The Dog Meat Storm: Han Shin Overturns the Press Conference
The press conference room at the Stadium of Light was packed wall to wall with reporters gathered for Han Shin’s first official appearance. Camera flashes popped without pause as he took his seat, his expression calm and composed.
Emily and Frank, the club’s head of media and communications, stood off to the side of the press room.
“Given the unusually large number of journalists present, we ask that you keep your questions clear and concise so that everyone has a fair chance.”
Seated to Han Shin’s right, Kirill spoke with more gravity than usual, his declaration solemn.
“Our club officially announces the appointment of Han Shin as manager of Sunderland. We will now begin the press conference.”
Back in a suit, Han Shin swallowed hard against a dry throat in front of the forest of microphones.
Watch out especially for The Sun and the Daily Mail, she said, right?
“Good afternoon. I’m Han Shin, newly appointed manager of Sunderland. I’ll take your questions.”
“Mike Williams, BBC Sport. First of all, congratulations on winning the Manager War and becoming Sunderland’s manager.”
“Thank you, Mike.”
“Do you believe you have the qualities needed to lead Sunderland AFC?”
“The managerial post was the prize for winning, but I am still an employee. If the board and Chairman Kirill had judged me insufficiently qualified, they would never have put me in this chair. From this moment on, I will prove with my own body that their choice was the right one.”
Sarah Jenkins of The Guardian followed up.
“As the first Asian manager in the history of Europe’s top five leagues, do you feel any pressure?”
“I feel responsibility and excitement more than pressure. Regardless of my skin colour or nationality, I want to be recognised solely for my ability. The title of ‘first Asian’ matters far less to me than the team’s results and the love of the fans.”
A reporter in a grey suit raised his hand.
“Yes.”
“Claire from the Daily Mail. Mr Han, you are the first manager in human history selected through a game. And you learned your tactics through that game.”
“I do have experience as an amateur footballer.”
“Yes, well. There’s been considerable criticism over that. Do you perhaps regard reality as a game? How does an amateur manager plan to coach professional players?”
“Hmm…”
“How can the players trust and follow you? What kind of leadership do you believe you can show them?”
So that wasn’t the end of the question—or the attack.
“I won’t deny the public fact that I learned tactics through a game. But the game is nothing more than a tool for building strategy.”
What kind of question is this…
He fixed Claire with a steady stare and continued.
“Reality and a game are fundamentally different. Football is made of the blood and sweat our players pour onto the grass. My role is to draw out their potential and forge them into one team. I will communicate with each player individually, understand their needs, and help them maintain peak condition.”
“Thank you for your answer.”
Claire found his measured reply disappointingly bland.
I threw the bait and he didn’t even get angry. He’s more solid than I expected. This won’t make a story.
“Jasmine from The Daily Telegraph. South Korea is still technically at war with the North and operates under conscription, so men are drafted into the military. Is that correct?”
“Yes, that’s correct.”
“I’ve heard that military culture is deeply rooted throughout society as a result. Do you plan to put the players through military-style training? Using violence, for instance?”
Han Shin answered with a smile.
“Football may be war without guns, but a team is not an army. Our goal is victory, yet along the way we will respect the players’ individuality and creativity. Living together requires a certain degree of discipline, of course. But that discipline must grow from mutual trust and respect. My role is not to be a dictator, but a leader and a mentor.”
“Ah… right.”
Emily looked at Han Shin again.
He can seem so light-hearted, yet in a setting like this he’s calm and serious. Slips out of every trap like a smooth operator.
Ben Wilson of the local paper stood to ask his question.
“Ben from the Sunderland Echo. Local fans place great importance on the club’s history and tradition. As a foreign manager, how do you intend to win their hearts?”
“I’ve been living in the city for a week already, meeting and talking with countless fans. I’ve been deeply moved by what the club means to them—by their passion and their devotion. Right now I’m studying Sunderland’s history, its traditions, and even the local dialect.”
