Locals hail victory for good cheer

TV View: So we would have played South Korea. What a fascinating cultural smorgasbord that would have presented. The hosts, as we learned yesterday, believe in punctuality.

Those that had secured tickets for the second-round game against Italy - a typical WC 2002 yawn of missed penalties, last-minute equalisers, red cards, extra-time, a golden goal and tsunami of national emotions - arrived at the ground some eight hours before kick-off.

Not for them the swift one for the road before careering through the turnstiles and bellowing a few lines of the anthem while simultaneously wolfing a hot dog and advising the tender to keep the change, pal. No, the Koreans are not famed for their habit of arriving 10 minutes after kick-off and barrelling their way to seat 144 Z. The hosts arrive on time.

If right was right, they wouldn't have had much to cheer about yesterday because Korea, reckoned BBC's Barry Davies, "haven't got one player that would technically make it into the Italian squad". If the home fans knew this, they weren't letting on. Their cheering was both incessant and disturbing.

Most nations cheer like mad for two or three minutes after a really good goal. The Koreans do it for hours, if not days on end. The Koreans cheer for throw-ins. They cheer for kick-outs and for frees and for off-sides.

When substitutes warm up, they cheer. The sound of a half-time whistle can elevate them towards new and often frightening levels of collective lung-power.

If they keep on winning games, their pitch will be at such a frequency that their World Cup final celebrations will be audible only to certain rare wildlife. The Koreans are great.

Even though Italy had all these great players who looked like a cast from a Versace catalogue, the feeling was that they might suffer against the hosts. Because this game was not about defensive qualities or midfield strength of striking genius, it was about a more intangible football virtue.

"This," clarified Barry Davies, " is all about yang and yin." While Joe Royle consulted his team sheet frantically trying to work out where Yang and his similar-sounding partner were actually playing, Barry went on to elaborate that the colour scheme in the ground, with the red-festooned Koreans on top and the Italian fans in blue down low was all about positive energy and spiritual karma.

Royle, a man reared on Hovis and push bikes, had nothing much to say about this sort of stuff and he really only began contributing when the game began and Italy went 1-0 up.

Over on RTÉ, Jim Beglin allowed himself to become a sort of audio player-cam on Italian striker Totti. "He's a hell of a player but I don't think he is a superstar - some people think he is right up there with the greats but I don't think so."

Not 10 minutes later, Totti embarked on a run that did everything but leave superstar flames blazing in the grass but was stopped as he was about to pull the trigger.

"Why didn't he hit it?" demanded Jim. "He tried to be flash and beat another man. I thought that was the moment where he was going to make me look stupid."

In the end, the Italian made old Jim look more sort of cupid. When the player was sent off for a half dive, half fall, Jim seemed a bit sorrowful, making it clear that he was battling a yin and yang-type deal of conflicting emotions when it came to Totti. But it was too late.

The most revealing pictures were of Italy coach Giovanni Trapattoni, who grew increasingly wild as his team first lost their 1-0 lead and then began to falter in extra-time. As Italy's miserable record in penalty kicks was trotted out, the Koreans hurled themselves into all-out attack after attack and with six minutes left in extra time, they finished the game.

Sympathy for the Italians was scant.

"They will not learn," said a stern Barry Davies.

Back in studio, everyone was charmed silly by the Koreans.

"Wonder what they will do to celebrate. Go for a couple of drinks?" mused Alan Hansen.

Naturally, though, the Koreans had no intention of abandoning the business that contents them most, that of cheering.

The players made two wonderful charges across the field and plane-dived in front of either goal, both of which set of a fresh bout of cheering.

"A Totti dive by 16," noted Mark Lawrenson. "The referee would have given that."

The coolest man in the ground was Korean manager Gus Hiddink, who remained in his dug-out while his players celebrated making history. When asked how far Korea could go now, Hiddink shrugged and said: "You tell me."

And, in fairness, how could he predict anything after what has gone before in this World Cup?