I'd like to mention that this post may sound bitter. I grew up in a country and time where politics regularly interfered with sport. National teams were barred from competing internationally for 30 years, and after isolation, the government required teams of all levels to select based on skin colour. From a young age, I learned to dislike it whenever people with no real interest in sport use it to push unrelated agendas.
Political interest groups soured the semi-finals and finals of the AWCL for me. Maybe a few months from now, I will only remember sitting in the rain and watching a quality football match. Right now, though, I'm still frustrated and even angry at the groups who came to cheer for Naegohyang.
Rain was forecast for the entire day, and shortly after lunch, it arrived. It started as a light drizzle, but slowly it built into steady rain. Not quite enough to flood streets, but more than enough to wet you every time the wind changes direction.
In this weather, I leave work and head for Suwon Sports Complex, Castle Park. As usual, I arrive from the far side of the complex. Crossing the intersection, I spot the first sign of the event: a single pink-and-purple pillar standing quietly beside the road. It is so inconspicuous that most people probably walk straight past it without noticing. Considering the importance of the occasion, it feels strangely understated.
At the stadium itself, there are more signs that something major is happening, but only once you are practically standing on top of the venue.
I arrive to find crowds gathering on the east-side stairs. At first, the turnout feels encouraging, but then I notice the makeup of the crowd. The average age seems well over sixty. That is unusual for football in Korea, especially women’s football, and it's giving me a bad feeling.
A few months earlier, Suwon applied to host the semi-finals of the AWCL. They were granted the hosting rights, provided they reach that stage themselves. They did exactly that. The remaining teams come from the expected football nations: Japan, Australia, and North Korea. Interestingly, three of the four semi-finalists come from Group C.
Recent Asian tournaments have shown just how strong these countries currently are. Japan reached the final in every recent major Asian tournament. Australia reached the Asian Cup final, and North Korea won both the U17 and U20 Asian Cups.
Naegohyang FC itself is only ten years old. The name means “My Home Town” in Korean. The club enjoyed domestic success but never competed internationally. They were originally entered into last year’s AWCL but later withdrew. This season, they were allowed to continue and began with an 11–0 victory over Laos’ BIS Master FC. Later, they beat Suwon 3–0 in the group stage.
Tonight’s match is significant for more than football. It marks the first time in twelve years that a North Korean football team plays in South Korea, and the first visit by any North Korean sports team in eight years.
Naturally, various unification groups immediately showed interest.
Weeks before the match, news appeared that the government’s Unification Ministry and related organisations planned to organise a cheer squad. The idea was to support both teams equally and celebrate the idea that the two Koreas are “one people.”
To me, the whole thing feels absurd.
First, this is a sport. Teams compete to win. Football may entertain us, but for the players, it is often their career. Imagine attending Manchester United versus Manchester City and cheering for both sides because “we are all Mancunians.”
Second, North Korea itself has little interest in this symbolism. Their government openly rejects unification. Even if individual players feel differently, they are hardly free to express it publicly.
When tickets went on sale, the Unification Ministry and affiliated groups reportedly bought 7,000 tickets, without consulting or even informing the organisers. 7,000 individuals arriving at their own time is one thing, but you need to carefully manage a group of potentially thousands that arrive all at the same time.
It is important to note that Naegohyang brought no supporters of their own. The only visa applications from North Korea were for players and staff. Rumours circulated that North Korean supporters may attend the final if they qualify, but it never went beyond rumour.
I join the crowd and slowly make my way toward the gate, where two women in their twenties struggle to check tickets against the pressing queue. Korea remains a highly hierarchical society where age still shapes many social interactions. I can only imagine the stress of having to hold back impatient men old enough to be their grandfathers. Thankfully, I see no arguments.
Inside, it is just as crowded. Many people wait until the last possible moment before taking their seats in the rain. Plenty carry small snack bags and two flags — one for each team. I assume these are members of the organised cheer groups.
I would love to get hold of one of those Naegohyang flags myself, but sadly, none appear abandoned on the ground waiting to be “rescued.”
Not wanting to remain trapped in the crowd, I quickly put on my raincoat and head for my seat. I reserved a front-row seat near the halfway line, so my view tonight is excellent. At a stadium with a running track, you really cannot get much closer.
The endless rain has created a shallow lake around my feet, helped by a banner covering a drainage outlet nearby. More about this banner later.
The spectators around me seem unreasonably excited. I have attended plenty of major matches in Korea — FA Cup finals, AFC Champions League finals, even a match between the North and South Korean senior teams — and the average spectator rarely gets this excited before kickoff.
To my right stand the cheerleaders dressed in white, accompanied by drummers who appear to be volunteers. Considering the amount of money reportedly involved in organising this spectacle, I expect something more impressive. The “cheer squad” itself mostly consists of the people scattered in the surrounding seats.
