A Familiar Taste (2)
Han Gang-rok's call-up to the national team had come about through an unexpected turn of events.
"For Jihun-hyung to drop out of the squad and you to slide in, Gang-rok, I heard it was only a minor injury. Guess it was worse than expected?"
"Yeah. When the injury news first broke I thought maybe, just maybe, this was my shot, so I was pretty hyped. Then they said it was just a light hamstring strain, so I wrote it off. Not long after, the official site posted that it was a full tear. Three to four weeks of recovery, apparently."
A senior on the same national team getting injured and dropping out wasn't exactly the kind of thing a junior should treat lightly. But that was sports for you. Limited spots, a whole pack of players fighting tooth and nail to take them — that was just how it worked.
Of course, if some washout got shoehorned into that vacancy by outside pressure, things would get a little weird. That wasn't the case here.
"Still, someone at your level, Gang-rok — you were more than good enough to get picked."
"I want to say I just got lucky… but honestly, even I think I'm the only guy in the K-League who can properly fill Jihun-hyung's spot."
With that, Han Gang-rok went right back to focusing on his food.
Anyone watching might have called the two of us arrogant little bastards. But honestly? He wasn't wrong.
Gang-rok is exactly the kind of player Coach Valde loves.
A fullback with wing-forward levels of pure attacking aggression. There was nothing wrong with the classic fullback who stuck to defending and whipping in crosses from the flank — but the football Coach Valde chased was something else entirely. An organic side where nobody was chained to their position, where everyone poured forward for the goal from wherever they stood.
And for that purpose, Han Gang-rok was more than useful.
After the Pohang match, during that hellish stretch of four games in a row, national team coaches had actually shown up to watch us. Most people figured they were there to check on the form of the usual suspects — me and Yoon Seung-hwan — both of us already regular call-ups. But the top-tier domestic football reporters had another take: the real reason was to get a proper look at Han Gang-rok and Han Gyeong-rok's movement.
Odds were good Coach Valde had been thinking something like, These kids are worth a trial run, and when the chance fell into his lap, he took it.
What remained was whether Gang-rok could settle into the squad and put in a good showing. As far as adapting went, though, I wasn't particularly worried.
"You're Gang-rok, right? I've seen a lot of you while watching Ian and Seung-hwan's matches. You've been solid."
"Ah, thank you, Namu-hyung. I've watched a ton of your games too. I refuse to be a free-viewing freeloader for Rangers matches, so I even set up an overseas payment just to watch."
"Come on, you don't have to go that far. Checking the results is enough. Me getting nothing out of you watching that hard, either."
"Hey, still — even one percent of hyung's weekly wage could become my money, right?"
"Hahaha. Fine, then. I'll renew Coupang Play starting today. I don't care about anything else, but I'll make sure to catch your matches."
He'd already gotten comfortable enough to trade dumb jokes with Namu-hyung like that. The national team didn't have any players with rotten personalities, so as long as Gang-rok didn't pull anything clueless, the seniors would usually come to him first and loosen things up.
"Ah — then you probably missed it."
"Missed what?"
"Before the national team call-up, I put in a cross for Yoon Seung-hwan in the Ulsan match and got an assist."
"Oh yeah? So I can look forward to a cross from you in the Iraq game too?"
"Aigoo, of course you can. I'll whip one in a beat early again — the kind where the opposing keeper and Yoon Seung-hwan both can't even react. You just sit back and trust me and that bastard Baek Yi-an. Your stats'll fatten up without you lifting a finger."
"…Huh? What did you just say?"
Namu-hyung, mid-conversation with Gang-rok, flinched. Then his face went pale as he looked back and forth between me and Gang-rok. I grinned at him, which made him shudder from head to toe before he shot up from his seat.
"Uh. Yeah. Enjoy your meal. I should get going."
"Already? Coach hasn't even called the meeting yet."
"Ah, I forgot something I need to grab. Better prep early. See you in a bit."
With that, Namu-hyung bolted from the table in a hurry.
"Ah, shit. Of all the things to forget to bring. If I call a quick delivery, think they'll get a headguard here fast enough?"
A headguard? Why the hell does he suddenly need one of those?
I was about to ask what he was talking about, but by then Namu-hyung had already disappeared back to his room.
I was still staring after him toward the elevator with a puzzled look when a whispered conversation drifted up from behind me.
"Kang-jin hyung. Looks like we need to add that bastard Han Gang-rok to this week's gathering."
"You were thinking the same thing, Jun-hong? Min-je hyung's here this time too, so we should lock them down for sure. I'll handle Ian — Min-hyung, you bring Gang-rok. Got it?"
"Yes, sir. If he won't come, I'll drag him by force."
What the hell are these hyungs talking about?
They were looking at us like we were a pair of career criminals. Compared to Han Gang-rok I considered myself pretty well-behaved, so why was I getting lumped in with the weird treatment?
"This is genuinely weird."
"What's weird now, man. Hey, Baek Yi-an — if you're not eating that Shine Muscat, can I have it?"
"Want me to put a musket round through your skull instead?"
"Nah, getting hit in the head by you with a ball is more than enough. I went all out this time and custom-ordered a headguard, so I'm safe now."
