The football world expected a shock from the fall of the Iron Curtain no less powerful than the rest of life. And perhaps even more serious, since many players had been abroad and knew firsthand what the standard of living was there. The overwhelming majority of ours rushed to the West. But there were also those who turned their gaze to the East. Among them is Valery Sarychev, a native of Dushanbe, who in 1991 accepted an offer to earn money by playing for one of the Korean teams.
Sarychev was born on June 12, 1960, received his football upbringing at the Dushanbe Sports School of the Olympic Reserve "Trudovye Rezervy", at the age of 17 he ended up in the main team of Tajikistan - "Pamir", where he played until 1981. Then in the career of the young goalkeeper there were Moscow CSKA and Torpedo, to which he gave 10 years of his life, where (at CSKA) he received a terrible injury to both hands, because of which he was actually written off as unnecessary, although he continued to play. That is why he did not leave for the West (who needs a disabled goalkeeper?), and, having received the opportunity to secure the future by playing in unknown Korea, he did not pick and choose. He gave the go-ahead and after the end of the last USSR championship in 1991 signed a contract with Seoul's "Chunan Ilwa Chunma". (In total, Valery played 165 matches in the Union top league, won the USSR Cup in 1986, twice became a bronze medalist - in 1988 and 1991.)
Sarychev was sure that after the tense union championship he would be able to rest in the Korean league and play for his own pleasure. But when he arrived and saw what was going on there, he clutched his head: "Why am I so unlucky?" He had to work to the fullest. In Korea everything turned out to be different - both the perception of life, and relationships between people, and football itself.
"A goalkeeper must direct the defenders, tell them where to take position, how to act in a particular episode. But what am I to do without knowing the language? And the defense there plays not like in the Union - too adventurous. All 90 minutes I have to be under enormous tension. On the field I kept thinking: 'Mother dear, what are they doing?' I instinctively prompted something, shouted. The chaos was incredible. But gradually everything returned to normal."
In the first half of the 90s, quite a lot of people from the USSR played in Korea, our coaches worked there (Anatoly Byshovets even coached the national team of that country). But gradually, with the decline in the level of football in Russia and Ukraine, the Koreans stopped paying attention to the football market of our countries. Although some players who distinguished themselves back then, they are ready to invite even now - Sergei Skachenko or Sergei Konovalov, for example.
"The performance of the Russian national team at the recent 2002 World Cup, held in Korea and Japan, confirmed all the weakness of domestic football," says Sarychev. "And our prices for football players are incredibly high. The Koreans are not going to spend such money on not the best players. They simply don't look at our market now. However, they have a special approach to Europeans too - first of all they estimate whether a visiting star will suit Korean football. After all, in Europe they play differently, even Zidane, if he came to Korea, might not shine there."
Koreans do not give time for reflection. They are in constant motion, do everything at high speed, prefer contact football, which is somewhat similar to British. All 90 minutes there is a struggle, regardless of the score. A team can lose 0:5 and still run forward and fight."
Korea is an interesting country. Much here depends on old traditions. Even discipline is often maintained by force. Yes, yes, in Korea negligent subordinates can be beaten soundly. And this applies not only to football, but also to other aspects of life. Punishing negligent workers with a stick is a common thing. True, foreigners were spared this, and over time, harsh "fines" began to give way to more democratic measures. Still, European influence could not but have an effect.
By the way, unlike some European countries where our legionnaires had problems getting the money they were owed, Korea seems like an oasis of well-being. Everything happens here on time and according to agreement. "We Koreans are a very decent and responsible people," Sarychev laughs. And in fact, everything is very stable. Behind Korean clubs are the largest corporations - LG, Samsung, Daewoo, Hyundai and others. "The thought of a possible bankruptcy of a club doesn't even occur to anyone. Money is paid regularly, all contract clauses are fulfilled extremely clearly."
