10. Amateur Town

I’ve been threatening a trip to Uiwang’s K7 League for three years already, but each time I find a date I like, something more important comes up. It’s a shame, because Bugok Sports Park (부곡체육공원) is only a short bicycle ride away, and arguably the easiest field for me to reach, in any league. So here I am, out on the road at 7:30 on a Sunday morning, with just enough time to make the 08:10 kick-off of the first match. The road is so quiet that I can, for most of the ride, hear the buzz of my tires on the road.

Wangsong Lake is along the way. It's known for its rail bike, zip line and family park. The bikes are not running yet, but a few people are out for their morning walks, and the first oksusu vendor is setting up for what looks to be a great day to be outside. I also spot a crane standing on the bank of the lily ponds that feed off the lake. I try to photograph the crane, but it doesn't like me there and eyeballs me the whole time. Even as I ride away, I can still see its head turning to follow me.

Before leaving the lake areas, I stop and take a photo, like I do every time I’m here. It’s not an amazing lake, but I like it. Photo done, I make my way past the vendor and through a tunnel that passes under the train tracks and connects the lake areas to the Railway Museum. The Railway Museum itself is next to the National Railway College, and that is next to the Railway Research Institute. I must pass all three to get to my destination, but along the way, I hear people playing, and I can't resist having a look. There's a casual Sunday match on the Railway College’s football field, but this is not what I came for, so I move on without spending much time there. As I ride the last 300m, I pass numerous recreational trailers of various sizes, most of which I would describe as fold-up tents on wheels. Where are the owners, and why is everything parked on this street? I doubt all the owners work at one of the two railway institutes.

Uiwang seems to like tunnels, because there is another that runs under a busy road next to the venue, allowing me to reach the field without crossing a fairly busy road. I pass through, and I see players heading in the opposite direction for a smoke break. As the day goes on, I learn that smoke breaks are a big part of a K7 League team’s match day schedule.

The venue is a small community sports complex. In one corner are tennis courts already filled, and from them emanate the grunts of human exertion and the thunks of balls hitting rackets. Right next to the tennis courts is a sandpit used for Korean wrestling, ssireum. I believe this is my first time seeing a permanent wrestling pit. There is a path that runs roughly around the football field, and it, like the tennis court, is filled with early risers, retirees covered from head to toe in whatever can shield them from the sun. In yet another corner is a gym with badminton courts, and that too is already filled with matches.

The only unused facilities are the croquet court, which you call a court, and the workout equipment. From time to time, children come to play on the workout equipment, or an old man does something that makes no sense, but for the most part, they remain unused. Near the workout equipment are three women offering free CPR lessons. For the three or 4 hours that I’m there, I see only one person stop and take a lesson from them. The rest of the time, they sit, chat and drink coffee.

At the football field, the seats where players and spectators sit are on one side of the field, while the officials are on the stage at the opposite side. This means players who come on as substitutes must walk or run all the way around to hand in their ID cards, a big ask for some in the K7 Leagues. Next to the stage is an ambulance on standby, supplied by a local hospital, but the only thing I ever see them do is spray a tweaked muscle or two. The single ambulance seems rudimentary, but it’s still much better than pre-2020, when the ref was a player with his shirt turned inside out and medical aid was the first aid kit in someone’s car.

I missed the first kick-off by a minute, but that means I arrive when everyone involved in the first match is already here. There is no sitting around looking out of place as I wait for kick-off. While the two teams play, a surprising number of spectators stand and watch, with almost as many spectators as there are players. Most of them are older men, and it’s not easy to tell how they relate to the team. I’m guessing they are former players, and now help with training and moral support.

The lack of early morning traffic and the distance from the road make for peaceful surroundings, and we can hear everything that happens on the field. You can follow every instruction from the captain and the reactions from the players. You can hear feet on the ground and the thump as boots meet ball. Likewise, you can clearly hear when players smash into each other and apologise for possibly dangerous tackles. You can also hear the comments from the spectators. It’s not uncommon to hear one person saying something loud enough for players to hear, and have everyone on the sideline burst out laughing.

As the matches progress, it’s clear that these are not the fittest players in the country. This is K7 League, the lowest of the amateur leagues administered by the KFA. Most of the players have jobs and families, and little time to train. I imagine that for many teams, the only “team training” they get is the match itself, and whatever other matches they can arrange on weekends when the league is not in action. The keeper in the first match looks like he's smudging a spare football under his shirt and is clearly in need of some cardio training. A quarter of the way into the match, he, the goalkeeper, is already resting with his hands on his knees. But despite his physical appearance, he is the hero of his team. His 7 or 8 diving saves are the only reason they don't lose by a score greater than 0:6.

