In a development so utterly predictable it could have been scripted by a committee of sleep-deprived soap opera writers, the South Korean national football team has descended into a ludicrous coaching dispute. The British FA, that bastion of sartorial elegance and administrative competence, has been summoned to mediate. One can almost hear the collective sigh from Soho Square as they pour another cup of lukewarm tea and wonder how they ended up as the world's football referees.
The kerfuffle, as far as this reporter can discern through the haze of translation errors and diplomatic double-speak, involves a controversial coaching appointment that has split the Korean Football Association into warring factions. The British FA, presumably fresh from resolving the complex geopolitical tensions of a Sunday league pitch invasion in Slough, has dispatched a delegation of advisors. I imagine them arriving at Incheon Airport, looking dapper in their trench coats, clutching a briefcase containing a single sheet of paper with the words 'Just calm down and pass the ball' written in Comic Sans.
The absurdity of this situation is almost too perfect. Here we have a nation that reached the semi-finals of the World Cup in 2002 now reduced to begging for mediation from a country whose national team's greatest recent achievement was losing to Iceland. The British FA, let's be honest, about as competent at resolving disputes as a chocolate teapot. They'll probably suggest a compromise involving a penalty shootout and a round of polite applause.
But do not mistake my cynicism for disrespect. I have a deep and abiding admiration for the sheer, unadulterated farce of international football politics. The Korean dispute is just the latest in a long and storied tradition of grown men in suits behaving like toddlers fighting over a toy. It's a beautiful, tragic opera of egos and misplaced patriotism.
The British FA, for their part, are probably delighted. This is a chance to feel relevant, to strut onto the world stage and pretend they have some grand plan. In reality, they'll likely spend three days in a Seoul hotel room drinking overpriced whisky and emerging with a statement so bland it will cure insomnia. 'We are pleased to have facilitated a productive dialogue,' they'll say. And the Korean FA will nod, shake hands, and then continue their feud in secret, because that's how these things work.
Meanwhile, the players, the actual human beings who run around kicking a ball, are presumably just as confused as we are. They train, they play, they score goals, and the adults in the room are arguing about who gets to sit in the big chair. It's a metaphor for something, I'm sure. I'm just too gin-soaked to articulate it.
So raise a glass to the British FA, those brave souls who have answered the call. May their blazers be uncreased, their resolutions be meaningless, and their return flight be mercifully short. As for South Korea, perhaps they should consider the radical solution of letting the coach just coach. But no, that would be too simple. We must have drama. We must have disputes. We must have the British FA pretending to be useful. It's the football way.
