Jeonbuk vs. Incheon (1)

K-League teams go by all sorts of nicknames among the fans.

For example, Jeonbuk earned the nickname Maebuk thanks to the referee bribery scandal. Suwon gets called Gaerang after their supporters’ riots, and Seoul picked up Bukpae—short for “the northern moral degenerate”—when they abandoned their Anyang roots and moved to Seoul.

But all of those came from scandals and incidents.

So do the quieter clubs without major drama just go without nicknames?

Sadly, no.

Even if a team never caused a stir worth mocking, football itself can whip up a nickname from pure playing style and results alone.

Just look at Ulsan.

They get called Junsan to mock their record ten runner-up finishes—the most in K-League history.

Nicknames stick that easily, so any club with a real history in the K-League usually ends up with one or two, good or bad.

Incheon FC.

They had one waiting for them too, as Jeonbuk’s opponents in Matchday 6.

Survival King. No other nickname captures Incheon better.

At first glance it sounds complimentary.

And it is, in a way.

The nickname stuck because every season they looked dead certain for relegation, only to string together late miracles or watch other teams collapse so they somehow stayed up.

Incheon fans might grumble that spending every season in the relegation scrap and watching with their hearts in their throats isn’t exactly fun.

But compared to the teams that actually drop and spend years stuck in the second division, it’s not the worst fate.

Anyway, a nickname like that makes it clear Incheon are the relative underdogs.

I wasn’t looking down on them, but given the sides we’d faced so far, this was a match we could approach a little more lightly.

Maybe that was why the locker room atmosphere felt looser than usual.

“Unlike us, who have been riding an early-season wave, Incheon have been having a rough go of it. Their pure quality has always been an issue, but right now they don’t even have a settled tactical identity. The biggest problem is how much responsibility is piled onto the mediocentro…”

Even Manager Sun Ki-baek, who usually explained things with a furrowed brow, was laying out his plan in a relaxed tone.

Not that he was dismissing the opponent or phoning it in. This was a man who, with nothing but pure passion for the game, had gone abroad as a non-player and studied tactics; he would never pull a stunt like that.

He was this ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠easygoing because my suspension had finally been lifted—and because Incheon were that thoroughly lost.

“Incheon show a different face every single match. Sometimes they roll out a completely unhinged 3-1-6 to max out their attacking numbers. Sometimes the central midfielders drop deep just to cover for a mediocentro whose aging curve has already hit. You could call it a search for answers, but the point is they still haven’t found any. So we dig into that. Clear?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. Before we head out, though—there was good news for the club a few days ago. The kids swept Player of the Month, Young Player of the Month, and Goal of the Month. We ought to hear a few words, right? We’re short on time, so Seung-hwan, you took Player of the Month. Get up there and thank the team.”

“¡Sí!”

“What? Sí?”

There was one completely unhinged idiot who had gotten a little too comfortable.

Manager Ki-baek shot Yoon Seung-hwan a look that clearly said what the hell is wrong with this kid after the sudden Spanish, but Seung-hwan paid no attention to the stares from coaches and teammates. With a patch stuck to his forehead, he planted himself in the middle of the locker room and launched into his speech.

“First of all, I want to thank the manager standing here. The manager, every one of my teammates, and the staff who took care of me all contributed to this award. The prizes I’ve won so far—starting with perfect-attendance awards in elementary school, the writing contest prize I got in middle school, the youth championship trophy… this is nothing compared to those. Honestly, I was so happy yesterday I cried three or four times…”

Is this guy insane? He’s reciting Ronaldo’s Euro celebration speech word for word. Why is he bringing up perfect attendance and writing contests?

Between the completely incomprehensible acceptance speech and the random Spanish interjections, I was staring at him like some kind of hybrid creature when, beside me, Xaveri hung his head like a man facing a capital charge.

“I-it’s… it’s my fault… damn it.”

“¿Qué hiciste?”

“Yoon Seung-hwan’s been doing Spanish free-talk practice with me because he says he’s going to La Liga after winning the award… and then he suddenly caught whatever this is… By the way, Yi-an, your Spanish pronunciation is insane. You’re better than Seung-hwan.”

Back then with Yeon-woo hyung he was going on about failing and being the first Korean at Real Madrid… so that wasn’t just talk?

“From now on we’re going to write the history of Jeonbuk. Everyone together—¡VAMOS!”

“…Vamos.”

He’s completely lost it.

What a pointless performance. It wasn’t even a Ballon d’Or—just one Player of the Month—and he was already daydreaming about a move abroad.

If he keeps absorbing nonsense like this, what then? Older girlfriend with a big chest and he’d have been the perfect embodiment of the fundamentalist checklist.

Talent and ability-wise he was absolutely worth European clubs’ attention, but the sight still made my eyes ache.

Without hard work it would all be meaningless anyway.

Like the seniors, I half-heartedly shouted “Vamos” once, shook my head, and turned my attention to the phone that had been buzzing nonstop for a while.

