Why Do Koreans Still Talk About 2002? ⚽

The setup

In June 2002, Korea's nights were red for a whole month.

Hundreds of thousands of people put on matching red shirts and poured into the plazas, and entire cities chanted "Dae~han-min-guk!" (that's "Republic of Korea"). Total strangers hugged, cried, and laughed together. A single football match kept the whole country up all night.

This isn't just a sports story. For Koreans, 2002 is an unforgettable summer that a whole generation shares. Even now, bring it up in front of a Korean in their 40s or 50s and watch their eyes light up. So what exactly happened that summer?

Nobody saw the semifinals coming

First, some context. Before 2002, Korea had never done anything notable at a World Cup. On the world stage, Korea was always the "underdog."

That year, Korea and Japan co-hosted the World Cup. It was a home tournament. The national team was led by Dutch coach Guus Hiddink. Even as he transformed the squad with brutal fitness training, most people honestly weren't expecting much. The mood was "just reaching the round of 16 would be a success."

And then this team did something no one imagined.

That summer, three miracles

Let's start with the group stage. The first opponent was Poland. Hwang Sun-hong and Yoo Sang-chul each scored in a 2–0 win — and this was no ordinary victory. It was Korea's first-ever win at a World Cup finals. A wall they'd never gotten past, finally cleared, at home.¹ The second match, against the USA, ended 1–1. Trailing in the second half, Ahn Jung-hwan scored the equalizer to hold onto a precious point.¹

Then came the fateful final group match, against Portugal, with a spot in the round of 16 on the line.

Portugal back then were a powerhouse stacked with world-class stars. But in the 70th minute, Park Ji-sung chested down a ball from the left, beat a defender, and slotted it home. 1–0. That single goal sent Korea through as group winners, while title contenders Portugal packed their bags.² From here, the story nobody predicted truly began.

Round of 16 — Italy. The opponent: Italy, a football powerhouse famous for its rock-solid defense. Korea went down 0–1 early and got dragged along. Just when everyone thought "this is it," a dramatic equalizer late in the second half forced extra time. Then, in the second period of extra time, Ahn Jung-hwan threw himself at a header for a golden goal. (Back then, the first goal scored in extra time ended the match on the spot — the "golden goal" rule.) The moment the ball sailed past Buffon — considered the best goalkeeper in the world — the entire country exploded at once. 2–1, into the quarterfinals.³

Quarterfinal — Spain. Another title contender. The two sides stayed scoreless through extra time, 0–0, and went to a penalty shootout. Every time a player set the ball down, tens of millions held their breath. Then goalkeeper Lee Woon-jae dove and saved Spain's kick. And all five Korean takers scored — not one miss. Final: 5–3. The moment that last shot hit the net, Korea became the first Asian nation ever to reach a World Cup semifinal.⁴ That night, streets across the country were awash in tears.

In the semifinal, Korea lost a narrow 0–1 to Germany and finished fourth overall.⁵ But the ranking didn't matter. Having knocked out Europe's giants one after another to place fourth in the world, this team had already become every Korean's hero.

The summer the whole country stopped

The real stage of this story, honestly, was outside the stadium.

On match days, the plazas at Gwanghwamun and City Hall were blanketed with hundreds of thousands of people in red. Led by a supporters' group called the "Red Devils," the whole nation took to the streets to cheer. That rhythm — shouting "Dae~han-min-guk!" and clapping five times — is something any Korean's body still remembers first.

Even more striking: that summer, daily life in Korea came to a complete standstill in front of football. When a match started, restaurants, shops, and streets all gathered around a screen. There are even stories still told as scenes from that summer. At weddings mid-ceremony, a match would be playing off to the side while guests stole glances at the screen; even at somber funerals, mourners quietly kept up with the score. A summer when life's happiest moments and its most solemn ones alike briefly made room for football. To a reader from abroad it might sound like "how big could it possibly have been?" — but that year in Korea, it really was.

But why, even 20 years later?

Here's the real question. It was just one football tournament that went well — so why do Koreans keep bringing it up more than 20 years on?

Until then, Korea had always been the one losing, the one getting pushed around on the world stage. But in 2002, for the first time the whole nation saw with its own eyes that "we too can go head-to-head with the world and win." And they saw it at home, all together.

The feeling of that summer went beyond simple joy. Tens of millions of people of different ages and jobs, wearing the same color, crying and laughing in the same moments. That sense of collective pride and unity became part of a generation's identity. So even now, whenever Korean society hits a hard patch, people reach back for that summer — "let's pull it off like we did in 2002." 2002 is no longer about a football result; it became a symbol of "we can do it."

Now you see why your team lead's face lights up when he brings up 2002? It's not bragging about football — he's sharing the hottest summer of his life with you. By the way, Coach Hiddink is still treated as someone special in Korea. He was made an honorary citizen, and a stadium in Gwangju bears his name.⁶

That pride lives on today

The pride of 2002 is still alive today. That feeling the whole nation had — "we can compete with the world" — has since been passed on, intact, to one player. His name is Son Heung-min.

Son Heung-min became the first Asian player to win the English Premier League's Golden Boot in the 2021–22 season, and he's still the captain of the Korean national team.⁷ Even Koreans who don't watch football know this name. To Koreans, Son is more than a footballer — he's a source of pride, someone who represents them on the world stage.

So here's a small tip. Someday a coworker might ask, "If your country plays Korea, who will you cheer for?" When that happens, don't overthink it — just say, "My own country, of course." Koreans find it perfectly natural for you to support your own team. Just hold off on being the first to poke fun when Korea loses, and you'll be someone who can talk football anywhere.

Wrapping up

Just by knowing the story of 2002, you come to understand a piece of your Korean coworker's heart. Next time someone opens with "Back in 2002, we…", it might mean they want to share the most brilliant moment of their life with you. Try tossing back just one line: "Ah, the semifinal legend!" Chances are, by the end of that day, the two of you will feel a lot closer.

Share this article with someone you know who's preparing to come to Korea.