On Derby Day, Anything Can Happen
“What. What the hell, why’s he so damn huge?”
“That’s really a 15-year-old?”
The 19-year-olds who came face-to-face with Na Yeong-ung were overwhelmed by his sheer size. He wasn’t just tall—his core muscles were so developed that his body had real thickness to it.
“Weren’t you just talking about the physical limits of East Asians?”
“...There are East Asians built like that? No joke.”
The mocking voices that had been sneering at Na Yeong-ung naturally faded away.
It had been a month since starting training at the academy. For me, it was like living a dream. I couldn’t believe I could play soccer so freely, without a care in the world. It felt like compensation for all those lonely solo training sessions.
My teammates naturally started following my lead once they saw my skills. I trained while freely debating soccer tactics with the coach and my teammates. Fantasies I couldn’t even imagine back in Korea were playing out as reality every day.
In Korea, asking “Why?” got you a fist from the coach right away. Here, not asking “Why?” got you chewed out by the coach. In Korea, players who moved like robots following orders got praised. Here, players who thought for themselves and moved accordingly got the praise.
We trained five days a week and played youth league matches on weekends. After the games, we’d gather on Mondays to watch footage of our weekend performances and explain our intentions to the coach and teammates. In a system like that, your skills had to improve. I shot up like a tree injected with growth hormones.
“Yeong-ung, you’re on ball boy duty for the first team’s home game this week.”
In the midst of all this, I got assigned as a ball boy for West Ham’s first-team home match. I was excited to see our senior team play for the first time. But on game day...
Something that far exceeded my expectations went down.
“West Ham! West Ham!”
“Let’s go~~! Hammers!”
Clap-clap-clap-clap—
It was Saturday, game day at West Ham’s home stadium. The neighborhood was buzzing from morning. Voices poured in from outside, along with applause, chants, and angry shouts that never let up.
“Here we go again. Those soccer lunatic bastards...”
Emma Grandma scowled as she sipped her black tea. She cranked up the volume on her radio playing classical music. Grandma hated soccer—or more precisely, the humans who were obsessed with it.
“Yeong-ung, you’re heading to the ground today, right?”
“Yeah, I’m doing ball boy duty.”
“Be careful. You’ve gotta watch out not just for the away team hooligans, but our own West Ham hooligans too. You’re East Asian, so you could be a target for those crazies. Today’s the day all of London’s trash gathers. Stay sharp.”
“Got it, Grandma.”
I’d heard “Be careful” more than ten times already since yesterday. West Ham might have crap results, but they were famous for having the league’s most passionate supporters. Put nicely, passionate. Put bluntly, they were a notorious team packed with dangerous thugs.
And today’s opponent? Tottenham, of all teams. With both clubs based in London, it was a rivalry derby, so clashes between the hooligans from both sides were expected.
“I’m off, Grandma.”
“Be careful, Yeong-ung.”
“I will~~”
I was treated like a rookie heading into battle. But when I stepped outside...
The air really felt off. It was a vibe I’d never sensed living in this neighborhood before. The old streets paved with red bricks felt eerie and unfamiliar today.
“West Ham! West Ham! Let’s grab those North London Jew bastards and kill ’em!”
A vicious chant echoed from the local pub. Tottenham, up in North London, was called the “Jews’ team” for some reason.
“They’re all insane.”
The whole neighborhood felt cursed by black magic. Kickoff was still two hours away, but pubs were already full of wasted drunks screaming their heads off with beer bottles in hand. Buzz-cut, red-faced classic British thugs.
I barely escaped that area and finally reached West Ham’s home ground, the Boleyn Ground.
“My God...”
A battlefield had unfolded in front of the stadium. Hundreds of Tottenham hooligans and West Ham hooligans were brawling right there. Bricks flying, steel pipes and batons flashing. Riot shields from the police and mounted officers had mobilized, turning the whole place into pandemonium.
I skirted around it and barely found my way to the entrance. Out front was a bloody mess, but the Boleyn Ground itself was built like a cute Lego castle—adorably charming.
“This place... feels kinda weird.”
My heart pounded without me realizing it. Excitement surged. Hot blood raced through my veins.
This is a derby.
I’d researched West Ham’s history and culture online in the past. Even the infamous hooligans. But being part of the team and experiencing it firsthand blew my imagination away. This was war, and I was a boy soldier enlisted on one side.
To Koreans, soccer was a sport. To people here, it was religion.
“Yeong-ung! Hurry over here!”
Once through the entrance, Paul hyung called out to me desperately. He was hyped up too from the brawl outside. He was shocked to see me in a West Ham kit.
“From now on, change into your kit at the stadium. If you run into away hooligans on the way, they’ll attack you. On derby day, anything can happen. Be careful.”
Caution again. I headed to the office for a quick ball boy briefing. The club offices were like headquarters. Phones rang nonstop, staff dashed around without rest. Police station, officials, other clubs, the chairman, the manager, security firms, media... too many contacts.
Even in the chaos, fans poured into the stadium, filling the seats. Thirty minutes to kickoff. I headed down to the pitch for ball boy duty.
Walking the long tunnel where the players passed, I caught sight of the Boleyn Ground’s green grass. It grew bigger as I neared the exit. And finally, stepping out...
The world was green.
“Whoa...”
It felt like being baptized. I stood at the pitch edge, surveying the 35,000 wine-red seats. No need for talk of history or tradition—you felt it just standing there. Legends like Bobby Moore had run and kicked balls right here. If you listened closely, you could almost hear their breaths.
Savoring the moment, I took my spot on the sideline for ball boy duty. I didn’t step onto the pitch where the players ran.
“I’ll make the first team in three years and step on this grass for sure.”
I got why the club assigned youth players as ball boys. No better motivation existed.
Before I knew it, the 35,000 seats were packed. An epic sight on its own—and then a surprise event kicked off.
“Huh. What’s that...”
Jolly intro music played as soap bubbles poured from somewhere in the stadium. A massive cloud of them floated into the sky. Then West Ham fans sang together.
I'm forever blowing bubbles~
Pretty bubbles soaring high, reaching for the sky~
Then they vanish like my dreams~
Luck hides everywhere, so I keep on the chase~
I'm forever blowing bubbles~
Sending pretty bubbles flying to the heavens~
United! United!!
Clap! Clap! Clap!
It was a spectacle. From grandpas to kids, every West Ham fan sang along and clapped. Countless bubbles drifted over their heads.
“What a ridiculous team.”
Hooligans were still rioting outside, but inside, bubbles floated everywhere.
“I might actually come to love this place...”
The mix of violence and romance hooked me. Even their cursed luck—never winning the league in over a century—felt sweet.
But then, another unexpected snag.
Kickoff time passed, but no game. The ref checked something, and the PA announcement came.
"Tottenham's team bus is unable to enter the stadium, so kickoff is delayed. Fans, please listen to the following announcement..."
“Boooooo~~!! Fucking Jew bastards! What’s your scheme now!?”
The second the announcement hit, curses and slurs exploded like nothing happened. These the same people who’d just been blowing bubbles and singing romantic tunes?
As kickoff kept getting delayed, the murmurs grew louder. The profanity ramped up. I started worrying a brawl might break out with the Tottenham fans on the other side.
“Screw it.”
I lightly chipped a rolling soccer ball into the air.