- guardian.co.uk, Sunday June 23 2002 04.40 BST
SUNDAY
In the eyes of the South Korean people, Guus Hiddink is not a manager but a miracle-worker who has led the co-hosts into the last 16 of the World Cup. Everyone is dressed in red, enraptured. Thankfully, even miracle-workers are allowed a moment's respite, and Hiddink enjoys a rare breather away from all the madness over lunch with a few friends by the pool of the Hyatt hotel in Seoul. The five-star guests don't bother him. The Koreans who work there are desperate to, but feel obliged to keep a respectful distance.
It seems strange to them that two days before South Korea's biggest match - ever - the boss is not with his team. From the day he arrived he insisted he would do everything in his own way, regardless of cultural differences. Many of those ways have shocked Koreans. Days off, for instance. In preparation and during the tournament he has allowed his players to have free time with their families. 'When I first came up with that everyone said, "No, no, no! What will the press say?".' Hiddink raises his middle finger as an answer. The press were indeed gobsmacked. 'Literally, it is written in this very conservative society and press that they cannot fool around or have intercourse before the game,' says Hiddink. 'Because they will lose power! Come on, enjoy it, because at the end of the day they come back more hungry to practise. From the start I said if you hire me to get the team competitive, these are the consequences. I might fail, but I'd like to fail my way. I've not come to fail here your way.'
Eighteen months into his mission, it is going better than anyone could have imagined. The Dutchman had no more than a 'sneaky feeling' that his team would progress from their group. They won it, defeating Portugal in the process, a match watched on giant screens around Seoul by 2.78 million.
Down in Daejeon, the number of fans camping outside the stadium where South Korea will play their second-round game is growing. A Glastonbury of tents has been erected, although here they clean up after themselves.
In the evening Hiddink goes to Suwon to watch Spain v Ireland, to size up potential quarter-final opponents. Only Italy, six-time World Cup finalists, can stop them....
MONDAY
The team arrive in Daejeon, where swooning schoolgirls are staked out at the Hotel Spapia, headquarters for the Italy game. Despite being scolded by their parents, many refuse to go home as night falls. They huddle behind a police cordon, craning necks to catch a glimpse of the objects of their teenage fantasies. Just seeing Kim Nam Il in the flesh would be, according to one, a once-in-a-lifetime experience. Her only concern is that they are both Kims, and any ancestral links would jeopardise her dreams of marriage.
The girls cover the team bus in graffiti - messages of love and luck - and every day the driver has to clean the worst of it from the windows. The body of the bus is so densely covered that it's a lost cause.
Hiddink mania is also building up nicely. Sogang University announces it plans to give him an honorary doctorate in management. The Justice Ministry is mulling over offering him honorary citizenship, something no foreigner has ever been granted. There is also talk of commissioning a sculpture outside the Seoul Stadium of Hiddink in his famous celebration pose. They hope to see it again tomorrow night.
At the press conference after training, Ahn Jung Hwan is the focus of even more intensive attention than usual, called upon as the expert witness on the strengths of the opposition because of his loan spell with Perugia. He predicts the Italians will have the physical advantage.
TUESDAY
'Again 1966' is the message theatrically spelt out by the Red Devils as South Korea and Italy enter an arena that explodes with emotion before a ball has been kicked. It's a poignant theme. When North Korea entered World Cup legend with one of the competition's unlikeliest upsets at Italy's expense 36 years ago, news of it was censored in the South. As Seo Soo Min wrote in the Korean Times : 'As ridiculous as it sounds, we scratched our heads at the time wondering why there were only seven teams through to the last eight.'
In this match, the incredible depth to which Hiddink went to to educate his players becomes apparent. The Koreans are suddenly streetwise enough to play the Italians at their own game. A sly elbow here, a shirt-tug there, the players are even assured enough to rant at the referee. The way Hiddink has toughened them up mentally is phenomenal. 'The mental part matters,' he says emphatically. 'That's why I travelled with them all over the world. They are used to playing in their little K-League with 2,000 to 3,000 fans, and for previous World Cups they played preparation games against Singapore, Malaysia, teams they could beat by three or four.' He mimics their innocent enthusiasm: '"Oh, we're going to France!" Then they get to France against teams like Holland? Come on.
'We made a programme to play in Europe, to invite European and African teams here, and then we went to South America.' He drops his voice. 'Because there you get streetwise. There society is more wild. Here everything is organised. I can leave my wallet and come back in two hours to find it is still there. I always transfer attitudes to the pitch. If you are not alert, the Dutch or English or French think, "Hey, I can rob you on the pitch." In the beginning they were so innocent. I thought, "I love you but I could kill you, the way you play so naively." That's what I emphasised.
'I've been a little bit mean to them to give them examples. Sometimes in training I did mean things to them. And nobody reacts. Then after five minutes I came back and asked, "You accept what I did? You accept what I did?" I got angry that they accepted me being mean. I told them they have to be mean as well.'
