Big stick energy: Learning lacrosse with the Seoul Jindos

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Big stick energy: Learning lacrosse with the Seoul Jindos

Published: 24 Apr. 2024, 16:02 Updated: 07 May. 2024, 11:46

Mary, so far right that she can't possibly be contributing anything on the pitch, "participates" in a defensive drill at practice with the Seoul Jindos. [MARY YANG]

Lacrosse is a sport with a very long history. Derived from older Native American ball-and-stick games, modern lacrosse began to take shape in Canada in the 19th Century. Today it's a sport with distinct personalities, depending on where you're from — in Canada it's still popular, in Australia it's on the rise, and in the United Kingdom it's a women's sport favored by preppy private schools.

But I'm not from any of those places. I’m a product of a couple of public school systems on the East Coast of the United States. So for me, the sport has always evoked a very specific archetype. Lacrosse (“lax,” for short) in my mind is synonymous with “Lax Bro,” a term popularized in North America in the 2010s. It describes a guy generally disengaged from anything not having to do with lacrosse and whose vocabulary mostly consists of one-syllable words. (Facts, chill, etc.)

I’m well aware that “Lax Bro” has become an outdated trope as lacrosse grows worldwide. It’s become increasingly popular at all levels — including as a women’s sport.

Yet when I mention to people, most of whom grew up in Korea, that I’ll be joining a women’s lacrosse club for their Saturday training here in Seoul, I’m met with overwhelming surprise.

I'm headed to practice with the Seoul Jindos, launched in 2019, who compete in tournaments organized by the Korea Lacrosse Association — and abroad. They’ve just returned from a 10-team invitational in Okinawa, Japan. Some of their members have also played at the national level, and later I learn that many are headed to national team tryouts the very next day.

I know zilch about lacrosse. I’ve never watched a full game and have maybe played once or twice for a mandatory unit in high school gym. So I’m banking on my subconscious to have downloaded some sort of knowledge that I can extract from deep, deep within.

I’m traveling across town to Seoul Children’s Grand Park. Jindos have reserved a two-hour slot on a football field that borders the zoo.

During my commute, I pull up a two-part “How to Play Lacrosse” on WikiHow, and I try to absorb as much as I can on the subway. The graphics alone are both informative and entertaining — though no match for the ones on election night in Korea a few days prior.

Walk in the park

I step out of the exit closest to the children’s park and into the sound of excited chatter and gleeful squeals, which greet me with a pang of nostalgia. I find myself missing the summer days of my childhood defined by sticky ice cream hands and the aromatics of SPF.

I make a pit stop at a 7-Eleven to load up on fluids. (I’ve brought a half-empty plastic water bottle, which will hardly get me through this trek through the park, much less the rest of the afternoon.) I pick up some bottled electrolytes and an iced water (frozen plastic bottle), which will surely melt, I surmise, applauding myself for thinking ahead. (Spoiler alert: The applause was premature.)

I hike past the wall of fountains and arrive at a patch of toadstool-themed toilets where I peel left and head down a winding beige-stoned road. Suddenly I’m hit with a strong whiff of barn, the scent endemic to zoos everywhere. I realize I’ve been walking on the outer edge of the Ferocious-Animal Village, separated from zoo-goers by a tree-lined fence. No amount of craning gets me a peek at the beasts at bay. Gate, kept.

A fenced-off field comes into focus, and I spot a group of girls gathered at the far end of the bleachers. What looks like a men’s football scrimmage is happening on the field, and there are patches of couples watching from the shaded stands drinking (...beer? At a children’s park?) and sharing trays of gimbap.

The lacrosse sticks scattered about confirm I’m in the right place. I strike up a few chats as the rest of the group files in, with regular members identified by their mustard yellow Seoul Jindos pinnies. One of the players graciously lends me an extra women’s stick that I can use for the afternoon.

I lace up my boots, grab my borrowed stick and follow the girls onto the turf. A few members help set up an orange-rimmed net, dragging it out to the halfway line.

Warm-ups with a twist

We ditch our waters on the sidelines and jog to the center. I add my stick to the pile (Read: Very neat line; everything is impressively parallel) before joining the others in the circle, for intros.

Players put down their lacrosse sticks in a line and head to warmups. Neat. [MARY YANG]

There are 15 of us total, and a few others are also joining for the first time — although most people appear to have some level of lacrosse know-how. Today’s offseason practice will be player-run, as the club’s coach is off until May. (I learn all of this from Kyu-min, a midfielder who’s headed for the University of Maryland where she hopes to continue playing lacrosse in the fall.)

