Playing American football in the heart of Seoul

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Playing American football in the heart of Seoul

Published: 28 Feb. 2024, 16:52 Updated: 06 Mar. 2024, 09:16

"Capture the flag" takes on a whole new meaning. [GENF]

It’s the weekend after the Superbowl, the most sacred Sunday of the year for millions of people in the United States, a motley group of diehard American football fans and people who tolerate the game to eat wings and watch commercials. (Capitalism at its finest.)

I was never a huge American football fan despite being “very obviously American,” according to my editor, so it’s news to all of us when I find myself clocking in on a Saturday to play the game in Seoul, a whole 6,000 miles away from this year’s NFL finale in Las Vegas.

I’m headed to a monthly flag football clinic run by Generation Football, a.k.a. Gen F, Korea’s “first football academy,” which former players opened in 2020. The only training I’ve had has come from high school gym class and the occasional “Turkey Bowl” with people from church on Thanksgiving.

The Saturday morning scene in the Seoul subway is strikingly different from the weekday going-to-work commute.

It’s a quiet crowd at Hapjeong Station, as I’m a few hours removed from the trickle of people catching the first trains of the morning after a night of clubbing. I’m saved the unsuspecting slam of cigarette smoke indigenous to the basements of nearby Hongdae.

On the train, I sit across from a line of permed retirees decked out in wind-resistant hiking gear, surely headed for a “Difficulty level: Expert” trail from which I’d require an airlift.

One transfer later, I arrive at Yeouinaru Station. Noticeably missing is the smell of custard-filled walnut pastries that triggers a Pavlovian expectation for the high-pitched jingle of an approaching train. The hodugwaja-makers are still setting up their stalls.

The pin-dropped field I’m headed to is about a 20-minute walk away, but I don’t mind that at all, as it’s an uncharacteristically warm day for Seoul in February, made even rarer by the sun peeking out from behind the clouds.

There’s a serenity hanging over the dusty pedestrian path on this side of the Han river, with a steady stream of jogging groups, people walking their dogs (some pushing their pups in strollers) and the occasional rollerblader, well, rolling on by.

Playground energy

Finally, I get to my destination, squishing my way across a muddy, yellowish grass path to reach a field that appears to be one big circle fit for a helicopter (or alien?) landing. According to both Kakao and Naver Maps, the site is called “Traditional Folk Play Experience,” though I’m not sure how many traditional folk experiences our American football clinic will touch on today.

I’m one of the first ones to arrive — I’m about 20 minutes early — and I hope I’m in the right place. There’s one other girl here, and she’s plopped a duffel on the lone bench at the opposite end, so I cut across the circle and offer a hopeful hello. Luckily, she’s also here for the clinic, and I learn that she’s been playing flag football for about eight years. She tells me she’s here to get in some practice before the national team tryouts next weekend. (Worrying, as I am about as far from the international level as I am from the nearest Cracker Barrel.)

A few minutes later, the coaches arrive as an entourage of dudes wearing sunglasses, lugging bags of what I’m assuming is gear.

One of the coaches sets down a speaker the size of a small carry-on and it begins blasting hip-hop. I get flashbacks to the weight room after high school track practice (maybe I haven’t totally escaped Hongdae) and I feel, oddly, right at home.

Setup is quick. One of the coaches lays out small cones for drills we’ll do later, and another arranges numbered jerseys, half of them white and the other half baby blue, in neatly folded piles on a tarp.

Beside them are belts with two flags (foot-long vinyl, rectangular tags the width of about three fingers) velcroed to each side.

I pick blue, No. 85, and buckle in, and the red flags hanging off my waist suddenly make everything feel very unserious. The rest of the group starts to arrive, choosing jerseys and changing into cleats (I am the odd one out with my Hokas), and soon we're all suited up.

Some people pick up a football and start an impromptu game of catch, and it feels like recess. Excited chatter makes it sound like it, too. Our shiny white and blue jerseys feel like costumes — a coach says jerseys felt like a nice touch — and it is nice; we get to be kids again.

The beat is bopping, vibes are immaculate.

A whistle summons us to the center of the field, and it’s time to start.

We circle up for a round of introductions, and I count about 14 people total — five of us are women — we love women in sports! Some people also share their NFL team; the Broncos and Packers would be pleased to know they have fans in Seoul.

After a rundown of today’s clinic, we huddle up, raising our fists to the center for the first of many times. “Generation!,” a coach shouts. “FOOTBALL!,” the rest of us yell back.

