Reporter’s Notebook -- Young Chang

I’ll tell you first about the normal me and then about World Cup me.

I get embarrassed easily.

I don’t cheer or clap, ever.

I grew up partly in Korea, my parents live in Korea, and I consider

Korea home.

The only reason I played varsity soccer in high school was so I’d seem

well-rounded on my transcript.

I’ve never found just-enough cause to wear paraphernalia and look like

a part of something. (The whole embarrassment thing -- I think I’m always

afraid of looking back at myself and finding myself embarrassing.)

Tell me the name of a sports team, and I won’t be able to tell you

whether we’re talking about football, basketball or baseball.

So imagine, then, how out of character it was for me to buy a red

South Korean World Cup shirt, to wear it, to go to Koreatown in Los

Angeles, where thousands of other Koreans were wearing them, and then to

sit among near-fanatic patriots and scream and jump and clap till my

hands swelled as Korea narrowly beat Spain last week during the match

that hurled Korea into the World Cup semifinals for the first time in

history.

It was 11:30 p.m. on Friday. My friends and I hung out that afternoon

(I had the day off for unrelated reasons) and then watched the small

chunk of Los Angeles slowly morph into a blob of red as the sun went

down.

People trickled out as early as 8 p.m. to get good seats at venues

showing the game and just to add to the rallying mood.

When the game started and the Korean team lined up as the Korean

anthem played, my friends and I cried.

When the Koreans tried to score, we jumped up and screamed and then

plopped back down because none of the attempts made it in.

When the Korean goalkeeper blocked a shot, we acted as if we had won.

When the game ended 0-0 and overtime began, we cheered as if we hadn’t

just exhausted ourselves for more than 90 minutes.

When the Korean goalkeeper blocked Spain’s fourth attempt at a penalty

kick -- after Korea had made four goals and Spain had made three -- we

went, for lack of a better and quicker way of saying it, insane.

When Korea made its fifth and final penalty kick, we screamed and

jumped and hugged and, of course, wept.

The streets filled immediately with elated redshirted people waving

Korean flags, and for a moment everyone rooting for South Korea became

each other’s family.

As news clips later showed, Koreatowns the world over looked exactly

the same.

We said goodbye, saying “See you Tuesday.”

On Tuesday, we lost to Germany, and our winning streak technically

ended. But I don’t feel bad, and it’s not just because we’re the first

Asian team to make it to the semifinals.

It’s because the swell of Korean pride from all the way across the

world managed to turn even the most self-conscious, sports-illiterate

Orange County Korean into a veritable World Cup freak.

And whether we win or lose against Turkey during the 3:30 a.m. game

that will decide third place tomorrow won’t matter. Well, that much,

anyway.

Either way, I won’t be embarrassed.

* Young Chang is the features and arts and entertainment writer. She

may be reached at (949) 574-4268 or by e-mail at o7

young.chang@latimes.comf7 .