So it was decided — I'd take the test the following week. In the meantime, I did my own research on FC Porto. Despite their image as a powerhouse, they hadn't actually won a title since 2013.
"Sérgio Conceição?"
The new Porto manager appointed for the 2017 season. I couldn't help but be surprised. This was the player who'd been nutmegged by Park Ji-sung in the match against South Korea in 2002, giving up the shot. I hadn't watched it live, but it was a clip I'd seen more times than I could count.
Tap-tap. Tap-tap-tap!
I moved my fingers quickly, trying to find out more about Conceição, who would apparently be present on the day. I was focused in front of the computer when my father came over and looked at the screen.
"Conceição. Brilliant player in his day. He was part of Portugal's Golden Generation, you know. Ask me if there's anything you don't know."
My father said it with confidence. While I followed all kinds of sports, my father had a particular love for soccer. He had a club team he supported everywhere we went. Of course, even if I couldn't play much myself, I kept up with the game.
Here it was naturally Porto. In Brazil, Corinthians. In the US, there was no soccer team near Milwaukee, so I followed New York FC. The reason was nothing special — it was because Spain's David Villa had joined.
"Son, you're not actually going to become a soccer player, are you? Competing in the Champions League and everything. Winning the Ballon d'Or." "That's way over the top… But Dad. Soccer is fun and all, but I'm still in a daze about all of this. Do you think I can actually do it?" "Why not? Now that there's actually an opportunity in front of you, you're getting cold feet? What are your dreams for the future?" "I don't really have anything concrete yet." "Right. So this is a sign from above telling you to become a soccer player." "Does it really work like that?" "If not, just study. Honestly, studying is the easiest path." "Ugh… If it weren't for Porto specifically…" "Exactly. That's the right answer."
My father took a swig from the beer can in his hand. It was a different side of him from when he used to talk me out of sports.
"If I pass the test, does that mean no more moving?" "We'll have to be here for a few more years anyway, but by then you'll be an adult. You're on your own after that." "Hmm… Should I really give this a serious shot?" "You want to do it too. And do you think the coaches were praising you for no reason? And this is Porto we're talking about. They said it because you're good. Because you have potential. Isn't that right?"
Yeah, I think he's right. Worrying needlessly isn't going to change anything. And these are people who've watched and developed countless players — they'd know better than anyone.
"But what if it doesn't work out? I might end up disappointed for nothing." "Why would you be disappointed? You've got the looks. You speak foreign languages. Your father has some money. What do you have to worry about? Graduate from a university abroad and you'll be set when you go back to Korea. There's always another path in life."
My father's answer was simple and clear. He hoped I'd pass the test, but he wasn't putting any pressure on me.
"You're right. Failing this one test doesn't mean my life is over." "Exactly. So just make sure you don't leave with regrets. Got it? That's all that matters."
One week later.
I visited Estádio Dr. Jorge Sampaio once again. Unlike last time, Marcus was waiting for me at the adjacent training pitch.
"You made it. Your father didn't come?" "He's a busy man. Is it a problem without a guardian?" "Not exactly, but people usually come together." "This kind of thing is pretty normal for me. Anyway, thank you for the opportunity." "Oh… Your eyes look a bit different from last time." "This time I came with my mind made up." "Is that so?"
Marcus gave an unreadable smile. He seemed to want to ask why, but held back his curiosity. The results would tell him everything anyway.
"Well then, let's get started. As I mentioned, today isn't just about you, Jino. It's a day when prospects from all over Portugal come together. First we'll do a physical assessment, then the practical test. Understood?" "Yes."
I followed Marcus onto the small training pitch. Even limited to Portugal alone, players of all different backgrounds were crowding the space.
"Conceição! This is the one."
Marcus led me through the crowd to where he was heading — directly in front of Sérgio Conceição, the man at the helm of Porto's first team. Short hair with streaks of grey. A beard that covered nearly his entire lower face. There was no trace left of the handsome face from years ago.
"This the one? Good build." "Nice to meet you. I'm Seo Jino." "Marcus was talking you up. Either way, I'm looking forward to seeing what you've got. Just follow the order over there. It's basic athletic testing, so relax." "Understood."
Despite his rugged appearance, Conceição came across as slightly reserved.
"What are you waiting for? Off you go." "Oh, yes."
I changed into training kit and started with the basic physical measurements. Next came sprint times and a Sargent jump test, followed by flexibility and balance checks. The session was set to wrap up with a 20-meter shuttle run to assess fitness and recovery.
"All done. Go warm up and wait over there."
After having my height, weight, and body fat percentage measured, I started loosening up. As I worked through lower body stretches, I could feel the stares from staff and players around me. Maybe because I was the only Asian there — I clearly stood out.
Never seen someone stretch before?
