What's it like covering South Korea as a journalist at a World Cup?

It's not just the players and staff who are representing their country at a World Cup; in a way, the media are too. Putting your best foot forward isn't just limited to those who cross that white line. For a journalist, there's the responsibility of accurately portraying what is happening on the ground, capturing the moment, the mood, and the atmosphere for fans back home. Park Ju-mi of public broadcaster KBS explains what it's like.(Photo by Lars Baron/Getty Images)

Park Ju-mi of national broadcaster KBS, Korea's version of the BBC, has been to three World Cups - from 2014 in Brazil to Russia in 2018 and then Qatar in 2022. Park has seen it all, the behind-the-scenes stresses and strains of what it's like to represent South Korea at a World Cup, the tears, the celebrations, and has experienced the heavy responsibility that comes with giving the public and supporters a glimpse, but in a way that doesn't betray confidences, trust, and cause harm to the players who're trying to make the people back home proud.

In a wide-ranging interview, Park Ju-mi talks about all of the above, plus the comparisons with the legendary 2002 team, the media's relationship with the national team, and much more.

What’s the biggest difference between watching the national team as a fan and covering them as a reporter?

When you watch the national team as a fan, you become emotionally immersed in what’s happening on the pitch and in the result itself. But when you’re at the World Cup as a reporter, you look at things more three-dimensionally, beyond simply whether the team wins or loses. You start asking: “Why did this result happen?” “What psychological state were the players in?” “Where is Korean football heading?”

From the preparation process before the tournament to the determination shown in players’ expressions, or even their physical limitations, you begin to notice things that aren’t visible on the surface. You also experience the atmosphere around the team and the intangible variables surrounding the matches.

The World Cup is not just a sporting event; it’s a space where national emotions gather. Because of that, a journalist feels a greater responsibility to convey the meaning behind the atmosphere itself, rather than simply sharing in the excitement or disappointment.

How visible is the pressure of representing the entire country within the squad?

The pressure inside the national team is much greater than people probably imagine. Korean players often say they don’t feel like they are simply playing a football match — they feel they are “carrying the expectations of the entire nation.”

Symbolically, although this tournament is an exception, the team has previously held send-off showcases in Gwanghwamun Square. Before the 2014 World Cup in Brazil, the players even arrived for their first training camp in suits rather than casual clothes, showing the seriousness with which they approached the tournament.

Korean players clearly understand the meaning and weight of representing the country through the Taegeuk badge. For example, you don’t really see mass street-support events for the Olympics, but during the World Cup in Korea, people gather in huge groups outdoors to support the national team, even if kick-off is late at night or early in the morning Korean time. That alone shows the World Cup exists on a completely different level.

Players receive these reactions in real time through social media and online platforms, so the pressure is enormous. Korea is a country where interest in football — and reactions to it — move extremely quickly, and the players know that. During the World Cup especially, even the smallest action or phrase in an interview can be heavily scrutinized, so the mental burden is significant.

At the 2018 World Cup in Russia, Kim Min-woo and Jang Hyun-soo, who were blamed for conceding the penalty against Sweden in the opening match, suffered greatly from online criticism and abuse on social media after the game. The Korea Football Association even unusually asked reporters off the record to refrain from publishing certain articles because the players were struggling so badly.

Those players were fighting not only the match itself, but also the psychological toll of everything surrounding it. After the Sweden match, I saw Kim Min-woo in the mixed zone, and he genuinely looked devastated. Throughout the interview, he repeatedly apologized to the Korean public and burst into tears.

When you witness scenes like that, beyond being a reporter, you start thinking as a human being: football is just football — why do these young players have to endure such enormous pressure? It’s genuinely heartbreaking.

Do some players handle that pressure better than others?

I think the players who handle pressure well tend to share two qualities: experience on big stages and emotional control. At tournaments like the World Cup, technical ability matters, but ultimately, the most important thing is composure.

Players like Park Ji-sung, Park Chu-young, and Son Heung-min — the leading figures of their respective eras — showed an ability to stay calm before and after matches and stabilize the entire team. Experience playing against world-class opponents helps tremendously. To put it bluntly, they have the kind of mentality that doesn’t get intimidated easily.

And when that confidence combines with competitiveness, it can create incredible chemistry. On the other hand, younger players can sometimes be overwhelmed not by the match itself, but by the entire World Cup atmosphere during their first tournament. In those situations, the role of experienced leaders within the squad becomes extremely important.

Park Ju-mi at the Qatar World Cup

Do you feel pressure to accurately capture defining World Cup moments as a reporter?

Yes, reporters feel a similar kind of pressure. At the World Cup, a single moment, interview, or quote can become something that defines a player’s career forever. So as journalists, we feel a responsibility to convey the meaning of those moments accurately without exaggerating emotions.

In Korea especially, World Cup coverage is remembered for a very long time, so we become even more careful. We pay close attention to every word. We try to use positive wording rather than unnecessarily negative language, and even conjunctions matter. For example, rather than writing: “Player B collapsed after failing to stop world-class player A and allowing space,” we might instead write: “Player B attempted to stop world-class player A, but A’s movement into space led to the goal.”

A great World Cup performance can become a glorious milestone in a player’s career. But careless wording can also shorten a player’s career. That’s why we feel responsibility for every word we use.

What’s something Korean viewers don’t fully understand about the World Cup environment?

I think the hardest thing for Korean viewers to truly feel through television is the tension on the ground.