A quick explainer on the rules of American football (for the presumably many readers who are from literally every other country in the world): The goal is to get the football (which is actually more of a small pointy rugby ball than the football Messi's kicking) into the endzone through a series of plays down the field.

Each team (we play five-on-five) has four tries, called “downs,” to get the ball past a set boundary (every 10 yards) without being tackled. The quarterback — in charge of throwing — starts each play.

Flag football is all of that, but tackling is strictly forbidden. Personally, I’m glad to trade the elevated risk of concussion for some extra bling — in the form of a belt with two velcroed flags (a Seoul Fashion Week staple.) Instead of a pummel to the ground, the down ends when an opponent steals the flag from the player with the football. (We also learn proper yanking technique: It’s best practice to aim for as close as possible to the velcro.)

Drills for days

We start by running a lap around the field and then line up in five groups of three for the rest of the warm-up: Drills.

The coach demonstrates each drill before sending about five of us at a time from one line of cones to the next, about 10 yards away, with a whistle. High knees, A-skips, B-skips, C-skips, grapevine, the works, and I’m forced to confront my status as a washed-up track and field athlete. I get called out on my bad form and allegedly need practice, sources say, “driving from the hip.”

But high fives and fist bumps are handed out freely after each there-and-back, and everyone is happy to be here. At one point an elderly man walks his Samoyed through our practice, but no one minds. The more the merrier.

Then it’s time to practice our throws. We pass in pairs at about a 10-yard distance (hooray for the imperial system.)

Mary is in the zone as she works on her spiral. [GENF]

A coach teaches us how to grip a football — whole hand wraps around, ring finger and pinky reach the laces — and demonstrates how to get a good spin: Face your target and keep your arm at 90 degrees. (I’m sure it’s more complex than this, but it’s about all I can absorb.)

It takes me a handful of tries to get the hang of it, but soon I get a few solid spirals. Rebecca, the manager, has generously lent me her gloves, which are kind of grippy and make catching the ball a whole lot easier.

The next drill is an interesting one. We’re told to pair up as the coach explains what we’re doing — we’ll take turns chasing each other around a tight circle outlined by the cones, practicing the art of the flag grab.

It’s my turn to be chased, and I get into position and listen for the “Ready... Set... Hike!” that sets everything into motion. I’m running, I’m running, I’m running, and it hits me that this is just a glorified, no-frills version of duck-duck-goose, when suddenly I hear the velcro. I’ve been tagged. R.I.P.

Mary chases her partner around the cones in a drill akin to a familiar children's game. But this is no child's play. [GENF]

The real deal

Soon it's time to attempt to put these skills to use.

We elect a quarterback and try to memorize the dozen plays printed out on a sheet of paper (is this football or geometry?) One “Blue on three, one, two, three, BLUE!” later, we’re on the field and it’s game on. A rock-paper-scissors victory hands us possession, and we’re off.

A game of rock-paper-scissors decides which team wins possession first. [GENF]

We get into a rhythm, switching between offense and defense, and both teams score a touchdown, each setting off a chorus of whoops and high fives.

It’s a dramatic, action-packed end to the clinic. One guy makes a heroic catch but tumbles down, slathering his jersey in mud (hopefully it comes out in the wash?) “Mahomes!” someone bellows after a particularly good throw. At one point I’m the only girl on the field, which is intimidating, but I remind myself that this is the perfect setup for an underdog story. There’s even a VAR check during one of the downs using footage from a phone — recording our game for social media.

The score is unimportant as we move through the game. We get about 15 seconds to plot each play, and the coach counts down while swinging his arm in a huge circle like a human windmill. Somebody on the sidelines copies him; this is kindergarten, and it's wonderful.

A team scores a touchdown. [GENF]

Apparently, we end in a draw, but spirits are high and blood is flowing. The sun is fully out now, and we form a final huddle before taking a group picture, clapping it up for one coach who just finished his first class and we wrap up with one last chant.

I’ve burned 716 calories, my Apple Watch says — I’d set it to the “American Football” category — not bad for a Saturday morning.

I'm sad to say goodbye to my shiny baby blue jersey as I bid farewell to my teammates — it's a wonder how quickly the game bonds. (Like velcro?) No. 85 forever.

The Korea JoongAng Daily's Mary Yang is on a mission to try her hand at any and every sport that will let her in the door. She can't promise skill or finesse, but she'll give it a good go.

BY MARY YANG [mary.yang@joongang.co.kr]