Another deceptive, out-of-shape-looking player, Gocheon’s #7, appears in the third and final match of the day. He looks like the laziest player on the field, but that is only because he is good at positioning and anticipation. He scores three goals, each from his team putting the ball into space and letting him run on to it. Once he gets the ball, he calmly picks a spot and, despite players harassing him, he smoothly places it past the keeper. How is this man not playing for Uiwang’s K6 team, or maybe even for a weaker K5 team? He scores another from a penalty, making it 4 of his team’s 5 goals. I think I might come back for another round just to see if this is a normal day for him.

Quality-wise, most of the matches are what you would expect. There are wayward passes, mis-timed runs, headers to nowhere, and most shots at goal look more like passes to the side line. All this is interspersed with moments of magic when everything comes together for a goal fit for any highlight reel. Something else I've come to expect from K7 League is the lack of dangerous challenges. There are exceptions, but refs are quick to blow for rough play, and players usually apologise immediately, usually even before the ref can get involved. I imagine this is because players understand that it’s not worth losing their ability to walk just to play a game you likely subsidise with your own money. No one wants to break or tear something, resulting in long layoffs and possibly expensive medical treatments at personal cost.

In four matches, only two collisions made me cringe. One comes as I’m walking along the sidelines. I turn around to follow the action and see a player running the ball along the flank at high speed, closely followed by a defender to provide backup. As the runner loses control of the ball, he pulls up and turns to get back in position. He is almost stationary when the backup defender clatters into him, shoulder to chest, at what looks like full speed. The thump is horrible, and the runner is knocked back. He stumbles before going down, and he stays down for a good three minutes. I don’t think there was any malicious intent, just bad timing, but that could have been so much worse.

The second incident, one that results in a player leaving the field, happens when two players clash and tumble in separate directions. The clash sounds like bone on bone, and both stay down for at least a minute. Again, it was just an accident, and no reason to believe either player intended any harm.

Overall, I’d say this was a good day out and I hope to get to some more K7 during the year.

9. Beer and Grass

Early-season kick-offs are nearing their end, and soon long trips will become impractical. Even today’s kick-off at Yangpyeong is 16:00 rather than 14:00, and their next home match will be at the summer 18:00 kick-off time. Most matches during the summer kick off at 19:00, and on a long trip, it will mean I will arrive home near midnight. I dislike arriving home that late.

Today, Yangpyeong Citizen FC hosts FC Mokpo. Mokpo are a former National League team and regulars in the top half of the K3 League. However, 2025 did not start well for them. They enter the 8th round without a single win, and their only point so far came from a draw in round 7. The upside is that the draw was against possible title challengers, Pocheon Citizen FC. I chose this match today because I’ve never been to Yangpyeong other than cycling through it, and because I have a soft spot for struggling teams. I’m hoping to see Mokpo earn its first win of the season.

An advantage of the slightly later kick-off is that I don't have to leave home as early as I normally would. But I still want to have lunch in Yangpyeong, so I decide to leave earlier anyway, and fill the time by walking from the station to the stadium rather than taking a bus. The trip starts with the normal ride into Seoul to the now familiar transfer onto the Gyeongui-Jungnang line. This is the same line that takes you to Seoul Jungnang FC, and Namyangju Citizen FC, and hopefully later this season, Paju Citizen FC. There is only one line with more teams, professional and semi-professional teams near it is Line 1, with five teams, and it used to be eight.

Yangpyeong is a favourite with cyclists, despite the time needed to get there. It’s next to a large tributary of the Han River, and connected to the Seoul-to-Busan bike path. Many cyclists get off at Yangpyeong and cycle back to Seoul, while others venture out onto the quiet mountain roads. The weather is finally warming up, and I was expecting to see masses of cyclists heading out, but there are barely any today. But it’s almost midday, so maybe I missed the rush. Without the crush of cyclists and their bikes to look at, the journey to the edge of Gyeonggi Province is almost boring. There are no weirdos to gape at, or strange scenes outside to scratch my head over, just the urban landscape, slowly turning to mountains on one side and a river on the other.

Despite the line terminating a few stations later, most people get off at Yangpyeong Station. I don't know where everyone's going, but unlike Yeoncheon, most people do not look retired. Just outside the exit is a Tourist Information kiosk. The lady working there seemed quite eager to help me, but unfortunately, I know where I'm going. I’m only looking for a map of the local attraction, for future reference. Life is not just about lower-league football, after all.