While I sat with that uncomfortable feeling, the eyes that had been on me suddenly shifted to another player. By his kit, he was from the reserve team. His arrival sent a ripple of excitement through the testing ground.
"Is he someone famous?" "That's Diogo Dalot."
Someone had appeared beside me at some point. Maybe 170cm at most. Slight and wiry — looked like he'd blow away if you bumped into him.
"Weren't you in the U-18 team last time…" "Fábio Vieira. I came to help the players testing today." "Oh yeah? So who's that guy causing all the fuss?" "There's no player our age who doesn't know Dalot. Elite among elites. He'll probably move up to the first team next year — he's that good."
I didn't know much about him, but the reaction made it obvious he was something special. First division at just 18. Fábio pressed down on my back and kept talking.
"He can play both fullback positions, and he's solid going forward and defending. His biggest strength is obviously his attacking play using his pace. He might end up at a big club someday." "Got it, but let me focus now."
Fábio's enthusiastic rundown was getting under my skin for no particular reason. And this guy was a starter for the U-18 side too. Even if I passed the test and got into the club—
No. Stop.
The hours of sweat they'd already put in were on a completely different level. Of course they were good — it would be strange if they weren't. Closing that gap was what I had to do. I decided not to think about anything else.
"Jino, get ready. You're up." "Yeah." "Go and shake things up."
The first session, proceeding in order. Now the real thing was starting.
The last physical test, taken with seven players including myself. The shuttle run — known as the beep test of terror. Cones placed 20 meters apart, running back and forth between them. This type of interval running was something we'd done regularly in American football too. It was one of the most dreaded drills — the kind that made you curse under your breath even as you did it.
Beep!!
"Go! Go! Go! Come on, one more!"
I was the only one left, but I got swept up in the staff's encouragement and the energy around me. I'd lost count of how many times I'd heard "just one more." Only after another dozen or so reps did the coach in charge of the timing finally call a stop.
"Okay! Great work."
I felt like my energy reserves would be completely drained before even getting to the most important practical test. I lay flat on the ground, gasping, when the club trainer came walking over quickly. A massage followed. The trainer's hands worked fast, loosening up my muscles. Then Fábio handed me a sports drink and a towel.
"168 reps? That would put you in the top five even among the first team." "Hah… That's it, right? It's over?" "Yeah. The physical assessment is done."
Setting aside the feeling that my thighs were about to explode, nearly an hour of physical testing had left me wound up tight. The moment Fábio said it was over, every bit of tension finally drained from my body.
I'd expected it to some degree, but Porto's testing process — the way it pushed young players — was no joke. If I'd thought of it simply as training, I probably could have pushed through more easily. It was the pressure of it being a test, combined with the relentless back-to-back sessions that wore on me.
As I lay there getting the massage, youth director Marcus appeared.
"Jino. Just lie there and relax. I'll go over your numbers." "Okay." "Nothing to point out as a weakness. You're clearly the standout among everyone here today. Muscle flexibility and explosive power go without saying, and your interval run score ranks in the top five even among the first team squad. The most surprising figure was, of course, the sprint — your 30-meter time was 3.81, even with a slow start."
The trainer and Fábio both turned to look at me. I was satisfied too — it was a touch ahead of my usual mark. Usain Bolt's greatest asset is said to be his acceleration in the latter half, but this was only 0.03 seconds off his 30-meter split.
"So does that mean I've passed the first stage?" "Physically, there's nothing more to say." "Thank you." "But as I mentioned last time — you know that's not the real focus of today's test, right?"
It came down to soccer ability in the end. Everything up to this point was clearly a bonus. From here, the idea was to see whether that physical excellence could translate into potential on the pitch. As long as I met the minimum requirements—
"Hoo—!"
I was confident I could pass. I had to pass. I got to my feet and dialed my focus back up for what was coming next.
The final evaluation of the players was set to be decided by a match. They'd probably give us far more time than last time, trying to expose every gap in our game. Even I was curious about how it would go. Unlike last time, this was my first time playing in a proper setting with proper players. Of course, when it came to the finer details, I couldn't keep up with them yet. I wanted to minimize mistakes as much as possible and focus on what they called the fundamentals.
"I'm ready." "Then let's go."
I moved with Marcus toward the main training pitch. On the way, I wanted to pick up as many hints as I could.
"Could you tell me more about the test?" "The U-18 and reserve teams are training at the stadium we were at last time. The players in today's test will be mixed into both sides." "So does that mean Dalot — the one from earlier — will be playing too?"
At my question, the corner of Marcus's mouth lifted.
"Sounds like you're all fired up — talking about really going at it?"
Yeah. That's exactly what I need to get a real sense of whether I can do this or not. Clinging to something that isn't working would just be foolish. Having come this far, I needed to see it through to the end — and I wanted to feel firsthand just how good the best really was.