After Seung-hwan’s deranged speech, seeing this finally lifted the corners of my mouth again.

In his first year as manager of Incheon FC, Son Seong-min kept glancing between the pitch and his tablet with a rigid expression.

The situation’s tougher than I expected… The attack is progressing okay, but nothing’s finishing…

Honestly, Son Seong-min had walked into this match believing ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠they could win.

Anyone else might ask how a side stuck in the lower half could feel confident against a Jeonbuk team that had just gotten its starter back.

But Incheon had always specialized in throwing chili powder into the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠works even when they were losing.

You don’t become Survival King by getting steamrolled every week. You need the occasional win or draw during the season so you still have something left for the final stretch and can claw out survival.

Ironically, Son Seong-min planned to take points off Jeonbuk today.

Jeonbuk keep an extremely high press and smother the opponent. That’s why they score so many goals every match.

All-out attacking football.

Hadn’t that been the style that defined Jeonbuk for years?

Son Seong-min knew the stature of the Jeonbuk side that had dominated the 2010s K-League with that ferocious attack. He had watched every match and dreamed of managing a team that played the same way.

He had loved it, rewatched it endlessly, analyzed it. His own limitations and the constraints of a civic club had stopped him from ever realizing it, but the strengths and weaknesses of the system were still clear in his head.

Jeonbuk’s ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠weakness right now is the defense. Both fullbacks push high, so the back line and the double pivot have to handle everything. It’s a high-mileage system, so stamina drains fast, and the spaces they have to cover are huge.

If he could exploit that gap, even a Jeonbuk side stacked with high-value players would collapse.

Just like Pohang had brought them down in the previous match.

In the early stages, the game actually followed the picture Son Seong-min had drawn.

Jeonbuk’s defense, already under accumulated load from consecutive matches, left space open a couple of times, and Incheon’s players immediately drove into those pockets to launch counterattacks.

Just keep it like this.

If they could maintain the momentum and convert, toppling Jeonbuk wouldn’t be a dream.

That was what Son Seong-min thought.

Unfortunately for him, Jeonbuk had a player who turned that sweet dream into a horror film.

“Sang-yong hyung! Their number 7 is free on the mark—keep eyes on that side! Seung-won hyung, Gang-rok and Gyeong-rok are both pushed high, so think of yourself as the last line! High balls I can clear myself!”

Baek Yi-an screened and cleared the pass aimed at the vacant right-back channel, then immediately started directing traffic.

Incheon’s players didn’t fold. The throw-in was still theirs, so they still had possession and they came right back with another sharp attack.

Gabriel collected the ball and used his greatest strength—quick dribbling—to drive straight into the center circle the moment he received the throw-in. He then used a one-two with Nam Geon-ho to escape Kang Sang-yong’s tight man-marking before switching play wide from left to right.

Most of Jeonbuk’s defensive shape had been dragged across by the earlier attack down the left.

If the ball arrived cleanly they would have a numerical advantage and a clear shot at goal. Lee Dong-jun did receive the long pass and even managed to beat Yoo Seung-won on the dribble.

The problem was that Jeonbuk’s last line of defense was not Yoo Seung-won.

Shhhrrrk!

“Whoa! When the hell did you get all the way over here?”

Baek Yi-an, who had timed his run from outside Lee Dong-jun’s vision, slid in and cleanly took the ball.

The space had been completely empty when the ball arrived, yet in the split second it took to control and turn, Yi-an had covered the ground. Lee Dong-jun stood frozen with a hollow expression.

With possession flipped, Jeonbuk’s counter was inevitable.

“Yi-an! I’ll drop again! You keep going!”

“No—we have to push the line up anyway so I’m not carrying it myself. Stay right where you are, hyung! Hey, Han Gang-rok, drop! What are you doing parked there? Take this!”

Boom!

The ball Yi-an smashed forward flew hard and true toward Han Gang-rok.

“Nice one, Yi-an! Xaveri! Make the run—I’ll break the line!”

“…Got it!”

“Hey! Mark the fullback and the winger! He’s driving into the half-space!”

Han Gang-rok took the ball and punched into the half-space.

Even though they were outnumbered, Incheon’s defense still tried to solve the situation with the absolute minimum of bodies.

“Ah! Behind!”

“Xaveri!”

“What? No—!”

Unfortunately for them, that was the fatal mistake.

The interval between the fullback who had been dragged out and the center-back.

The instant Han Gang-rok’s instruction landed, Xaveri burst straight into that pocket.

Boom!

Inside the penalty box Xaveri took the ball and, a beat early, fired toward the far post.

Thwack!

The ball ripped the net as the mesh billowed.

There was only one meaning to that sound.

“Damn it… I knew he won Young Player of the Month, but one Baek Yi-an drops into the side and the whole team’s level of organization jumps this much?”

The picture Son Seong-min had drawn had been wrong from the very beginning.