A round of names later, a senior player tells us to form two lines for the warm-up. I pop in behind two other girls, standing perpendicular to the halfway line, before a frantically waving Kyu-min walks back and drags me to the opposite end of the horizontal — ah, two rows. I realize the lines stretching to my left should have been a clear indicator of that.

Warm-ups are standard enough to start. A different player leads these drills, shouting instructions as she goes: Walking knee grabs, standing quad stretches, open- and close-the-gates, front lunges and then side lunges (hello, hip pops, my old friend), heel sweeps, toe taps and a grapevine.

At this point another senior player, A-rum, jogs out from her spot in line to conduct the next set of drills that require a bit of direction.

Literally. A-rum stands in the center and explains that she’ll raise either her right or left arm, and when she does, to throw our hips in that direction — a move that’s called a defensive twist. Quick feet! Quick feet!, the voice of my old track coach echoes in my head as I shuffle between swivels.

Sprinting after swiveling in the direction of A-rum's arms. [MARY YANG]

Then we do a few more side-to-sides and front-to-backs, creating a drumbeat on the turf, which is quickly pulled off tempo by my atrocious leg arrhythmia.

A few sprints later, I’m plenty warm, and we jog to the sides for a swig of water before filing back onto the field.

Catch me if you can

Time to practice passing. People pair up, and Kyu-min gets stuck with me — which I feel bad about but am very grateful for.

I must finally contend with the reality that I really don’t know how to wield a lacrosse stick. It’s surprisingly light, though I’m looking at the very shallow webbed basket at the end and wondering how a player manages to hold on to the ball as they barrel toward the goal.

I dredge up my WikiHow learnings and ready my grip. This stick has been taped up by its owner, so the markings act as a helpful guide. My dominant right hand, palm facing up, grips the end of the stick closest to the net and my non-dominant left, palm facing down, goes at the tail.

A confused Mary, right, concentrates on learning proper passing technique from a patient Kyu-min. [MARY YANG]

It’s a familiar hold, not far off from that of a baseball bat or a golf club, but with hands at various distances apart. (Actual players of any of these sports may beg to differ, as I'm yet to "Good Sport" either of them and may just be outing myself for bad form.)

Kyu-min and I stand about 15 feet apart. She sends over an easy throw, and I reach out to catch the ball, but it eludes me and I’m left with a sad version of nothing but net.

As I turn around to chase down the ball, a bit of panic sets in, as it is abundantly clear that this is going to prove more challenging than I thought. (I fear this Jindos practice, for me, may soon devolve into a game of fetch.)

Mary tries to mimic proper passing technique. [MARY YANG]

Mary goes after the ball after failing to catch it, again, realizing she will not be enjoying beginner's luck. [MARY YANG]

Kyu-min offers me some guidance. For instance, keep my right elbow out and use my left hand for control. Also, extending my right index finger would make for a stabler grip.

We pass back and forth a few more times (me, more back than forth as I’ve yet to see catch success) until finally, the ball starts to find the net — and immediately bounce off, but baby steps.

Try moving the stick back as you catch it, Kyu-min suggests, demonstrating how to work with the momentum of the pass. (I later confirm that WikiHow suggests this too, as does anybody who has ever caught a moving object before.) I try this, but I end up moving the stick out of the way, instead.

Mary makes a successful pass! [MARY YANG]

My passes get better, according to Kyu-min, who has been reliably catching everything I’ve lobbed toward her and could just be being polite. I begin to get in a groove. Each pass still feels like a bit of a hoist, but any sign of improvement is a triumph.

So it’s utter elation when the ball hits the net — and stays there.

“Woooooo!!” Kyu-min cheers, as I let out a triumphant “Yes!” My celebration does cause the ball to fall out of the pocket, but it counts nonetheless. I’m still rejoicing as I crouch down to pick up the ball and place it back where it came from.

Mary receives undeserved praise. [MARY YANG]

Mary places the ball in the basket after picking it up from the ground. [MARY YANG]

We press on with our passing and catching, and I’m a total pro. (Not to brag, but my catch rate is one in four.)

Apparently Kyu-min decides I’m ready to level up and starts demonstrating a new skill, the cradle, a sort of sweeping motion responsible for keeping the ball in the net.

It’s truly a wonder to me how the ball stays put. I didn’t realize lacrosse involved so much physics.

