Brazil down a man, I was not hopeful. Of course, Brazil did find the goal and went on to win the Cup. Today is very different than 1994. We play Mexico, a team we know so well. Of the 14 other countries in the second round, I doubt any would intimidate us less. The only others that would not outright scare us would have been Paraguay and Senegal with the possible exceptions of the two hosts, were they not holding the home field advantage. For us, the draw was perfect. Somehow, in all the drama of three nights ago, we had avoided Italy and been matched with our fiercest rival, the hated Tri-Colors of Mexico. We know them, and they know us. We hate them, and they hate us. We crave their respect, and they give us none. Today, we will play Mexico, a team with whom we have won many a game in the last few years, but no one seems to notice. Today will be different for so many ways. The game will not be held in the intimidating Azteca Stadium or on the frozen field of Columbus or in RFK Stadium, nor will it be held in front of 70,000 obnoxious Mexican fans in the L.A. Coliseum. It will be played in a place called Jeonju. The winner will not simply earn minor bragging rights or three points toward qualification. No, today the winner will exalt in advancing to the quarterfinals in the most important sporting event in the world while relishing in the knowledge that it has banished the humiliated loser from the Orient, back to North America where it will be many years, if not decades before they will have a shot at redemption. It will be different in one other aspect. Unlike all our previous meetings that go largely unnoticed elsewhere, today the entire world will bare witness to our border war. The eyes of the football world will be focused on us, leaving the loser nowhere to hide. I pray that will not be us. It was three hours until game time and there were only a few people around. The sun was blazing, but we noticed a large tent set up near the stadium. We stood under it and waited for the rest of the Yanks to arrive. There was a refreshment stand nearby, and I bought a Coke, as did Tom who reached into his backpack and pulled out a pint-sized bottle of Soju he had purchased in the convenient store earlier in the morning. It had cost about a dollar. I took a large sip, but really only to see what it tasted like. I immediately wished I had not. It was clear and hot. It brought back college memories and the taste of grain alcohol. I gulped down about half of my Coke to get the taste out of my mouth and the feeling out of my throat and stomach. Tom decided it was better to mix it with Coke than to drink it straight. I avoided it all together. People were arriving in droves, and there was some action nearby. A crowd surrounded a man juggling a soccer ball better than anyone I had ever seen. The man turned out to be Coach Woo, the coach of the University of Hawaii soccer team and record holder for longest continuous juggling session. He put on a fantastic display of juggling as well as balancing the ball on his head. Soon, we were joined by Mark, the lawyer from D.C., who had seen Vladimir and his other friends leave after the first round. Mike also met up with us. They both were drinking the cans of Budweiser, the only choice of beer at the stadiums and were chiding me for not imbibing. But that shot of Soju had been enough for me. I wanted to remember this game with a clear mind. I did not need anything to get me more up for the game. In addition, it was so hot that I was concerned about dehydration. We were going to be in this sun a long time, and I wanted to make sure I could last the whole game. Our group of five enjoyed ourselves, and we talked more about our experiences here than of the day*s game. Perhaps we were nervous. As great as a victory would be, a loss would hurt so much. From time to time, a few Mexicans would approach us. They were very different than the Mexicans I have encountered at matches in the U.S. Generally in the U.S., the Mexican fans live in the U.S. For some reason they feel the need to be extra loud and obnoxious. The phrase, "If you like it so much, why don*t you go back?* is heard often from the American fans. These Mexican fans were very much like all the others we have encountered here: friendly, humorous, and fun. It was a refreshing change from the usual Green Shirts we encounter who are profane, combative, and threatening. One of these "new" Mexicans stopped by to offer us a sample of what he promised was the best tequila in all of Mexico, a brand called Don Julio. After watching him take a swig (you can*t be too careful, he was wearing a tricolor jersey) the four of us, all but Jimmy of course, took a mouthful. Not being a tequila connoisseur, I could not differentiate it from the cheap stuff I had once drank way too much of in college. Other Mexicans stopped by to shake hands and make their predictions on the game. They were confident, very confident and that