Once I leave the kiosk, it’s time to get to Yangpyeong-ing. First on the agenda is lunch. I heard Yangpyeong is big on haejangguk, so that’s what I’m looking for. Earlier, I found a restaurant on Kakao Maps and I head in that direction. Along the way, I find a different restaurant that looks good and enter for a bowl of Sundaeguk. For those who don't know, haejangguk is a soup made with chopped, throw-away bits of a pig, like the stomach, intestines, and liver. Sundae is that with a few pieces of blood-noodle sausage. It might sound disgusting, but don't poo-poo it until you try it. I don't know why Korean tourism organisations are so hesitant to introduce tourists to these kinds of foods. It's not glamorous, but it's part of Korea, and visitors usually want to experience as much of a country as they can. Food is usually high on the list of things to do; I’d happily classify it as a must-eat.

With the space in my stomach filled, I’m off to the stadium. It takes about 45 minutes, but I get to see the surroundings. Yangpyeong is fairly rural, with fields being readied for rice right next to small blocks of high-rise apartments.  Here and there are random shops and cafes. I lived in Icheon, and I thought that was rural, but I now realise why Icheon is a city, and Yangpyeong is just a county. For most of the walk the the roads are so quiet that I’m able to jaywalk at will. Instead of sharing the sidewalk with people, I share it with grass spiders scurrying across my path.

Within sight of the stadium, I find the supermarket which I marked as a location to buy snacks, water and maybe a beer or soda. It’s as quiet as the surrounding area, and the aisles are more spacious than I'm used to. This is a luxury in Korea. As is my habit, I head straight to the makgeolli to see what they have on offer. Unsurprisingly, they only have the stuff I don’t even consider real makgolli, but unlike in more urban areas, they sell theirs in double size, 1.7 litre bottles. For a brief moment, I consider getting a bottle and a can of cola, but instead, I take a bottle of corn tea because sometimes I’m Korean like that.

As I approach the stadium, I see people apparently outside the stadium, looking in. I’m not about to pass up the opportunity to take a photo of someone looking at the playing field, so I head up behind the main stand for a photo, and discover that there is open access to a grass bank next to the field. Not only is someone standing there looking at players warming up, but there are people set up for a picnic. At Yangpyeong Citizen FC, you can watch football while having a picnic on a grass bank. I don't even care that there is a running track around the field, this alone must make it one of the best stadiums to visit in the country. On top of that, there is the general view from within the stadium. Some of the K3 and K4 stadiums have spectacular backdrops, and Yangpyoung is not one to be left behind. Unlike a large mountain overlooking Yeoncheon Stadium, here we have a small mountain directly next to the stadium, with the larger mountains far in the distance.

Just before the match gets underway, I find a comfortable spot under a tree and settle in for the first half. Soon after the match starts, I hear an impressive number of people chanting. On the main stand, I can see two people with drums leading the crowd. They don’t look like an organised supporter group, but more like enthusiastic spectators. The woman leading the cheering is good, and she manages to keep people active for much of the match. She is accompanied by a less active mane. Looking at them, it's not clear if they're doing this for the love of the game or if they are working for the team.

Throughout the first half, I’m distracted by playing children. The boys are throwing their shoes at each other, and the girls are picking flowers to weave together, while their parents chat on the blanket under the tree. Can they behave any more stereotypically than this? ^^

During half-time, I take a walk around the ground and make my way to the Mokpo supporters' side. There are about ten of them, but I would classify only one as a fan. He has the shirt, banner and noise maker, and occasionally he launches into a chant. The rest just sit and applaud from time to time. It seems boring, so I head around to the home side and spend most of the second half between the Yangpyeong supporters.

When the half starts, so does the distraction, or entertainment, depending on your viewpoint, of the cheerleaders. The woman is still going strong, but the man, who might be her husband, sometimes beats the drum, and sometimes gets children to do it, and sometimes stares at his phone. The spectators have those paper fans they often hand out at matches, the foldable ones that double as noise makers, and some even have plastic hand clappers. I have no idea if these were handed out before the match because I went straight to the grass banks, but if they brought them along from previous matches, then colour me impressed.

As for the match, Mokpo FC didn’t look like a team that scored only 1 point from 8 matches. They looked dangerous and even led for a while. Mokpo scored while I was wandering around towards their supporters’ side, and I didn't see it happen, but I did see both of Yangpyeong’s goals. Both looked odd, as if the keeper was surprised by events. With the match well balanced, both teams started to feel the time crunch at the end of the match. Tempers started to flare to the point where we almost saw a fist fight. But as time ran out, Yangpyeong had two goals and Mokpo only one, making it eight losses in nine matches for the visitors.