I barely get a chance to practice — the ball keeps falling out (a combination of gravity and lack of skill) — before we get another break.

I’m parched, thanks to the spring-summer sun.

We’re surrounded by the white noise of happy children’s screams from the zoo and nearby amusement park (the Seoul Children’s Grand Park is indeed Grand.) Periodically, we’ll get an announcement, in both Korean and English, on the loudspeaker reminding all park-goers that smoking is not allowed.

Shooting stars

One of the players waves the rest of the group back over to the center of the field. I ask one of the girls what we’re doing now.

“Star drill,” she tells me.

We split up into five groups of three, lining up behind a mini cone. We’re meant to pass, back and forth, to the opposite end of the circle, drawing out a five-point star. (In fact it is only as I type this now I realize the star of it all — I never knew where to pass next; apologies to the Jindos in retrospect.)

I am filled with a sense of dread. My skills are nowhere near the level required to participate in this drill, I fear.

The drill starts, and it’s surprisingly manageable as it goes relatively slowly. I learn to call for the ball. “Yeogi, yeogi, yeogi!” (“Here, here, here!”) Communication, in lax and life, is key.

Mary makes a pass during the star drill. [MARY YANG]

We repeat this drill for a few different skills, including passing and catching with our left hand (though my right hand is handicap enough) and scooping up a ground ball, rolled to the front by the person behind us in line.

“Oooo, GM Yun-chae! Ground ball machine!” someone shouts. Yun-chae, a Seoul Jindos regular, particularly excels at the scoop. I, too, have been a ground ball machine — the ball hits the ground each time.

My luck does run out as I see little success for the rest of the drill before it’s time to move on to the next.

We form a tight cluster as one of the senior players moves the mini cones into a square.

One by one, we take turns popping out to one of the four corners to catch and pass. It’s a similar jig as the star drill, but faster and with more finesse, which I lack.

It’s my turn to pop, and I mutter an internal “Oh no, oh no, oh no,” (which in hindsight may have been audible.) Defying all logic and physics, though, I feel the ball land in the net. Thump. Success! I celebrate with a whoop and a jump as the rest of the girls cheer (they’re too kind.) I celebrate too hard, again. The ball falls out of the net and onto the ground. (Gravity, my old enemy, keeps the upper hand.)

We practice a handful of different moves, like catching right and passing left, which requires a surprising amount of choreography. Yun-chae helps me with this one. It’s a rotating motion, switching the position of your hands as you run around your outstretched stick.

″Groundball Machine″ Yun-chae teaches Mary the catch right, pass left choreography. [MARY YANG]

Next up is a defensive drill. Two-versus-one. One of the girls, whom I later learn is earning a sports-related degree at university and has been playing lacrosse for just 10 months, is an absolute defense beast.

Practice ends with a few quick games. We put two minutes on the clock for each, as another group has already gathered on the bleachers. Our women’s lacrosse training has been sandwiched by men’s football.

Conveniently, about half of us are wearing black T-shirts and the other half are wearing white. We play three-on-three and use one goal.

The first ones up are all veteran players.

“Superstars!” someone yells out. I can feel the national team energy, with all the defensive hip twists and strategic catch-right-pass-left tangos. (Regular readers will be happy to know that my attempts at hip twists were helped by the purchase of a new pair of boots — from a thrift store, to be fair, but an upgrade from the Hokas in which I slid through the last three sports.)

Playing American football in the heart of Seoul

I don’t remember much of my own time on the field, though I’m sure I didn’t pass or catch the ball once.

Somehow on my second rotation, I end up on the superstar team, but this will not be my underdog story. I fumble through a flustered two minutes, being more of a hazard on the pitch than a teammate or opponent.

National team players and prospects show what the game of lacrosse is actually meant to look like. [MARY YANG]

That’s a wrap on practice, and everyone helps pack up the cones as we trudge off the pitch. I’m dehydrated because my ice cube water bottle refuses to melt. I rue my earlier call to test the rules of chemistry. (It was not my strongest subject.)

But a pending heat-induced headache is staved off by the endorphins from a high-energy workout. We gather in the shade at the top of the bleachers for some words and a group picture before everyone takes off.

I hike back up the beige-stoned path, past the Ferocious-Animal Village and the toadstool toilets, past the fountains and the iced-water-supplying 7-Eleven toward the air-conditioned journey home.

Live, lax, love.

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]