That ghost that just won’t go away. When North Korea knocked us out of the World Cup

“Again 1966”. The evening before the South Korea v Italy match at the 2002 World Cup, we were taken to Daejeon Stadium to view the pitch. I was struck by the slogan emblazoned on one of the two stands. “Again 1966”. It would remain there for the entire match; every spectator was a tiny part of that sentiment. I wondered why the South Koreans would want to hope for a repeat of a victory that wasn’t theirs, achieved by their certainly not-friendly neighbours in the North. A stadium attendant explained it to me; when asked directly, he replied that he couldn’t care less about North or South. All he cared about was Korea going through. Which is exactly what happened. The disastrous prologue took place on 19 July 1966, sixty years ago, in Middlesbrough. Larry Semon was known in Italy – and throughout the world at the time – as ‘Ridolini’. A silent-film hero, a powdered face sporting an oversized, crooked nose, and trousers that looked as though he’d got water in the house. On a par with Stan Laurel and Oliver Hardy, Charlie Chaplin and Buster Keaton. ‘Ridolini’ was usually a poor sod dressed in a comical manner who found himself in hilarious situations. Being compared to him was not exactly a compliment. Ferruccio Valcareggi and the maestro Gianni Brera fell into this trap, in that order. To make matters worse for the former (who was Italy’s assistant manager), he had described them in such terms in a technical report (up to a point) before being sacked by them. Gioanbrerafucarlo confined himself, in his inimitable prose, to declaring that it was a bunch of ‘Ridolini’ who’d sent us home. Said, however, after the event and with respect – if that’s possible – after having seen them run like the devil and prove that, all things considered, they weren’t there by chance. Let’s be clear about this. In the times we happen to be living in, no one – not even under heavy doses of opiates – would ever dream of describing their opponents in such a contemptuous manner. Partly out of superstition, and largely because the prevailing culture prevents us from even attempting to use a disallowed amount of sarcasm.

North Korea’s qualification for the final stage of the 1966 World Cup in England came as an unwelcome surprise to many. The United Kingdom, for example, did not recognise the country and tried every means possible to exclude it in favour of Wales, Scotland or Northern Ireland. The official name was: ‘Democratic People’s Republic of Korea’. But in official documents, FIFA officials decided to use the less controversial term ‘North Korea’.

The officials were not invited to the draw ceremony, and the North Korean national anthem was banned. Following a vehement official protest, FIFA decided – simply to avoid ever having to listen to it – to have the national anthems played only for the opening match and the final, banking on the fact that the North Koreans would never make it that far. For their training sessions, a remote, bumpy and uneven pitch in Middlesbrough was chosen, situated opposite a petrochemical plant that was not exactly wholesome. Yet, or perhaps precisely because of this, everyone in Middlesbrough was rooting for North Korea.

On 19 July 1966, ‘Mondino’ Fabbri selected these eleven players. Albertosi in goal, with Facchetti, Guarneri, Janich and Landini in front of him. In midfield: Bulgarelli, Fogli, Mazzola and Rivera. Mazzola actually played further forward, almost as a centre-forward, whilst the two wing-forwards were Barison and Perani. On the bench – though it was pointless as substitutions were not allowed – were, amongst others, the legendary (due to his elusive trading card) Pizzaballa, Burnich, Rosato, Lodetti, Juliano, Gigi Meroni and Pascutti. Our team wore blue shirts and black shorts, whilst the North Koreans wore red shirts (in keeping with their ideology) and white shorts.

It was the third match of the group stage. Italy had lost to the USSR and beaten Chile. They had taken a point off Chile and lost to the Soviets. Ergo, even a draw would have been enough for us. It was a predictable script for the match, with the Azzurri trying to wrap it up as soon as possible, but coming up against a day of poor finishing – to put it mildly – from Marino Perani. The drama began to unfold just after the half-hour mark of the first half, when Giacomino Bulgarelli – whose place in the starting line-up had been in doubt until just a few hours before the match – attempted to win the ball in a challenge. He committed a foul, and so far, nothing irreparable. Unfortunately, however, his left knee gave way. It was a challenge in a non-dangerous area of the pitch, and his efforts would cost him dearly: he was carried off on a stretcher, leaving his team down to 10 men, as no substitutions were permitted during the match.

In the 41st minute, Pak Seung-zin wins a challenge against Rivera and plays a through ball to Pak Doo-ik. A crisp right-footed shot into the far corner leaves Riky Albertosi beaten. “The yellow ants”, as Pier Cesare Baretti would describe them in Tuttosport, embrace each other and leap about like crickets all over the pitch.

In the second half, despite being down to ten men, the Azzurri tried to get back on their feet. But nerves were sky-high; the forwards tried to solve it on their own, the midfield fell apart and, little by little, everyone tried to hide so as not to be associated with the humiliating defeat. Pak Doo-ik would go down in legend as “the dentist”. “We were beaten by a dentist,” read the headlines in more than one newspaper. In reality, the match-winner did something completely different for a living. This media mix-up – unthinkable today – arose because the North Koreans were officially amateurs and held other jobs to make a living. Pak Doo-ik was labelled a dentist; no one checked the facts, and for years it was believed that someone who worked inside people’s mouths had knocked us out of the World Cup. Edmondo Fabbri would pay the price for everyone. Torn to shreds by the critics even before heading to the World Cup in England, ‘Mundì’ would be forever branded as the architect of our national team’s most bitter disappointment. Having passed away in 1995, he did not have the moral satisfaction of seeing ‘our team’ knocked out again by South Korea in 2002 and, above all, the failure to qualify under the Ventura-Mancini-Gattuso trio (with an initial appearance by Spalletti).

Our heroes board Alitalia flight AZ 313, a French-built Caravel aircraft, in reverse order. The choice is tactical. The flight is due to land in Genoa late on 24 July. A delay of one hour and three-quarters worked in ‘our’ favour. Around a thousand people had gathered at the airport named after Christopher Columbus. The welcoming committee was certainly not there to offer applause, but as the delay grew longer, the number of protesters decreased proportionally. There were, however, around six hundred of them when, at 3.40 am, the Italian expedition touched down. “Bums, bums” was the most polite chant. Fabbri remained on the plane for an extra hour and, as the first light of dawn began to appear, he was escorted off by the police.