Soccer

It's a sport I play every Sunday, but a word I utter sparingly. Playing with mostly Koreans and proper gentlemen from the UK, soccer is a useless word. To me, it almost represents a lack of knowledge for the game. A game for which my knowledge is already very small. Sometimes the treacherous word slips from my tongue amidst European company, and a deep feeling of shame washes over me. I quickly look to the ground, hoping no one heard.

Of course, when I am in the company of a fellow Me-gook (American) player, it's soccer, soccer, soccer all day, all night. Even when we're talking about teaching or the weather.

"Yeah, it has been cold. Why aren't th--SOCCER! Why aren't there pl--SOCCER! plows in this SOCCER!! SOCCER!! SOCCERRR!!

Sometimes football is shortened up to footy. Who knows why? Not like you use your feet. Most countries around the world use some variation of football. Except Iceland, which uses Knattspyma. Icelanders also use dung to heat their homes.

So let's call it chukgu (Korean). It's a sport I've played since I was 6 or 7 years old. Honestly, it was mostly a filler sport between summer baseball and winter basketball. I don't know if I really ever enjoyed playing it in the states. Too much running. No timeouts.

Also, I could never score. Upon entering the box, I would usually panic, kick the ball straight into a defender and then throw my hands in front of my face as he booted it back down the field. True mincer.

In my 3 year varsity career, I think I tallied 6 goals? The first year I was a full-time ball boy and only played when the other team was winning by 7 or we were playing the American School for the Deaf. But I celebrated my ball boy status. Two other freshman and I actually coined our group BBOA. Ball Boys of America.

We would make full out dives for stray balls and slide into pricker bushes in search of lost ones. Sure, our efforts went unnoticed, but we knew how many balls we had stopped from killing Timmy's grandmother or upending a nest of newborn baby birds.

Don't really remember much in my 2nd year, but definitely began to play more. I also became the king of penalty kicks. We would have PK tournaments at the end of each practice and I did surprisingly well one day. Using a pair of moccasins from the lost and found (I was known to forget my cleats and athletic clothes every so often and since the 6th grade, was a happy and frequent lost and found customer) I beat every single person on the team. Right corner was my spot. Moccasin Monagan became my name. Just kidding.

But this day carried my PK legacy into senior year and I became the go to penalty kicker. Four of my six goals over my 3 year career were scored in this fashion. I probably would've had more PK's but had a Rick Ankiel-like mental breakdown midway through my final season and couldn't even lift the ball off the ground. Kept seeing little green goblins dancing around the goal line.

Now I'm in Korea and am really enjoying football. I play almost every Sunday. Sometimes Saturdays. I don't know why I suddenly enjoy it. I think because it keeps me in shape and I enjoy hearing the Korean players scream "Nice-Uh!" when somebody does something well.

Play a mix of 11 a side and 5 a side. I think I enjoy the 5 a side more because of the smaller pitch (less running) and ample touches.

Last week, myself, Lewis (Yorkshire ballin' till he be fallin'), Steven (Energizer Tiger) and Zack (Mayor of Chuncheon) walked on to a 5 a side pitch of high-school aged kids and dominated for a span of 4 games. It's like in America, where it's 5 on 5 pick-up basketball. You lose, you're out.

Lewis scored his usual 8 goals and I had 6. We were dominant up front. Like Jordan and Pippen in the late 90s. Steven was the hardworking defender (Luc Longley). Zack was the everywhere man, flying all over the pitch (Dennis Rodman). We also picked up a Korean keeper, who I believe had a 3rd arm.

The crowds of Korean high schoolers oohhh and ahhhhed every time we rocketed a shot towards the goal. They shook the cage that surrounded the field every time there was a hard foul. It was epic. In 2 short hours, we became Chuncheon legends.

When we left, a chorus line of about 20 Korean men gave us a hefty bow. Lower than Obama's bow to the Japanese president. Lower than a baby pygmy bow.

We hope to go back to this field someday.

When we do, a grand entrance will definitely be in order. Maybe something like this. Just to remind them who is boss:

Ice, Ice, Baby

We arrived in Hwacheon, a city about an hour and a half away from North Korea. The air was crisp and a steady snow was falling.

The small town reminded me one that would be used for the setting of a Hollywood movie. It's a Wonderful Life-like. Small stores, friendly people and a cheerful atmosphere. I felt like I could've walked around there all day, letting the snow fall on my face while admiring the decorations celebrating the town's annual ice festival. I felt great. I felt like grabbing a random Korean girl and giving her the Jimmy Stewart monologue.

But then I realized it wasn't nighttime. There was no moon. There was no Mary. There was Sang-Hee-Wee and she probably wouldn't speak much English.

I decided to drop the idea and head for the festivus. Heading into the festival, I wasn't expecting much of anything. I don't know why. I just figured it would be a bunch of foreigners taking turns trying to catch fish around one small hole; trying to keep warm with a couple bottles of Soju and Dimple. The body of water would probably be about the size of the 3rd pond at Fulton Park.

You know the pond. The one that is partially hidden from the road behind a stone wall? Nobody likes to look at it. Many deny its existence. Two-headed trolls and other ghastly creatures have been known to make their homes in and around this disgusting mess of nature. If you're lucky, you might find a couple baseballs that Matt "Party Crashing" Carr launched from a few of the upper diamonds.