pleased me. They were looking past us, perhaps looking for revenge from Germany from1998. Their confidence also showed the lack of respect they have for us. In the previous four World Cup Qualification matches, both countries had a win, a loss, and two ties. Yet, despite our even record as of late, they still considered us their whipping boy. With an hour left before game time, Jimmy and I left the group and walked the few hundred yards to the stadium. There we were quickly searched and sent inside. When we got to the entrance to the stands, we noticed our tickets pointed us up into the upper deck! Unhappily, we trudged up the steps to find ourselves at the bottom of the uncomfortably steep upper deck. We found our seats about eight rows up. There were other Americans there, and we were glad that we were not alone. As the minutes went on, more and more Yanks came through the entrance and nearly everyone complained about the FIFA sticking us up here. A few of us walked from row to row, trying to determine if we should make a move to the lower sections. A lot of support was gathered and the NY Crew took the lead and decided that if there was an open section, we would all go there once the game began. As the players left the field, Tony Meola turned toward us and punted a ball that flew up into our section. We all cheered him. Kasey Keller turned and did the same, though his ball fell short of the upper deck. A few minutes later a smiling Mike came down the aisle to where Jimmy and I were standing, carrying the ball! "Is that the one Meola kicked up here?" "Yeah, I skied to get it!" Soon, the teams were back on the field and we cheered and sang for them. The lineups were announced and Arena had made an interesting tactical move. Jeff Agoos was injured and out for the rest of the tournament. Frankie Hejduk was suspended for this match. With those two starters out coupled with the fact that reserve Steve Cherundolo had been injured just before the tournament, we were short on defenders. I was certain that David Regis would be inserted into the left back position vacated by Hejduk. It was a position that had been his until the Portugal game. At some point in the last month of training, Arena had lost confidence in him and had moved Hejduk to that spot. From today*s lineup, it was clear just how much confidence Arena had lost. All of it. We read on the scoreboard that we were only playing three defenders, Greg Berhalter, who was seeing his first action of the tournament, and mainstays, Tony Sanneh and Eddie Pope. There were four midfielders, Mastroeni, O*Brien, Eddie Lewis, and Reyna; and three forwards, McBride, Donovan, and Josh Wolff. I doubted we would line up in a 3-4-3 but could not figure out what we would do. Certainly Donovan would play in the midfield, but where would that leave Reyna? Before we had time to discuss all this, the anthems were played. The teams ran to their positions, the U.S. defending the goal below us, giving us a good look at Arena*s tactical lineup. We were in a 3-5-2. The midfield had Reyna on the right wing! I was aware that he had played that position, as well as right back, for Rangers when he was there, but never thought that he would not be our creative midfielder. That role was left to Donovan. Lewis took or the left wing which left O*Brein and Mastroeni at defensive mids. As soon as the ball was put into play, we headed for the exits in droves. The stadium was maybe just over half full. We had speculated that many Koreans had snapped up these tickets, guessing that they would see their beloved Reds, never thinking they would have won the group and headed to Daejeon. There was a nearly empty section below us, in the corner to the right of the goal. That section was our destination. "Oh when the Yanks, go marching in, Oh when the Yanks go marching in, Oh I want to be in that number, When the Yanks go marching in!" Hundreds of us sang as we, in an unbelievably orderly fashion, made our way down the steps, through the concourse, into an entrance way, and down into out new seats at field level. In all honesty, to simply watch the game, our original seats were much better. From the perch high above, we could see everything quite well. It was, like most in Korea, a small stadium, and we were not too high. They were fine seats. However, watching the game was not what we had come to do. We had flown nearly 20 hours to be involved, to encourage, inspire, and support. That cannot be done effectively from the upper deck. We were now squeezed tightly together, two of us for every one seat, though we would never use them. We were low and in the corner, not an optimal viewing location, but we were close to the field, which is what we wanted. The players now knew we were here. Catalogue Information Canada • USA • UK • Europe Contact Us | Privacy Policy | Terms of use | Author Login URL http://www.trafford.com © 1995-2007 Trafford Publishing, a division of Trafford Holdings Ltd.