Five minutes into this gripping game, Ahn squanders a penalty, and Italy are soon ahead thanks to Christian Vieri's header. South Korea's comeback is stunning in its timing, its spirit, and its lethal execution. Seol Ki Hyeon pounces on a defensive error with two minutes to go. It's mayhem. 'Dae Ha Min Guk!' The staccato chant 'Republic of Korea', the leitmotif of their World Cup, rolls deafeningly around the stadium. Italy are rocking. Francesco Totti is sent off. Damiano Tomassi's 'goal' is dubiously chalked off. Then Ahn, the penalty villain, glances in a golden goal of a header and the emotion of it all is so much for him that he is dazed.
'Throughout the whole match I was crying inside, from the moment I missed the penalty,' Ahn says later. 'I wanted to die. I felt the sky was falling down on us. There was a tremendous sense of responsibility after what happened. I thank Guus Hiddink so much for not taking me off, for trusting me and believing me. If he had taken me off it would have been something I regretted for the rest of my life. After scoring the goal at first I couldn't hear anything. I was dumbfounded. My head began to ache terribly. I could not sleep at all afterwards.'
Ensuring his players get sufficient rest is Hiddink's number-one priority before the next mission. From midnight, around 200 fans start queuing at Gwangju's stadium for quarter-final tickets. Police forbid the setting-up of tents, so the fans sit on the pavement all night long, happy as a Dutchman in a field of tulips.
WEDNESDAY
Returns of Ahn's goal dominate the day's television (as they do the following day, too). The commentary might have lost something in translation but it sounds suspiciously like 'Pavarotti, Berlusconi, Mona Lisa, your boys took one hell of a beating!' Replays are screened everywhere, even in the bank, where all the clerks have abandoned formal attire and wear 'Be the reds!' T-shirts, which have become a national uniform.
The team return to Daejon's stadium for light training. It's a bizarre atmosphere. The ground seems smaller somehow. The stands are empty, save for a class of primary schoolchildren who squeal in adoration.
During the session Hiddink shows off. He joins in a game of foot tennis and delights in demonstrating a few tricks. The players break off for a round of applause.
With a superpower of Italy's reputation defeated, expectation is becoming unbearable. It's reported that 98.3 per cent of households who turned on their televisions the previous night watched the game. For some, it was too much to take. Three men suffered fatal heart attacks while watching the match.
THURSDAY
Morning training gives a group of young players, who Hiddink has invited along for the experience, a chance to impress. He wants to help the Koreans to help themselves in the long term. 'I have taken five rookies from the Olympic team who are not in the formal squad of 23. They are 18- to 21-years-old and experiencing this . The players have expressed themselves for the first time in their history and there is a bit of a feeling about what will happen afterwards and whether they will return to the old days. That's a fear. They don't have to stick with my strategy but they must keep developing.'
It's a calm day until a couple of spanners are thrust into the works. Italy aren't handling their exit well and news filters through from Perugia that Ahn has been vilified by his club's president. Hiddink deflects some wincingly sour grapes with aplomb. That was the easy bit. Then he is asked about rumours emanating from Europe that suggest the Koreans' super-charged performances are assisted by a drugs programme. 'I haven't heard about that,' he tells reporters. 'Everyone who is accusing should come with proof. If not, think of your level of journalism.'
The accusations were, if you'll pardon the expression, a bitter pill for Hiddink to swallow. A high level of fitness is central to his footballing masterplan and he has pushed his players to the limit over a four-month period, all planned for them to peak during the tournament.
He gives an example. Timing heart rates after a burst of four-versus-four training, it takes his players 30 seconds to recover now while at the start it took three minutes. Computerised tests he regularly carries out show the Koreans are fitter than the Dutch team he took to France 98.
FRIDAY
The team bus, original colour now a complete mystery, delivers the team to Gwangju to head for the stadium for their final session. As usual now, their presence is heard before it is seen in the form of wailing schoolgirls. They are cheered by the Korean press and stewards who cannot help themselves. The players jog gently round the pitch in the afternoon sun. Hiddink looks bronzed, relaxed and in absolute control as he watches on from the centre circle in his magenta kit. He is the master of all he surveys.
Spain, like Italy, like Portugal, are expected to end the Korean adventure. People wonder if, after the wonder of beating Italy, the players might find it difficult to return to planet Earth in time to realise the next dream. A couple of them talk about how dearly they want to make the semi-finals.
Hiddink is delighted by their attitude. 'At the beginning, when I came into the dressing room after a defeat they were sitting like this.' He pulls a blank face. 'No reaction. The same after a win.' Another blank face. 'No reaction. I thought I was in the wrong room. I want to be sad or mad or angry when we lose, and I want to be very happy when we win.
'But now after we win there is beer and champagne. I celebrate... and then they let go. Because I am the boss. When the boss does something they can join in - if I allow them.'
Hiddink's team have two days fewer to prepare than Spain, who qualified last Sunday. Even for a team of Korea's seemingly limitless energy, is this too much? 'If we lose I'm going to say that!' he roars.
SATURDAY
Korea win again. Madness. They do celebrate. He doesn't need any excuses.