But I was pleasantly surprised. The area playing home to the festival was enormous. It equaled the entire length of Fulton Park. Thousands of people littered the grounds. There were three huge expanses of ice dedicated to ice-fishing, one for ice soccer, a couple more for go-karts/ATVs and a final pool for swimming. Also, huge snow/ice sculptures surrounded the boundaries of the ice. Amazing and detailed illustrations of animal faces and people. Ice cold.

Ice-fishing was difficult. The trip organizer gave us what resembled a fly swatter, and attached a string and some bait to the end. My bait was neon-green. I don't think I could've caught a fish with down-syndrome.

It seemed like it also takes quite a long time to catch a fish. A ton of patience. A few Koreans seemed like they had been there a couple days. Lying on the ground, blue in the face, on the brink of hypothermia.

After ice-fishing, we headed over to the final section of the ice festival. Where old men go to die.

When we arrived, a group of young Korean men and women were standing around a pool of ice water. They were dressed in small shorts and t-shirts, shivering in the 15 degree temperatures. I eventually put two and two together. They were going to jump in. And why were we here? Because we were also going to jump in.

The Koreans jumped into the the water and screams of terror erupted from the below 0 water. The idea of this exercise, besides making your heart stop, was for the participants to search for and catch fish with their bare-hands. These men and women actually seemed to catch a lot of fish. It didn't look that difficult.

However, I still was not going in the water. I was too young to die. And dying in a foreign country? Who wants to do that? Talk about a hassle for family and friends.

But, peer pressure has always been one of my worst faults. I got sucked in. I couldn't face the outcry and bashing I would get if I didn't make the jump.

About thirty other foreigners and myself walked bare-foot along the snow and out towards the pool of death. The area itself is shaped like an arena. There is a small pool down below and then crowds of people watching and trash-talking from up above. (I think someone actually threw a soju bottle down at me).

Anyway, when I looked around at the 30 foreigners in bright orange t-shirts and 100 Koreans watching/taking bets on who would fall first, I felt like a clown put there for someone's amusement. They were all laughing at us, entertained by our stupidity. As they should have been.

It kind of felt similar to that scene in A.I. when the robots are tortured to the sheer delight of human spectators.

I jumped into the water.

Honestly, telling you the water was extremely cold does not suffice. It felt like needles were being pulled out and then driven squarely back into my legs. I stood there, frozen with fear, frozen with...well. Frozen.

I didn't even look for fish. Quite honestly, I don't think there were any fish left after the previous group. I quickly gathered my senses and headed towards the ladder to escape the pool of misery. I think I was the second guy out and actually elbowed a couple girls out of the way to get to the escape route first. Put my legs in a hot bath and can finally feel them thawing out today.

I will never, ever put myself in this type of situation again.

Unless someone asks me twice.

Dog Eat dog. Yes, eat the dog.

Dogs.

In America, they are man's best friend. They are fond companions, who will pick up your spirits when you feel down, deter criminals from breaking and entering and lick your face until it turns into an oversized prune.

For the most part, if your name is not Michael Vick, they love you and you love them. They show allegiance and respect to an owner like a son would to a father. They are part of the family. Sometimes even more so than an unfortunate-looking sibling or cross-eyed, binge-drinking uncle.

Golden retrievers, Beagles, Terriers, Miniature Schnowzas, Chow Chows. Heck, even Chinese Shar-Peis! Although, now we're beginning to look more and more like that unfortunate looking sibling.

One dog to stay away from- Lhasa Apsos. They may look cute and harmless, but will destroy your house and tear your family apart. Also, if you have any newborn babies lying around, they will try and eat them.

But generally, dogs are the staple pet in America. They are glamorized on TV, in films- "Lassie," "All Dogs Go To Heaven."

Has there ever been a movie about all humans going to Heaven? Never.

But there has been a movie about the evil nature of humans called "The Cannibal Holocaust."

Say those words again out loud.

Are there any two worse words in any language in the entire world?

It's true. Many times, especially on the silver screen, dogs are shone in a better light than our fellow man and woman.

I remember celebrating when the dog in "Dante's Peak" avoided the flowing lava and jumped safely into Pierce Brosnan's volcano-proof pickup truck.

However, I couldn't help but laugh when the stubborn Grandmother had both of her legs burned off in the acid lake.

Homeward Bound is another movie that gives human-like qualities to dogs.

- Go to the 7 minute mark.

But what about in Korea?

How are dogs treated?

Well, first off, they are eaten in many restaurants throughout the country. Probably more so in North Korea, where it's either dog meat or sand.

There is actually a dinner spot about 3 minutes from my house where you can order dog. It's right next door to the sweet egg bread stand. I still do not know what they put inside their bread.

Dog meat is supposedly good for your stomach and can also help cancer patients. I don't know how. Maybe the fact that you can eat Lassie for dinner makes conquering cancer seem like nothing.

Will I eat dog? I think so. Not because I have cancer or stomach problems, but because I feel like I have to. I'm in Korea. I've already eaten raw chicken and pig intestines. Dog seems like the next logical step.

After reading this, you may think this is the worst future a puppy can endure.

But....

Dogs that are not eaten in Korea are spray painted with whatever color the owner sees fit. I saw one the other day sporting a pink sweater over a bright yellow body. These pet dogs are generally smaller and kept in a woman's purse. The big hounds are taken into the kitchen.

South Korea. One place it is both natural and beneficial to be small. I guess.