From before the opening match, even before kick-off, the atmosphere of the entire city changes during a World Cup. Around team hotels, media centres, and mixed zones, everything becomes extremely tense and sensitive. Especially after defeats, the silence in the mixed zone or the expressions on players’ faces are things television can never fully capture.

Do you feel a similar sense of responsibility as a journalist representing Korea abroad?

Yes, to some extent I do. Of course, the responsibilities of players and journalists are different, but when you cover the Korean national team overseas, you naturally begin to feel that you are also representing Korea in some way.

Over the last three World Cups (2014-2022), I’ve noticed changes in Korea’s football stature through the increasing number of foreign journalists attending Korean training sessions. At the Qatar World Cup, for example, I saw huge banners featuring Son Heung-min alongside global stars like Cristiano Ronaldo, and there were many foreign reporters there specifically to cover not only Son, but also players like Kim Min-jae.

When speaking with foreign journalists, you often find yourself explaining Korean football culture or the backgrounds of Korean players, so it becomes a responsibility that goes beyond simple reporting.

Can you describe a moment where you felt the emotional impact of the national team in real time?

Personally, one of the most emotional moments for me was after the win over Portugal at the 2022 Qatar World Cup. Right after the final whistle, the players were hugging each other and crying. As a broadcast reporter, I was conducting interviews on the pitch before and after the match, and the atmosphere was impossible to separate from emotionally. It felt like much more than just a victory.

Because I knew how hard those players had worked, seeing them overcome the predictions of analysts and experts and create an unexpected miracle together as one team was incredibly moving. In moments like that, it’s difficult even for reporters to completely remove emotion. But at the same time, you still have to calmly record and communicate what happened, so I remember trying to compose myself while reporting.

Do players behave differently in interviews at the World Cup compared to regular internationals?

Yes, the atmosphere is definitely different at the World Cup. Compared to regular internationals, players become much more cautious. They are far more aware of the impact a single comment can have.

At the same time, there are moments when players become more emotionally honest — especially after positive results.

Because the World Cup is the biggest stage of their careers, players often speak more openly and emotionally than usual. For some reason, many players have cried in front of me during interviews, and emotionally, I find myself drawn into those moments too.

Park Ju-mi reporting from Qatar

How has the relationship between the media and the national team evolved?

I think the distance between the media and the national team has grown somewhat compared to the past.

Previously, the atmosphere between players and reporters felt more relaxed and familiar. Recently, media systems have become more structured and there is a much stronger emphasis on protecting players.

In the social media era, especially, interview comments are often instantly magnified or misinterpreted, so players have become far more cautious. There are also stricter rules surrounding media access because opponents can analyze tactical details or injury situations through public training sessions and media coverage.

What is the atmosphere like among Korean media when Korea gets an important win at a World Cup?

When Korea gets a major result, the atmosphere among Korean journalists on the ground is truly special. It almost feels like dopamine is overflowing. Physically, you’re exhausted, but mentally you feel an incredible sense of exhilaration.

Journalists usually try not to show emotion, but at the World Cup, there’s a feeling that the entire Korean press corps is experiencing a historic moment together. Personally, my first thought in those moments is always: “This scene is going to remain in Korean football history.”

It’s hectic and chaotic, but at the same time joyful. And after finishing all the work for the day, having a cold beer somehow makes your whole body feel lighter. The schedule is extremely demanding. Broadcast reporters usually prepare two different versions of their reports before the match even ends, including recorded audio and on-camera segments, because, depending on the live situation, the entire story may need to change instantly. Even when you barely sleep, feel physically drained, or miss meals, you still feel happy and fulfilled.

Do you think the media is fair in its reporting and criticism of the national team?

Overall, I think Korean media criticism of the national team can be quite strong because expectations and public interest are so high. Sometimes criticism becomes excessive, but at the same time, that intense interest is also part of the energy behind Korean football.

Recently, though, there has been more shallow criticism and more attention-seeking coverage, lacking a deeper understanding of the team’s history or context. I hope there will be more attempts to analyze structural issues such as tactics, systems, and player protection, rather than criticism based purely on results.

Do all Korea squads still get compared to the 2002 team?

Yes, I think the 2002 team still remains the benchmark. At some point, reaching the Round of 16 at the World Cup almost started to feel like an expectation by default.

Because Korea’s run to the semifinals in 2002 was such a powerful experience, every generation afterward has naturally been compared to it. But I don’t think that comparison is only a burden.

The 2002 World Cup created positive outcomes such as increased interest in Korean football, greater investment, and broader participation. The number of Korean players moving to top European leagues also increased dramatically.

2002 also gave Korean football the confidence that it could compete on the world stage. At the same time, while the level of players and fans has risen, I think the development of systems and structures has lagged behind, preventing that full potential from creating real synergy.

There hasn’t been enough deep reflection or philosophy regarding areas like coach development, and there’s also frustration that Korea sometimes remains trapped in past glory without fully recognizing that other countries are improving simultaneously as well. Still, I believe the time is coming when policies and systems will finally begin matching the level of the players and fans.

Do you think the media helped create those expectations?

Yes, I think the media definitely played a role. In 2002, the entire country was consumed by World Cup fever, and the media amplified and shared that atmosphere very strongly. Since then, the World Cup in Korea has come to be seen not simply as a sporting event, but almost as a national achievement, and those expectations have continued ever since. At the same time, I don’t think that memory was created by the media alone — it was something Korean society created together as a whole.