Meeting the Squad (3) - Do Koreans Eat Dog Meat?
Han Shin brought up a photo on the screen: the Sunderland Three Musketeers—James, Robin, and Harold—hoisting beer mugs in a pub.
"Before I took the job, I spent a week in this city. I met and talked with countless fans."
Among the players, a few recognized the faces and began murmuring quietly.
"That bald bloke... he looks familiar. Isn't that James?"
"Yeah, last time James's son even got his kit signed, remember?"
"Robin's there too, and Harold. They come to every single match to watch us."
"The moment I got off the train I stopped at a café for a coffee. These three warm-looking gentlemen came in later and started chatting about me."
He pointed at the Three Musketeers on the screen.
"Want to know what they said? 'Chinese manager, get out of our city. Go back to North Korea and watch Kim Jong-un'—that sort of abuse. And they had no idea I was sitting right there."
By now every man in the room was completely hooked on Han Shin's story.
"This hairy one—Robin—spotted me, came over with his mates, and told me to take my hat off so they could check. I braced myself, thinking a punch-up was about to start the second I arrived."
"I took the hat off and demanded an apology. And would you believe it? They owned up straight away. Said they never dreamed I'd be there and they were sorry. That was when I realized—slagging off the manager is half the fun, right? These lads were just living their ordinary lives."
"Then they started calling people over, telling everyone to come see who was here, and peppered me with questions. How do you like our city? Have you been to the club yet?"
"Once we got talking I could tell they were simply fans who loved football—no, who loved our team—with everything they had. They gave me a warm welcome and even took me on a tour of the city."
A photo appeared of a white-haired old man, a middle-aged bloke, and a young boy sitting together in the stands, cheering.
"I was invited into a house that had been Sunderland through three generations. I listened to the grandfather who'd supported only our club for eighty years, and they took me to the best fish-and-chips shop in town. Anyone recognize these faces?"
Most of the players raised their hands.
"Famous Three Musketeers, of course. Talking with them, I felt the history of this club and the raw passion of the fans right under my skin."
"Every single one of them loves this team with all their heart and desperately wants us to win. After that, the urge to become part of this brilliant club and live up to their hopes only grew stronger. I barely slept for days."
"Right! Let's take a look at some of our club legends together."
Han Shin flipped through photos he had taken while wandering every corner of Sunderland: murals of players painted on walls, the statue of Bob Stokoe, and frozen moments of the club's glory days.
"I took every one of these myself. Bobby Gurney, Charlie Hurley, Kevin Phillips, Niall Quinn, Bob Stokoe—even former manager Raich Carter, and Jermain Defoe who only played here a short while. All legends of this club."
"The fans kept asking if I knew the legendary players who'd worn the Sunderland shirt. Players who'd been gone decades before I was even born. How was I supposed to know every one of them? Even when I said I didn't, they kept grilling me until I was sweating."
"Hahahahaha!"
"We don't know them either, gaffer!"
"Exactly. That's normal. And for someone who came from Asia like me, not knowing a single one is only natural. But that wasn't what stuck with me. Do you know what did? Anyone?"
"No idea."
"Everything was in the past tense. The past. Why were they all longing for the old days?"
"..."
"And among all those legends they mentioned until my ears were ringing, not one single fan ever spoke your names. Not a single one."
The warm smiles that had been on the players' faces while listening to the feel-good story froze solid in an instant.
"I want every one of you sitting here to become legends who stay forever in the fans' memories. The warriors who finally delivered the dream of promotion to the Premier League after ten long years."
Han Shin lightly thumped his chest and raised his voice.
"I will fight to the end for this team, for this city, for the fans. Trust me and follow me. I believe in the passion and commitment you will show. If we all pull together and fight as one, we will win!"
Thump! Thump! Thump!
Han Shin pounded the table with his fist; the players answered in rhythm, hammering their makeshift tables.
"We were born to win. Let's join forces and fight to make Sunderland the greatest team, so the fans can roar themselves hoarse. Let's write a new legend! The fact that I'm standing here proves it—nothing is impossible. We'll do it together. Haaaaa'way the lads!!!"
Han Shin thrust his arm high.
The meeting room exploded with thunderous applause and cheers.
"Come on~~~~ Guys! We can do this!"
"Yeah, this year we get promoted for sure!!"
"Fucking hell~~~ let's go!!!"
Many of the players felt the raw will, the fire, the clear purpose, and the genuine love for the city and the club radiating from him. They were deeply moved.
I thought he was just messing around, but he was dead serious!
Maybe... maybe we should trust him.
"And if there's anything you want to ask me about the team or personally, any suggestions, or even if you just want to come banter and crack jokes—my door is always open. Come whenever you like, no pressure."
