Call-Up Impossible
Lee Junseok was thoroughly puzzled by the situation at hand.
Nothing particularly noteworthy had happened recently, yet Chung Mong-joon, the president of the Korea Football Association, had suddenly summoned the press for a conference.
What is this? There hasn't been any major incident lately. They mentioned calling Lee Junho up to the national team, but that's hardly worth an impromptu press conference.
While Junseok was turning the question over in his mind, the other reporters were thinking much the same thing.
Why the sudden announcement?
It can't be because of Junho.
All sorts of theories were swirling through the reporters' heads when Chung Mong-joon finally appeared.
Click-click-click.
He paid no attention to the camera shutters and walked straight to the podium.
Standing before it, Chung Mong-joon bowed his head.
"Good day. I am Chung Mong-joon. I have called this sudden press conference because the Korea Football Association has provided the public with incorrect information."
Incorrect information?
What could that be?
He wasted no time getting to the point.
"Recently, Manager Jo Bonfrère stated that he would call up Lee Junho to the national team. That cannot happen. Lee Junho's nationality is not Korean—it is Spanish."
The press room erupted.
"What, he's not Korean?"
"Then they can't bring him into the national team at all."
Once the first storm of voices had passed and the noise died down somewhat, Chung Mong-joon spoke again.
"Allow me to explain how such a serious misunderstanding arose. One of the association executives incorrectly believed Lee Junho was Korean and approached Manager Jo Bonfrère. The manager happened to ask about Junho at that moment, and the executive told him that Junho was Korean. That is how this entire situation came about. I apologize for conveying false information."
With that, he bowed his head once more. The reporters' eyes were glittering like stars.
Jieun and I were sitting on the sofa watching Chung Mong-joon's press conference.
"Does this make any sense? When I said it, nobody believed me, but the second some other guy says it, they swallow it whole!"
I soothed my furious girlfriend while breathing a quiet sigh of relief inside.
Whew····lucky break.
I had nearly jumped out of my skin when Jo Bonfrère, the newly appointed Korean national team manager, announced he was calling me up. My nationality was Spanish, not Korean—so how was that even possible? After fretting over it, I had half-convinced myself they might try to drag me there by force. Thankfully it turned out to be nothing more than a misunderstanding on the manager's part.
I could finally set down the heavy stone that had been sitting on my chest.
Why the hell would I ever go to Korea?
There were plenty of reasons I had chosen Spain over Korea.
First of all, choosing Korea meant military service.
Ugh... fuck, go back there again?
Having done it once in my previous life was more than enough; the thought of a second tour was simply unbearable. Winning the Asian Games or finishing in the top three at the Olympics would grant an exemption, of course.
Impossible...
I had already judged that the current national team had little chance of either. Military service alone was enough to disqualify Korea, but choosing a country where the future Chung Mong-gyu would become football association president?
That would be like a moth diving straight into a nightmare flame.
Gotta filter out Mong-gyu.....
There was also the matter of results. If I played for Korea, no matter how brilliantly I flew and fought at the World Cup, the round of 16 would be our ceiling. Playing for Spain, I could aim for the actual title. In fact, Spain would go on to win the 2010 World Cup in South Africa.
For all those reasons, choosing Spain had felt like the right call—and after seeing what that association executive had done, I was even more certain I had made the correct choice.
An association executive who doesn't even properly check a player's nationality before talking to the manager? Seriously?
I realized the Korean FA was a hopeless mess not only in the future but right now as well. And once again I felt profound gratitude toward my parents—for giving birth to me in Spain.
A few days after the Korean national team call-up fiasco, the match against Sevilla arrived.
"Let's do it just like last game. Even if we're losing, never give up—keep running until the final whistle!"
Before kickoff, Barcelona manager Frank Rijkaard fired up his players with raw determination.
"Yes, sir!"
The Barcelona squad felt the intensity of his will and answered with a single booming voice.
"All right then. Let's go win today as well."
Today I was starting on the pitch, not the bench.
My place in the starting lineup came as a surprise. I had performed well last match, true, but I never expected to be thrown straight into the first eleven after just one game.
I glanced over at Manager Rijkaard, who had made the decision—and found him looking right back at me. I gave a brief nod of greeting and was about to turn away when I saw him raise a thumbs-up.
Something warm and unnameable rose in my chest at the sight. I already had no intention of wasting today's opportunity; now I had one more reason to give everything I had.
While I was steeling myself, the referee's whistle rang out across the stadium.
Beeeeeep!
The signal that the match had begun. The game against Sevilla was underway.
Sevilla came out in a deep ten-man defensive block. Apparently they had decided to prioritize shutting us down after witnessing Barcelona's devastating attacking power in the opening match.
What they failed to understand was that Barcelona was not a side that could be stopped simply by packing two banks of defenders.
"Messi!"
I received the ball from Messi, wriggled free of two markers with a sharp change of direction, and drove forward. Another defender stepped out to close me down, but I refused to be greedy; I laid the ball off to Messi, who had already arrived at my shoulder, and sprinted into space.
Messi did not take a touch—he returned it first-time. I collected the pass and threaded a dribble between two flat-footed center-backs. A Sevilla defender reacted on pure instinct and yanked my shirt. I went down hard.
The referee did not hesitate.
"Whistle!"
Sevilla players swarmed the official to protest, but the decision stood. Barcelona's designated taker, Rafael Márquez, stepped up and converted the penalty. In the fifth minute of the first half, we led 1–0.
After that, the Sevilla manager decided defense was useless and pushed his line higher. The inevitable result was acres of space in behind, and Barcelona's attackers did not miss it.
I scored twice to complete a brace. Messi added one of his own. The first half ended 4–0.
In the second half Sevilla dropped their line again, but it made little difference. Barcelona's firepower remained relentless; we added two more goals, and the match finished exactly as it stood.