Diverging Voices in the Mixed Zone
As the interviews continued, when the question about the grass came up, he subtly tried to dodge responsibility.
“Did the grass cause today's dip in performance? There were a lot of dribbling errors—what do you think was the reason?”
“It's undeniable that the grass messed with our performance. The environment was too harsh for us to show the technical soccer we'd prepared. But this isn't anyone's individual fault—it's something we all need to come together and solve. I trust the association and stadium staff will make improvements, and we'll focus on the next match.”
Using his senior status to brand me as the problem child while pinning his own poor play on the environment—it was textbook hypocrisy.
Next, Tak Go-gang from PSV Eindhoven stepped up to the mic with a deadpan expression. He delivered a mechanical analysis, unmoved by emotion.
“Was today's performance due to the absence of captain Bong Hyeoksu?”
“Do I think Bong Hyeoksu's absence was the cause? Not at all. Injuries are part of soccer. If the whole team crumbles from one player missing, we're already unqualified. Today's result is just because we sucked.”
When asked about the performance itself, he answered short and sharp.
“It was lacking. Nothing to say except we'll fix it and prepare for the next game.”
When the grass question finally came, he gave a response worlds apart from Mo Chanhee's.
“It affected us, sure. But we can't blame the grass. The Palestinian players ran on the same crappy patch. Looking only to the grass for why we played poorly is a coward's excuse.”
Finally, a reporter grabbed Jang Kangcheol as he passed through the interview zone. He stopped with an annoyed scowl, like it was a hassle.
“Performance? Eh, it was whatever. We didn't score, so we drew.”
When prodded about whether the grass had held them back, Jang Kangcheol's trademark macho bluntness deflected it effortlessly.
“The grass? Who gives a shit? Grass is grass—win anyway. If it messes with your kicking, quit soccer. Better to score one more goal than whine about turf.”
He spat on the ground after his curt reply and vanished into the locker room.
Listening from afar to my teammates' interviews, I let out a scoff.
Some senior pulls rank to treat me like a psycho, and while guys like Tak Go-gang and Jang Kangcheol seem sane enough, the scoreline's still a shitty 0-0. As I entered the mixed zone, a hush fell for a split second before reporters swarmed.
Dozens of mics and recorders shoved right under my chin. “Ryu Rion! Why'd you throw that water bottle into the stands?” “Was that outburst considering retirement?” “Captain Mo Chanhee expressed regret—what do you have to say?”
What a circus of curiosity. I stopped, steadied my ragged breathing, flicked the nearest reporter's mic away with my finger, and spoke.
“I'll answer step by step, so one at a time. Loud enough for everyone.”
The reporters flinched at my tone, glanced around, then started shoving for order.
One thrust his recorder forward. “You drew 0-0 against clearly inferior Palestine, ranked around 90th in FIFA. High possession but no bite—what do you think caused the game to play out like this?”
I swallowed a hollow laugh and replied.
“FIFA rankings are just accumulated past data—they don't guarantee victory today. The reason we drew is clear: we got drunk on possession stats and had no real tactical movement to break their low block.”
I locked eyes with the mic-wielding reporter and continued.
“High possession doesn't mean we dominated—it means we mindlessly passed the ball around in the trap they set. Relying on static passes instead of organic movement to create space? The result was inevitable. Before whining about rankings, ask if our soccer was better than a 90th-ranked team's. We drew because we lacked skill. If you can't finish chances, you draw against 1st or 90th— that's soccer.”
Another reporter jumped in eagerly. “Players slipped all game, struggling with ball control. Mo Chanhee pointed out the grass—do you think the pitch condition decisively impacted the result?”
I raked back my wet hair roughly and stared down the camera lens.
“The grass? It sucked. But is that an excuse? Did the Palestinians play on clouds? They ran the same damn mud pit.”
I twisted my lips into a smirk.
“Same conditions, can't deliver? Blaming grass is pathetic. Pros adapt—loft it if it's bad, be more precise. A long touch loses the ball, then tapping it with your foot while glaring at the turf? That's performative bullshit to fool fans. The grass didn't trip us up—our skill was just that level.”
I couldn't let the grass excuse mask our true level.
“Pros adjust touch strength and pass trajectory to the pitch. Saying it bounced wrong so you couldn't control it? That's admitting you lack the technical skill to adapt. Same conditions, but only we blame the grass? Illogical. The grass didn't drag us down—it exposed our inability to control variables even on that turf.”
Next came a question bigger than performance: the real firestorm.
“The shush pose and water bottle toward the stands drew criticism as unbecoming of a national team player—especially at Korean-uniformed fans. Any regrets? And on captain Mo Chanhee's expression of regret?”
“Boos are fans' rights. They paid, took time—let 'em boo forever, I respect it. But what happened in that section wasn't criticism; it was deliberate sabotage. Didn't you see? Korean jerseys waving opponent flags to disrupt our focus—that ain't fandom. It's agitation with intent. Mob bastards, plain and simple.”
I drove the final nail mentioning Mo Chanhee by name.
“And on 'dignity'? A national team player's dignity is proven on the pitch with results, not post-game moral lectures. When the captain shields his image instead of protecting the team from malicious outsiders, someone has to draw the line—even if it means eating shit. Staying silent against forces disrupting my teammates? That's the real blunder. I'll take any punishment gladly, but my judgment they weren't fans stands. Same shit happens again? I'll show Taekwondo next.”
One reporter cautiously lobbed the core question.
“Recent opacity in coach selection and association moves sparked extreme opinion: better take FIFA sanctions, skip this World Cup, and uproot the association. As a player, your thoughts?”
I pierced the reporter's eyes like a spear. My logical response was already queued before he finished.
“That 'opinion'? Coldly, it's emotional agitation holding soccer's essence hostage.”
Reporters leaned in. “Our nation's people don't know what soccer is or how it's run.” I jabbed a finger at one mic and added,
“Take FIFA sanctions and skip the World Cup? Know how irresponsible that is? It doesn't end with one missed tournament. Suspension hits, K League transfers freeze, youth funding cuts, Asian Champions League and all internationals erase Korean soccer. It's not punishing execs—it's shoving 30 years of Korean soccer off a cliff.”
The reporters held their breath under my logical onslaught.