“I see. That’s excellent, gaffer.”
“But the best thing I can give the fans is results on the pitch. Together with them I want to write a new chapter of history—promotion—and bring them happiness.”
“Thank you for those fine words. By the way, what do you make of our city?”
“Ah! First of all the sea is magnificent. I went to Roker and Seaburn beaches—there were so many seagulls. There’s an Italian restaurant called Antico there; the food was excellent. And the view of the River Wear from Wearmouth Bridge is stunning.”
The local reporter nodded vigorously in agreement.
“But more than anything, the Stadium of Light is the most magnificent place of all to me. I can’t wait for the league to start so I can hear the fans’ roar.”
Ben Wilson sat down looking thoroughly satisfied.
Tom White of Sky Sports drove in sharply.
“I understand a huge number of coaches left with the previous manager. There’s virtually no coaching staff left. Isn’t that because they felt unstable with a rookie manager coming in? How do you plan to fill the gaps?”
The questions are alternating sweet and salty.
“I’d put it this way: the coaches who stayed matter more and are more precious than those who left. Because the ones who remain love the club’s values more than any individual, I believe they will help me a great deal going forward. We’ll put out a public recruitment call for additional coaches. I want to find people who share our vision and work with them for a long time.”
“All right, coaches aside—what about the players? Is there anyone who feels insecure about their position and has formally requested a transfer?”
Han Shin shot a quick sidelong glance at Kirill, Emily, and Frank.
Their eyes all said the same thing: How should we answer? All three shook their heads.
“I don’t think transfer talk is appropriate yet. I will say this, however: no player has requested a transfer from me in the less than twenty-four hours I’ve been in the job.”
With so many reporters present, the questions came from every angle.
“Jake Peterson of The Times. Do you have any plans to sign hidden gems from the K League or Korean players already performing in Europe?”
“Players like Paik Seung-ho, for example, who played for Birmingham and is still starring in the Championship.”
They’re asking if I’ll play the national favouritism card. Don’t take the bait.
“Any player with talent and ability is always welcome. Not just Koreans—South Americans, Asians, Africans… even if they’re in the Arctic or Alaska, I’ll find them and bring them in.”
“Any concrete signing plans right now?”
“We’ll decide that in meetings with the board, the director of football, and the scouting team. But I want to make one thing clear: there is absolutely no plan to sign a player simply because he is Korean.”
“Asian managers have had virtually zero impact or presence at the very top of world football. Do you put that down to a lack of ability, or what do you see as the cause?”
“I don’t think that’s for me to discuss. I’d rather stay focused on our team.”
“Ugh…”
The reporter twirled his pen, denied the answer he wanted.
“Even one reason, if you would…”
“Simply put, I think it comes down to whether or not someone has experience in the so-called top leagues. Clubs value a manager’s top-flight experience when it comes to controlling players. But plenty of Asian players are already starring in the big four leagues.”
“True.”
“I have to create a successful precedent. That will open the path for those who come after me. Then I believe we’ll see many more talented Asian managers. That’s all I’ll say on the matter.”
At that moment a reporter with a severe M-shaped bald patch barged in without waiting for permission.
“Billy Jones of The Sun. How many years do you reckon it’ll take for Sunderland under you to get their first win? Hahaha.”
The Sun… just as advertised—bottom-of-the-barrel. Completely out of line.
“You’re calling that a question…?”
The other reporters stirred.
“It seems the gentleman doesn’t speak English very well! You meant ‘how many matches,’ not ‘how many years,’ didn’t you? Let me correct that for you. And for the people who believe in me, I will do everything in my power to deliver a victory for the club and the fans in our very first league match.”
“Pffft!”
The solemn press conference, which had been trading questions and answers with deadpan faces, exploded into laughter.
“Hahaha!”
The Sun reporter’s face turned beet-red; he hung his head.
“Next question.”
“Michael from Fox Sports.”
“You’ve come all the way from America. Go ahead.”
