Hockey Night in Korea
I don’t think I can begin to express how low my expectations were for hockey in Asia. I mean, it’s bad enough that they call it “ice hockey” right? I felt like I was more than likely in store for a glorified beer league where no name players with no talent sought refuge from a life sentence of rec teams and full time jobs. The team, Anyang Halla, even plays out of a recreation centre, so, like I said, I didn’t expect to get much out of the experience apart from a depressing reminder that, in terms of my immediate future, hockey doesn’t live here anymore. Luckily, I was wrong.
It rained, naturally, to set the ambience for what was likely to have been the biggest waste of a trip to Seoul. I had flown in the day before, but fell ill at nightfall when an impromptu soccer baseball (that’s kick ball for you, yankees) tournament aggravated the early stages of the flu, and I’m sure the soju didn’t help either. Luckily, I managed to sleep it off, and was in much better shape come game time. There was no way I was missing the game after all the effort it took to get there. Although Seoul is about the same distance from Ulsan as Leafs fans are from the Bell Centre or Scotiabank Place, mobility in Korea is not the most convenient. First of all, driving can be a challenge as local drivers are reckless, and motor vehicle accidents are the #1 cause of death in this country. Secondly, the bus and the train just take forever. So, I flew. The flight is all of half an hour in the air, and well worth the price if you ask me. However, once you’re in the greater Seoul area, navigating this ginormous mass of nearly 25 million people can be a little complicated when you are not fluent in Korean.
Somehow I found myself on a bus that was at least headed toward Anyang. I saw a street sign for the sports complex and jumped out hoping that it wasn’t a huge mistake. I felt like my old self again for the first time in a long time. I was wandering around foreign territory looking for hockey. I felt like I could have been back in hockey land, in one of the many cities I have passed through, searching for that shining beacon of neon letters glowing from the side of a pro arena. It felt like I was walking forever, but the sight of the rink against a mountainous backdrop in the distance reassured me that I was at least headed in the right direction. I was, at that moment, excited for the first time.
When I finally arrived at the arena, it wasn’t as scary as I first thought. I was picturing in my mind a junior C level ice field, but instead found myself drawing comparisons with Van Andel Arena in Grand Rapids, Michigan (in the main lobby that is). I had also assumed that there wasn’t going to be any fans, so I was practically taken aback when I saw a fan and his son, decked out in team merchandise, wandering the halls two hours prior to game time. Now I’ve never been the type to judge other fans based on what they are or are not wearing (there are plenty of she-beasts out there to do that for all of us), but seeing these two fans sporting their team colours really meant something to me. It showed me that there were people in Korea that loved this team and this sport enough to spend money on jerseys. Maybe hockey in Asia was going to be legit after all.
The experience was definitely different, but some things never change. The players did not seem to have major league egos. They seemed to be the type that was just happy to still be playing, and making bank in the process. The wives, on the other hand, were still living the dream. They were dressed to impress (if only they were at a “gentlemen’s establishment” and not a hockey game), and naturally sizing up any and every female in the building, which seemed really ridiculous to me in the ASIA LEAGUE, but whatever. There you have it, folks, hockey wives – they are the same everywhere.
The game was great and reminiscent of a major junior match somewhere back home in Canada. The only downside was that it was not as violent. You definitely get a lot of bang for your buck, though. 7,000 won gets you a seat anywhere in the house. 15,000 won and you’re on the glass with unlimited saki (the owner is Japanese or so I’m told). I’m not really sure how this team or this league is making any money. The arena itself is very small, and roughly seats 1,200 (about the same as the old St. Michael’s College School Arena). So, even with a full house, they aren’t bringing in that much cash. Plus, with all the costs of traveling between Japan, Korea, and China, you have to wonder how they stay afloat (coughmafiaquestionmark).
The fans maybe impressed me the most. Not only did they show up, they were very involved with their team. They reminded me of a booster club in one of the more popular minor league cities like Hershey, Pennsylvania. As you may have expected the seats were filled with the foreign community of Korea. It’s still very much a western game, but hopefully the ALH will help change things in the East. I don’t know if it was the team, or the fans, or just the fact that I was back at a hockey rink for the first time since April, but I really felt like I belonged there, which was a huge deal considering I haven’t felt like I’ve belonged anywhere in Korea. The ALH schedule is very strange, so I haven’t been able to make a return visit since September 19th, but have no fear Psycho Lady fans, you can be sure there will be much hockey in the near future.
Top Photo: Not only is it “ice hockey,” it’s all one word.