"Yes, gaffer!"
"If there's one thing you're most looking forward to from me, I'm guessing it's tactics—am I right??!!"
"That's right, gaffer!"
"But let's leave the work talk for tomorrow. Today is your first day back from holiday, so just loosen up and do some light individual training. From tomorrow we go hard. Clear?"
"Got it, gaffer!"
He set the microphone down.
"That's all from me. This season, let's make it work together. Looking forward to it!"
Han Shin bowed at the waist. Kirill, the staff, and every player rose as one and poured out a standing ovation.
Except for one man who stayed glued to his seat, face twisted like he'd bitten into something foul.
The absolute core of the team—the one who had already submitted an official transfer request.
Jobe Bellingham.
"Oi! What's wrong with you? The gaffer's solid, right?"
"Solid my arse... Christ."
Nothing but empty promises. Total con artist, isn't he?
Then Han Shin made one more announcement.
"Thank you all for the welcome. And tomorrow we have our first official session. First team versus second team—a practice match."
Captain Ballard raised his hand.
"Gaffer! Question!"
"What is it, Ballard?"
"You've never even seen us play. How have you already decided who's first team and who's second?"
"Good question. Maxwell? Come up here."
Maxwell climbed onto the platform. Han Shin put a hand on his shoulder.
"The practice match was actually suggested to me by our first-team coach here, Maxwell."
Maxwell's expression turned awkward.
"It's true I haven't even trained with you yet. Maxwell's already done a full season with this squad, so he's going to temporarily split the first and second teams for tomorrow. Right?"
"Exactly as the gaffer said. Kick-off at ten tomorrow. Somehow I ended up taking the first team, and the gaffer will handle the seconds."
"Any other questions?"
"....."
"Looks like no one asking questions in an official setting is the same in Korea or England. Fine. My office door stays open—come talk anytime."
Only after Han Shin left did the players start laughing and chatting among themselves. They looked exactly like the young men in their early twenties that they were.
"Gotta admit, it's bloody fresh, isn't it? Usually it's all stiff shoulders and 'I hope you all follow me well' nonsense."
"That all? Managers always go on about how fitness is everything and they'll hammer the conditioning."
"Don't even start. Worst is the one who just lists every trophy he's ever won. Bet that bastard's still living off that for years."
"And when we lose he lectures us that he's on a different level from trash like us and kids these days have no mentality."
"Haha, right? Honestly, a young creative gaffer like Han is a hundred times better than some old man who's achieved nothing. Am I wrong?"
"Oi, among us the only one who's actually got a trophy is Han Shin himself, yeah?"
"Bloody hell~! Haha, what have we even been doing?"
Abdullah, arms folded, turned to Ballard.
"What about you, skip?"
"Looks good. Above all he seems pure and transparent—no shady vibe at all."
"Right? You can tell he's actually enjoying himself."
Ballard stood up.
"Alright, that's enough. Everyone up—get ready for tomorrow's practice match!"
"Yeeeesss!"
They scrambled to their feet and pulled on the training tops they'd left draped over chairs.
Youngest player Chris sidled up to Ballard.
"Skip's definitely first team, lucky bastard."
"Chris, that's the gaffer's call."
"But tomorrow the first-team coach decides!"
"Ah, right. Don't like that bloke much."
"Why?"
"That bastard's shady as hell."
Reporters had gathered in the press room.
In the waiting room Emily cornered Han Shin, who was munching a banana for a snack, and spent a full ten minutes drilling instructions into him.
"You understand, gaffer? I was a huge fan of the show you were on, but that was still a reality programme. Your speech skills were way beyond what I expected so I'm not too worried, but..."
"Munch munch—you're lecturing me because you're worried, right? English journalists are world-famous for being vicious. And our Korean hacks aren't exactly soft either."
"No, English journalists are on another level. They'll dig only for your weak spots and hurl poison—no, not even poison, pure shit—so you must not get angry, okay?"
"Yes, I understand."
"They're all maniacs obsessed with sensational headlines and hyenas hunting for prey."
"You're already not listening to a word I'm saying."
"No, Emily, if you keep going my ears are going to start bleeding."
"Fine. Just please, under no circumstances give them any ammunition. We'll cut off any questions that cross the line from our side. Got it? Promise me."
Emily held out her little finger.
"Yes~ Promise!"
Of course Han Shin took her warnings to heart.
But this was going too far, wasn't it????
"Billy Jones from The Sun. I've heard Koreans enjoy dog meat as a health tonic. Do you yourself eat dog meat? And do you have any plans to serve dog meat to the players as a summer restorative?"
This hack bastard has actually lost his mind????