The trip home was where the weirdos showed up. Someone sleeping on the reserved seats, three women arguing loudly about who should sit where, while running back and forth to try and convince the fourth to join them, just to have her put her fingers in her ears, wave her hands and stick her tongue out like a child, and people in the oddest clothing combinations imaginable.

The trip to Yangpyeong was generally pleasant, much of that coming from the stadium and fans. I'd happily recommend this venue to anyone looking to go somewhere a bit out of the way.

2025.04.19 - Yangpyeong Sports Complex

Yangpyeong FC  vs FC Mokpo

8. A Delightful Mess

I intended to watch a match in Namyangju a couple of weeks ago, but put it off in favour of watching HL Anyang claim their 9th Asia League Ice Hockey title. With the ice hockey season over, I’m off to watch the as-yet-unbeaten K4 League leaders. They’ll face the quiet challengers, Pyeongtaek Citizen FC.

As the season progresses, I’m learning more about the league, teams, and players. For instance, Namyangju’s “English” name, and the name on their emblem, is Namyangju FC, but their official Korean name translates to Namyangju Citizen FC. Like Pyeongtaek and most K3-K4 League teams, Nanyangju are a citizen club, owned and operated by its city council.

Unsurprisingly, the league leaders have the best attacking record in the league. Interestingly, the scoring duties are not carried by a single player. Instead, goal-scoring duties are shared by several players. Players to watch are central midfielder/defender Lee Jin-seop. He's started in every league and cup match so far, and looking at his minutes on the field, I’m convinced he’s never been subbed off. Interestingly, the team’s top scorer is defender Hong Dong-Gwan, a former Seoul United player. He was on the roster for all 9 matches, but only started three. In the remaining matches, he was substituted on five times and substituted off four times, meaning he was substituted on and off in the same match at least once. Despite his lack of pitch time, he scored three goals and assisted with another. Pyeongtaek, in comparison, has one clear scorer, Go Byeong-Beom. He has 6 goals, two more than the next highest scorer in the league. Sure, it's still early days for this season, but with some knowledge about the teams, I'm ready to head out.

The subway ride to Namyangju is uneventful. I head into Seoul, transfer at Icheon Station, and head out of Seoul. For a while after the transfer, we stay next to the Han River. I come from a country with few large rivers, and those that we have are not suitable for water travel. Maybe that explains why we don't really have large cities right next to rivers. In my home town there is a stream called, laughably, the Monkey River. It’s barely more than a brook, and you can comfortably step over it for most of the year. The Han River is no brook. It’s large and always full. Once again, I find myself wondering where all the water comes from. I understand rain, and I understand snow, but I don't understand this consistent flow when it hasn't snowed or rained in months.

After a while, we veer away from the river and enter Eastern Seoul. This is not the oldest part of town, but it's obviously not new either. The brand new, giant apartment blocks are missing, and it’s not saturated with franchises or money bling. The businesses here are settled and patronised by locals with established routines. As fast as Eastern Seoul arrives, it disappears, and we pass Seoul Jungnang FC’s home ground just before we enter the tunnel that takes us out of Seoul, into Guri, then on to Namyangju.

Namyangju County is large, and Namyangju City is spread out. Despite being near, um, part of City Hall and Namyangju Sports Complex, I don’t get off at Namyangju Station, but at Donong Station. I'm not even sure there is a station called Namyangju Station. Go figure. The area between the station and the sports complex is interesting. Much of Korea is the same-same with precious little to distinguish one neighbourhood from another. But this area just feels different. Visually, it should be the same, but it’s not, and I struggle to explain why. The two sides of the train track also look different from each other, apartment buildings seem square rather than rectangular, and there are almost no people around. It’s not bad, just different.

I head to a building I found while studying the map of the area, and I arrive at a large, square, and mostly empty building. It's not what I was expecting. It’s an officetel with the first three floors reserved for businesses. Curious, I go in to explore. I climb the escalator in search of a restaurant. The dust on the escalator tells me it hasn't been used recently, if ever. The first floor looks abandoned. There are no businesses near the escalator, and the only obvious businesses are restaurants in the far corners. They are so far apart that you struggle to even tell what it is on the opposite side. Occasionally, I pass spaces being prepared for new occupants, but if 10% of the floor is in use, then it’s a lot. I find a restaurant that specialises in dishes made from red beans. They make three different kinds of Patjuk as well as a Patbinsu. I settle for a, well, Patjuk. It's large, but not heavy, and I leave satisfied.