Sarychev is already 43 years old, but he continues his playing career, although five years ago he already went into "well-deserved rest". He was seen off with honors worthy of a foreign goalkeeper who three times in a row (in 1993, 1994 and 1995) became champion of Korea with his team, which before Sarychev's arrival was considered a hopeless outsider. But with the appearance of the Russian, "Ilwa" improved so much that after three years of hegemony on the domestic scene, in 1996 it won the Asian Champions Cup and the Asian Super Cup.
By the way, Sarychev unwittingly became the creator of a law that prohibited inviting foreign goalkeepers to Korean clubs. The fact is that other clubs in the country followed the example of "Ilwa", which bought Valery. In Korea they sounded the alarm and decided to limit the number of matches that foreign goalkeepers could play. At first it was 50% of the total, then 20, 10 and, finally, a complete ban on inviting legionnaires. So Sarychev had to retire, despite all his titles and regalia. He moved to the club "Anyang LG", where he became a goalkeeping coach. But circumstances developed in such a way that a year later he had to return to the goal.
“At the end of 1999, which was unsuccessful for our team, we decided to hold a small internal tournament. The squad was divided into three teams. The third team consisted of reserves and newcomers. There weren't enough people, so some coaches had to play as well. Then one of the goalkeepers injured his hand, and I stood in goal for the third team. To everyone's surprise, we won the tournament, and afterwards the head coach came up to me and said: ‘Don't you want to play for the main team?’ I jokingly replied that I wouldn't mind, knowing that foreigners are not allowed to play in goal. A week later he asks again: ‘Well, have you decided?’ I started to explain the situation to him, and heard in response: ‘Take citizenship and play!’
To become a citizen of Korea, you need to pass an exam. You are given 40 minutes to answer 20 questions on Korean history and culture, and then an interview in Korean follows. There is another important condition: before applying for citizenship, you must have lived in Korea without leaving for five years, but that was fine for me.
At first I was skeptical about this idea, but then I decided: I'll try, what do I have to lose, after all? The club found someone to help me learn the language, grammar, culture, and history of the country. In addition, the club attracted television: two central TV channels followed this whole saga, with film crews following me everywhere. They presented this news with the spin that I was a candidate for the Korean national team (at 39 years old! - Author's note).
The examination committee was pessimistic. Its members, of course, knew that Sarychev was a good footballer, but that was unlikely to count, because even Koreans themselves do not always pass this test. On the day of the exam, I go to a special room where about thirty people are sitting. Three committee members checked that I had no cheat sheets with me. The exam is considered passed if you give correct answers to 60% of the questions. I had just started answering the first one when a guy already handed in his work. Goodness, I thought, what am I going to do?! But I wrote it anyway: I knew some things myself, some I peeked at. And I passed! There was a ten-minute interview left. I was just getting ready to talk when two TV cameras rolled into the room. We chatted a bit in Korean, seemed to understand each other, and everything ended normally.”
Permission to play was obtained. Sarychev secured the nickname Shin Ui Son (Hand of God) given by the fans and began playing up to forty matches a year for the team. And we must not forget that almost half of his teammates were young enough to be his sons. Nevertheless, in 2000, Anyang LG became the champion of Korea, although in 1999 it had taken the penultimate place.
As for the Korean national team, he never played for it. According to one version, it was because he had once played a match for the national team of Tajikistan. They came to Korea for a friendly match but didn't have enough players and asked Valery to play for the team of his homeland. According to another, it was because Guus Hiddink, who led the Koreans to fourth place at the 2002 World Cup, was wary of putting a veteran goalkeeper in goal, who, let us recall, is considered a disabled person of the second group by Russian standards.
By the way, Sarychev's family did not change citizenship along with him. True, his daughter studies in Canada, and his son attends an American school in Seoul. For this reason, the children do not speak Russian very well. Valery himself goes to Russia every year, and he saves himself from nostalgia by watching old Soviet films, which he considers brilliant.