Axis to grind

Published on Saturday 28 November 2009 19:57

NOT MUCH about North Korea has changed since it captured the imagination of every neutral at the 1966 World Cup finals. The country is still a secret, single-party state, the football team is still an unknown quantity, and when the latter propels the former into the outside world, the consequences are as fascinating as ever. In the absence of an underdog to support in South Africa next summer, the Tartan Army could do worse than fall into line with its red equivalent.

If Friday's draw in Cape Town pits them against England, you can expect to hear a lot more about the country with the world's second-biggest chip on its shoulder. Nostalgia combines with international relations and more than a whiff of mystery when mention is made of North Korea, who somehow reached the quarter-finals in England 44 years ago. They beat Italy 1-0 at Ayresome Park, and were 3-0 up against Portugal in the last eight, only for Eusebio to rescue his team with four goals in a 5-3 win.

The country's unwitting juxtaposition of politics and sport is as intriguing now as it was then. This will be their first time in the finals since their English adventure, their first chance since then to show the world that North Korea isn't so bad after all. That Kim Jong Il, their Supreme Leader, is an inspiration. That self-reliance – or "Juche", as the national ideology is known – is rewarding. That their country, however unpopular elsewhere, is one to be proud of.

For those running what many regard as a Stalinist dictatorship, it is a political gift, a massive propaganda coup, provided they are not slaughtered in every match. Nick Bonner, who produced The Game of Their Lives, a feature-length documentary about the 1966 team, says the rulers are desperate for success. "It is the most proud country I have ever come across," he says. "They have so much to prove. Other countries are not lambasted all over the place. This is a chance to say 'up yours' to the world. It's like Scotland playing England, only more so."

The players are content to focus on the football. It is North Korea's favourite sport. In the capital, Pyongyang, posters of the national team are pinned on the walls. Their women's team is one of the best in the world. Far from a tool to promote nationalism, the game is an end in itself, which drags the country from its comfort zone rather than vice-versa. "The biggest misnomer is that the national team are somehow trained against their will by the government," says Bonner. "Football is a passion in North Korea. It's in the blood. They play at every opportunity."

Bonner, who runs a travel company, Koryo Tours, which organises holidays to North Korea, says that a lack of information leads western journalists to exaggerate or, worse still, make up stories. Take, for instance, the recent report that Kim was furious with David Beckham, who posed for photographs with the two American journalists released from a North Korean prison after Bill Clinton's diplomatic visit to the country. The Supreme Leader was reported to have said that he would throw a party for his players if they beat England in South Africa. "The idea that any of that would get back to Kim is so far wide of the mark it's ridiculous," says Bonner. "And even if it did, there is no way on earth that anyone would have access to that kind of information. Besides, it wouldn't matter who said hello to those journalists. It was Kim who arranged for Clinton to come. I suppose these things get written because there is no way of disproving them."

Not all of it is without foundation, though. The World Cup finals are a political opportunity, but they are also a potential problem, which is why North Korea's matches next summer will not be broadcast live in their homeland. The country wouldn't be seen dead buying TV rights from the outside world, never mind allowing its people an open window to the west. When they qualified in June for the finals, footage of the decisive match – a scoreless draw with Saudi Arabia in Riyadh – was shown only the next day in the form of edited highlights. While tales of blacked-out advertising and blurred crowd scenes are exaggerated, a delay enables the authorities to control anything that might be deemed counter-productive. Such as a defeat, for instance. Or a blatant show of capitalist excess, which is what Friday's glitzy spectacle in Cape Town will amount to.

It will be the first time in history that North and South Korea have both been in the draw. When they met in qualifying, a match scheduled to be held in Pyongyang was moved by FIFA to Shanghai because North Korea would not allow the playing of their neighbours' national anthem on home soil. In April, after a 1-0 defeat in Seoul, the North Korean federation accused their opponents of, amongst other things, poisoning its players. "The match ... turned into a theatre of plot breeding and swindling," it said in a statement.

Fortunately, they are unlikely to be drawn in the same group, given that the seeding system – to be announced on Wednesday – will be based on geography as well as ability. That may also separate them from the United States, which would deny football its most politically-charged fixture since America confronted Iran at France 98. After all, North Korea is a country described by President George Bush as "an axis of evil". Only this year, it exacerbated tension by admitting that it was undertaking nuclear tests.

Whoever they play, North Korea will have their work cut out. Sven Goran Eriksson turned down an opportunity to take over from their coach, Kim Jong-Hun, who hardly sets the pulses racing. Ranked 84 in the world, his team play in a stodgy 4-5-1 formation, and are notorious for their scoreless draws. In their last eight qualifying matches, they managed just seven goals.

And life will be no easier for them off the pitch. Fulfilling their media obligations in a foreign country could turn out to be their biggest challenge. Only four of their players make a living abroad, one of whom is Hong Young Jo. Selected as North Korea's premier player by its physical culture and sports guidance committee, he was allowed to join FC Rostov in Russia for the benefit of the national team. He is reported to live at the club's training base with a Korean chaperone, whose permission is needed before interviews can be conducted. He isn't even allowed to eat out with his team-mates.

In an effort to familiarise themselves with European football, the national side organised a tour of France last month, their first visit to Europe since the finals in 1966. The coach refused to answer political questions. When one of their players was asked about the structure of North Korea's domestic league, he referred the journalist to his country's federation.

Protests can be expected in South Africa, if not about the nuclear testing, then about the country's record on human rights. In 1966, the Mayor of Middlesbrough, where the team were based, was warned by the Foreign Office not to lay out the welcome mat. FIFA ordered that national anthems be played only at the beginning and end of the tournament so that the North Koreans were never to be heard belting out their patriotic hymn.

Bonner, though, has no qualms about supporting them this time round. "They have got there by playing well, nothing more," he says, glad to report that the Mayor of Middlesbrough paid not the slightest attention to government advice. He recalls an image in his film of the team mixing with locals, and hopes passionately that a similar opportunity will arise in 2010. "They're not cold people. If people speak to them, they will go and sign autographs. But you won't find them down the local having a beer." Which could be the biggest difference of all between them and their Scottish counterparts.