Next, I make my way through the quiet streets to search for the stadium and eventually reach the sports complex, and I'm struck with a realisation. This is where the town’s population resides on a Saturday afternoon! Children are on two baseball fields, and adults are on the third. The football-tennis courts are packed (is that what the game is called?), and more teams are waiting for their turn to play. Even the football fields are all occupied. One has a match that looks like it has, and I kid you not, a minimum age requirement of 55. On the other side of the football fields, I see the floodlights of the main stadium, and I start making my way to that side. Even this is an adventure, because I have to climb through the field netting, make my way through players getting ready to play, and through three different gates to hit clear space again. And I did this to get to the other side of one single field.

I like the main stadium, despite its running track. The slope of the secondary stands is low, and you feel much closer to the game than you actually are. There are two food trucks just outside the entrance, one selling coffee and one selling expensive roasted meat-on-a-stick. Just past the gate are tables, one of which has cards you can use for the player's signature. I have no idea what the other tables are for. 

Entry is free, and there is no restriction on seating, meaning there is no home and away section. This might seem strange to many football fans, but I grew up in a rugby culture where home and away sections are rare. At a rugby match, a green-clad Springbok supporter will happily sit next to a silver-ferned All Black supporter. I was in Dubai during one of the World Cups and found myself in the South African bar for the South Africa vs England match. The place was packed with Saffers, and sitting front and centre was an English fan wearing his white shirt with the red rose on the chest. Every time England scored, he would turn around and give us the finger, just to be pelted with popcorn and pretzels. We lost, he stayed, and everyone enjoyed the rest of the night.

Both sides of the stadium have a roof. The smaller main stand is completely covered, while the opposite side is only covered in the centre. The sides which curve around the track’s bend are uncovered. I sit in the “away” section opposite the main stand. The area is a strange mix of Namyangju supporters and drummers, mostly to my right, and Pyeongtaek supporters and the single drummer, mostly to my left. While the players finish their warm-up, I finish my preparations by pouring a bottle of Nurinmaeul makgeolli into my water bottle. I’ll happily drink straight from the plastic bottle, but I get enough looks already. Both drummers are checking their setups, and a few more spectators arrive. Our preparations are accompanied by English-language pop music. What is this place? Where is the ever-present K-pop?!

Just before the match starts, players come over with team-branded balls to throw to the crowd. However, with no security to speak of, children rush to the edge of the field and get balls handed to them instead. I was tempted to try my luck and see if they would throw a ball to the white face, but that would draw more attention than I am comfortable with.

The match starts and the drumming commences on both sides, signalling my cue to head over for a supporter-watching-football photo. I take the first few, turn on my camera’s display to look at the results and… NO SD CARD! I’d been taking photos for the last hour, of the trip, the stadium, and the fans, with no SD card! This was not the first model of the Canon Rebel series, so why does it not warn me before I start taking photos? I settle for capturing a few more photos with my phone, minus the “artistic flair”.

The match was entertaining despite the scoreline. The first big chance falls to Pyeongtaek. It starts when a ball gets knocked out towards a player waiting on the right wing. He comfortably passes his defender, pushes forward and crosses the ball across the face of the goal where an in-rushing attacker makes head contact, sending the ball just millimetres over the crossbar. Pyeongtaek would have a few more chances throughout the game, but nothing this good. As the first half ticks on, both the rain and Namyangju’s dominance intensify. By the time we reach the second half, the match is mostly being played in the Pyeongtaek half, and spectators are doing their best to stay dry.

It’s a soft rain that’s barely visible. But the light breeze keeps blowing it in under the roof, causing spectators to move further and further back. By the end of the match, almost everyone has abandoned their seats to stand deeper under the roof, while people like me are still sitting, but hiding behind an umbrella like it’s a fortress wall. My umbrella is open, pointing straight ahead, and pulled in as close as is practical. My eyes peek over the rim, and I'm sure I resemble a neighbour spying over a wall. So far, I’ve been to matches in freezing cold, raging winds and torrents of rain. I know this is a season of adventure, but is it too much to ask for a nice day before the blazing sun and stifling humidity of summer arrive? (Sure, Busan was nice, but admitting that would undermine my current complaints.)

Pyeongtaek can count themselves lucky to come away from Namyangju with a point and deny Namyangju a sixth win. Namyangju were creating regular chances, hit the uprights twice, and scraped the crossbar at least three times. But football is a real sport. You win by putting the ball in the net, not by impressing someone next to the field holding up a score for style and technicality. Hopefully, next time I come to Namyangju, I’ll see a result and be able to take proper photos of the day.

2025.04.19 - Namyangju Sports and Culture Center Main Stadium

Namyangju Citisen FC  vs Pyeongtaek Citizen FC