Are We There Yet?

I’m glad I don’t live in Seoul. Everywhere you go in South Korea’s sprawling capital, there are reminders that the World Cup is coming to town: the official logo is on practically every billboard, the concrete curbside flower beds are shaped like footballs and the lights from the giant new soccer stadium blaze up into the night sky. Worst of all are the electronic signboards that count down the days to the May 31 kickoff. As if it isn’t hard enough waiting for the tournament to begin, you have to be reminded constantly how much longer you have to wait. Perhaps in romance, anticipation is sweet; in football, it’s torture.

You have to understand that I’ve waited my whole life for this, me and a couple of billion other Asian football fans: the World Cup at our doorstep. I’ve watched every televised Cup game played since Spain ’82, and around here that makes me not one bit unusual. Every four years, my father and I would take a month off work and school and advance our body clocks by 12 hours so we would be up when the matches, invariably scheduled for European prime time, kicked off. Recorded replays were for wusses. Still, when I heard that Korea and Japan were awarded the tournament, my first thought was, “Great, dad won’t have to wake up at some ungodly hour to watch the games.” My second thought was, “How do I get to Korea/Japan?”

When I interviewed for a job at Time four years ago, coincidentally the week before the previous World Cup got under way, I asked the editor, “Do you have anybody in mind to cover 2002?” I can still hear his answer, although in my memory it’s set to choral music: “Nobody. Would you like to do it?” And, just to make sure he didn’t forget his offer, one of the first pieces I wrote for the magazine was a Viewpoint at the end of France ’98. Looking ahead to Asia’s first World Cup, I made three predictions at that time:

That Korea/Japan 2002 would be the cleanest tournament in years, with little of the hooliganism that plagues European, African and South American football.

That the tournament would be superbly staged, given the enormous national prestige the hosts have attached to it, and their expertise in organizing world-class sporting events.

That at least one of the hosts would actually win a match. (O.K., so I was stretching a bit here.)

I left out one easy prediction: it will be the most important, exhilarating, amazing month of my life. If I can only survive this infernal waiting.