Yoon Seung-hwan smirked at me as he thumped his chest like he'd just acquired a reliable bodyguard. From the sound of it, he'd prepared the headgear specifically for my spite-fueled clutch plays…
Unfortunately for him, what he'd prepared wasn't going to be much use this tournament.
"That so? Too bad. This time I'm going for the legs."
"…Ah."
I watched Yoon Seung-hwan stare blankly into empty air with a hollow expression, then popped a Shine Muscat into my mouth.
Once the meal was over and the players were starting to put faces to names, the coach called everyone into the dressing room for a short briefing before departure.
"Our first opponents are Iraq — a side we've faced before. We took the win last time. That doesn't mean we can assume we'll take it again."
We'd already punched through the third round of qualifiers and locked up a place in the finals, but that hadn't dimmed Coach Valde's fire in the slightest. It made sense if you thought about it for even a second. Treating matches casually just because you'd already secured qualification was nonsense — and more importantly, locking in the finals also meant there weren't many games left to experiment with.
He watched Han Gang-rok and Han Gyeong-rok carefully, and the second Jihun-hyung went out injured he called Gang-rok straight up. That alone says he's not fully confident in the current roster.
The team still wasn't finished. Time, meanwhile, was sprinting on, and the 2030 World Cup was already closing in. From Coach Valde's position, he needed to complete the side as fast as possible and get the players fully absorbed into his system. That meant preparing for every remaining match with everything they had.
"After losing to us, Iraq adjusted their tactics for the next game. Reduce that system to a single sentence and it comes down to this: they want to drag the opponent into their own half."
The Iraq approach the coach was describing was clear enough.
They'd ditched Ibrahim, the single pivot who'd suffered so much against us, and gone to a stable four-at-the-back with two midfielders. From there, the goalkeeper would step up between the centre-backs while both fullbacks pushed into midfield, forming a 3-4 shape in the build-up. Once that structure was set, they'd circulate the ball in their own half, pull the opposition's players forward, then use the wide men to explode into the space behind.
There were other patterns for settled possession, of course — but as the coach had summarized, the spine of it was simple: draw them in, then attack the space.
"We press hard. So the odds are extremely high they'll bring this system as their base and try to pick a fight with it. Of course, they might also take a few hits and end up squealing on the floor…"
"C-Coach, the passionate explanation is great, but please don't actually lie down on the floor—"
"Coach! Are you interrupting my time? Are you mocking a man burning his own body for the players?!"
"It's not mockery, I just think you'll become a laughingstock—"
"If you say it in Korean I can't understand you! Spanish or English only!"
The coach's briefing, delivered with full theatrical commitment.
"Hey. Baek Yi-an. You and Yoon Seung-hwan got to watch this kind of entertainment while the rest of us were rolling around under the sun? I'm so damn jealous."
"You're called up now too. Isn't that enough?"
"…Now that you mention it, yeah. Poor Han Gyeong-rok, though. He's missing this."
There was a brief ruckus, but for grasping Iraq's tactics in a short time, there was no better method than that.
Matchday one of the ninth round of World Cup third-round qualifiers was held at Iraq's home ground, Basra International Stadium.
You might assume the real problem with playing in the Middle East would be the heat. From my experience, though, the thing that actually got under your skin was the home crowd.
Bbeeriiririi. Bbeeriiririi!
"Augh, fuck. Who's blowing a pipe? What is that weird noise that won't stop?"
"Sounds like those random junk songs the guys at highway rest stops play while selling random crap, doesn't it?"
"More like snake-charmer music. Why is it so damn loud?"
I'd once read an article claiming Iceland away was the hardest trip in football because of the Viking Clap. Having experienced it in person, I didn't really agree.
The thing that actually makes you want to lose your mind is the Middle East.
Sure, some players said the thunderclap was so loud it interfered with the game — but at least it looked cool. The Middle East, once you'd actually lived it, had nothing that came close for pure irritation. Before you even walked out they'd blast weird pipe music at full volume. Then they'd scream things about God judging you while staring you down.
Qatar and Saudi weren't so bad. Everywhere else in the region was worse than you'd imagine.
I'd been put through it enough in my past life that I had a bit of immunity now. If this had been my first time around, though, I probably would've been rattled too.
"Hey. Just ignore it and warm up. They're going to keep this up until the final whistle anyway."
You just had to endure it. That was what an away ground was.
I was standing in the tunnel, trying to refocus after talking down Yoon Seung-hwan and Han Gang-rok, who were busy venting, when Ibrahim beside me tapped my shoulder.
"What? Huh?"
" (How have you been?)"
I had no idea what he was saying, but he was offering his hand, so it seemed like a greeting. A greeting I could do — but why was he grinning like that while he held it out?
Suspicious, I took his hand, shook it up and down a couple of times, and tried to turn back toward the pitch. Ibrahim immediately started talking again.
" (I haven't forgotten the humiliation I suffered last time. The one who falls this time will be you. I'll make sure our home fans see that disgusting behaviour of yours with their own eyes!)"
"What the hell is this bastard saying."
Had walking on all fours finally scrambled his brain a little?
I briefly considered throwing an Oh My God back at him just to play along, then decided against it.
What's the point? Guy's gone a bit soft in the head. A few hits and he'll snap right back to normal.
Once the match started, there would be plenty of ways to set him straight.