“I understand the club is filming another new documentary. Some people say the club is focusing too heavily on commercial ventures. Do you agree?”
“A football club is not a charity. Our real rivals aren’t basketball or baseball—they’re YouTube and the entertainment industry. We have to compete with the giant entertainment business. In that regard, Chairman Kirill’s creative and bold decisions are a tremendous asset to the club.”
Han Shin took a quick sip from the water bottle in front of him.
“Thanks to meticulous marketing, we may not be the most famous club in the world, but our branding is stronger than any other club in the Championship. Even people in remote countries know who we are. That means we can draw support from fans all over the globe, and that makes me happy.”
The reporter sitting next to the still-red-faced Sun man with the M-shaped bald patch got the floor.
Surely The Sun didn’t send two of them…?
“Dayby News. The Korean national team has had a golden generation for the past five years. Yet even under a great manager like Jürgen Klinsmann they failed to win the last Asian Cup.”
Han Shin pulled the microphone closer.
“Klinsmann a great manager? That’s news to me. I completely disagree.”
“Be that as it may. Asia has never produced a single manager who left his name in football history. And you’ve come from Korea—a football wasteland that can’t even win the Asian Cup, let alone the World Cup. Are you confident you can survive in England?”
“First of all, sir, you clearly don’t know football. One: Klinsmann was a disaster. Two: if that makes Korea a football wasteland, then England—whose national team’s World Cup and Euros drought is equally mysterious—must be a football wasteland too. Three: whether I survive in England—”
“Gaffer! Gaffer!”
Emily drew a finger across her throat, signalling him to stop right there.
“Hah… I’ll leave it there.”
In that opening Billy from The Sun raised his hand again. Everyone tried to ignore him, but he dropped a bombshell of his own free will.
“I’ve heard that Koreans enjoy eating dog meat as a health tonic. Do you yourself eat dog meat? And do you plan to serve dog meat to the players as a summer tonic?”
The room erupted. Everyone was stunned.
Han Shin’s brow furrowed. At the sudden racist attack his face flushed red with anger.
Emily shot to her feet.
“I’m Emily, head of marketing. The Sun, was it? This kind of personal attack is a national disgrace. Leave this press room immediately. The club will file a formal complaint and ban The Sun from all future access.”
She took Han Shin’s arm.
“Come on, gaffer. Don’t engage with someone like that.”
Han Shin held up a hand.
“Gaffer? Are you all right?”
He clenched his jaw.
“I’m fine. Shall I answer?”
“Yes. Heh-heh.”
“That’s a question that has absolutely nothing to do with football. I came here to play football. Whether I eat dog meat or not is completely irrelevant.”
“That’s not the answer I want~~ You’re Korean—have you tried dog meat or not? There are lots of dogs running around near Sunderland. You’re not planning to catch and eat them, are you?”
“Hah… now I understand. The Sun…”
“Gaffer, stop! Stop! Security, get in here!”
Han Shin remembered Emily’s warning. But… he gripped the microphone.
“I’d heard you were trash, but I never imagined the level would be… this low. I’m deeply disappointed. Apologise for that racist remark.”
Billy let out a rotten sneer, as if he’d sprung a trap.
“How is this racist? Dog meat’s just food—people can eat it if they want~ Heh-heh.”
Han Shin barely swallowed the Korean curse that rose to his lips.
“No, this guy is really…! Sh—”
Emily and Frank dragged him back.
“Just a moment. Regardless of that man, I have one last thing to say.”
Click-click-click-click.
A barrage of flashes exploded.
“This season, together with our team, we will achieve promotion to the EPL. That is all I have to say.”
“Let’s go. Quickly. This press conference is over.”
Han Shin pointed a finger straight at the reporter.
“And you—M-shaped bald-patch guy! You asked me if I like dog meat, right?”
Billy Jones lounged back in his chair and nodded.
“At least it’s better than jellied eels.”
The next morning, Han Shin inevitably decorated the front pages of the yellow press.