In the away section, the regular Suwon supporters are gathered in larger numbers than usual. This is clearly a bigger occasion than a normal WK League match, and many supporters who usually only follow the men’s side seem to have joined singing and chanting.
Despite all this, the reported attendance is only 5,763. How many of those open seats belong to "cheer squad" members who could not be bothered to come claim their free seat? How many people wanted to be here but could not come because tickets were "sold out"
As kickoff approaches, a QR code appears on the stadium screen for anyone wanting to see the line-ups. That is certainly one way of doing things.
Soon, the players and referees emerge onto the pitch. Suwon wear their AWCL kit rather than their usual WK League strip. The colours are similar, but the stripes are broader, and the gold names and numbers look impressive.
Naegohyang wears white with dark trim.
One thing immediately catches my attention during the pre-match shouts. The Suwon players sound exactly as you would expect adult women to sound. The Naegohyang players, meanwhile, sound almost like schoolgirls. Maybe it is a coincidence, but it stands out immediately.
Once the game begins, Suwon quickly take control through possession football and creates several promising attacks. Naegohyang spend much of the opening period defending, but they never look overwhelmed. Teams do not reach AWCL semi-finals by accident.
The supporters begin their chants almost immediately. The Suwon fans do what they always do: sing continuously through their prepared list of songs and chants. They may not match the famous noise of their neighbours, the Suwon Bluewings, but they perform admirably in the pouring rain.
Around me, however, the organised “neutral” cheer squad seems far less neutral. Their chants are basic school-style chants repeated endlessly. At one point, the cheerleaders even begin the familiar “Oh Pilseung Korea” national-team chant.
The irony is that North Korea does not even call itself “Korea.” It calls itself Joseon.
More importantly, they are clearly not supporting both teams equally. I hear Suwon’s name maybe once all evening.
Next to me is a woman who seems to be at her first-ever football match. She speaks loudly enough for several rows to hear her, and occasionally, for no apparent reason, shouts “Naegohyang, Hal Haeseo!” (Naegohyang, Hal Haeseo!). She does this even when Suwon has the ball and is on the attack. She also repeatedly asks which number Ji So-Yeon is wearing.
Ji So-Yeon is a Suwon player, a former Chelsea star, and a Korean football legend. The woman beside me clearly has little idea what is happening on the pitch. She recognises one famous player and spends the evening cheering for the North Korean side.
It is very obvious why many people are here, and it is not for football.
The first half ends scoreless.
At halftime, many people flee the rain and disappear into cover. I stay seated to avoid the crush. While waiting, I watch two men struggle to reposition the banner covering the drain near my feet. They do not seem to understand how wind works. Every time they fix one side, the other side blows back over the railings. Eventually, they succeed and leave.
When the second half begins, many of the empty seats remain empty. Quite a few people apparently came for one half, collected their free gifts, and left once boredom set in.
The men who fixed the banner also never returned. About five minutes into the half, a stadium staff member arrives to crouch beside it, then speaks on the phone, and removes the banner completely. I later learned that several political banners were displayed in our section during the match.
One of the men responsible sat a few seats away from me. During the first half, every time the North Korean coach appeared on the stadium screen, he shouted and swore at him in Korean.
After the match, more stories emerge. Suwon’s manager later says the game felt like an away match. The two teams were originally supposed to stay in the same hotel, but Naegohyang objected at the last minute, forcing Suwon to change accommodations.
Early in the second half, Suwon finally scores. It is a fortunate goal, but also a deserved one. Almost immediately, though, the momentum shifts completely.
I lack the tactical understanding to explain exactly what changed. Either Suwon become too cautious trying to protect their lead, or Naegohyang suddenly wake up fully. Whatever the reason, the North Korean side began dominating the match.
By full time, Nogoyang had scored twice, both goals coming from Suwon mistakes created under heavy pressure.
The win sends Naegohyang into the final against Japan’s Tokyo Verdy. Remarkably, this becomes the third major Asian women’s tournament final in recent months featuring Japan against North Korea. North Korea won the previous two.
Suwon nearly equalised in the losing minutes of the match after winning a penalty. Captain Ji So-Yeon steps up but sends the shot wide. It is a terrible miss, but football would lose its magic if everything always happened exactly as expected.
The final whistle produces what may become my favourite image of the season. In the foreground, Naegohyang players celebrate wildly together. Behind them, a lone Suwon player collapses onto her hands and knees in exhaustion and heartbreak.
Knockout football always creates dramatic contrasts between victory and defeat, but late-stage tournaments produce emotions on another level entirely.
Several Suwon players are crying openly. Ayaka Nishikawa drops to her knees and remains motionless until a teammate comes to comfort her. Ji So-Yeon, possibly playing her final season of football, sobs uncontrollably. Even minutes later, while thanking the supporters, she is still crying.
