SEOUL, June 29 (AJP) - The fury over South Korea's abrupt exit from the 2026 FIFA World Cup is unlikely to subside with the voluntary exit of the head coach. Instead, it is increasingly building up to a fundamental overhaul of the country's notoriously insular sports bureaucracy.
Hong Myung-bo resigned a day after Korea failed to reach the round of 32, but public anger has not stopped with the head coach. Instead, attention has shifted to the Korea Football Association (KFA), whose leadership and decision-making have faced years of criticism from fans, former players and politicians.
The debate widened after President Lee Jae Myung publicly criticized the failure and called for reform in sports governance. His remarks turned what could have been another football disappointment into a broader question about how Korean sports organizations are run.
Critics say the issue extends far beyond who coached Korea at the World Cup. It reaches into who appointed him, how he was selected and why the same questions continue to resurface every four years.
The KFA declined to comment, saying it had no official position in response to questions from AJP.
Korea's group-stage exit was painful, but the anger had been building long before the final whistle.
For years, the KFA has faced criticism over a series of decisions that steadily eroded public trust. Jurgen Klinsmann's appointment ended in disappointment. His dismissal was followed by another disputed coaching search that brought Hong back to the national team despite questions over whether the process had been transparent and competitive.
The association has also come under scrutiny over its attempted pardon of football figures involved in past match-fixing scandals, the handling of the national football center project and the long tenure of former KFA president Chung Mong-gyu.
Taken individually, each controversy might be dismissed as an isolated mistake. Together, however, they have created a broader perception that Korean football's decision-making is too closed and that accountability rarely reaches the top.
That perception explains why Hong's resignation has done little to calm public frustration. For many supporters, replacing the coach addresses only the final stage of a much deeper problem.
Kim Chae-rin, a 30-year-old office worker from Seongnam, said the disappointment was especially painful because Korea had enough talent to achieve far more.
"This was one of the strongest groups of players Korea has had in years," Kim said. "We know what players like Son Heung-min and Lee Kang-in can do because we've watched them succeed overseas."
She said the issue went beyond tactics.
"Changing the coach isn't enough," she said. "Fans have been questioning how decisions are made inside the football association for years. I hope this becomes an opportunity to make the system fairer and more transparent."
One politically charged word has surfaced repeatedly in public debate surrounding the KFA: "cartel."
The term should not be interpreted as a legal conclusion. Rather, its growing use reflects a public perception that a relatively small circle of insiders wields disproportionate influence over major decisions.
A key focus of that criticism is the KFA's presidential election system. The association's president is chosen through an indirect voting process involving a limited group of electors, many of whom are affiliated with football organizations. Critics argue that such a structure makes it difficult for outside voices to challenge the existing leadership.
Chung's fourth-term victory in 2025 reinforced those concerns. To critics, it demonstrated that the federation's internal power structure remained largely intact despite years of public dissatisfaction.
That is why the current debate extends beyond Hong, Chung or any single appointment. At its core lies a more difficult question: whether Korean football has a system capable of correcting itself after repeated failures.
Football is not alone
The KFA is not the only Korean sports body facing questions over governance.
Badminton came under scrutiny after Olympic champion An Se-young publicly criticized the national federation's athlete management, injury treatment and sponsorship restrictions. Her comments prompted a government review and opened a wider debate over how much influence athletes should have over decisions affecting their careers.
Speed skating has also endured years of criticism over factional politics, opaque national team selection procedures and abuse scandals involving coaches. Those controversies further eroded public trust and reinforced the perception that some sports organizations had operated with too little transparency for too long.
The details differ from sport to sport. The pattern, critics argue, is strikingly familiar: concentrated leadership, limited outside oversight, opaque decision-making and blurred accountability when things go wrong.
Kim Soo-han, a 37-year-old brand designer from Incheon, welcomed the government's push for reform.
"I watched every match with my son, so the elimination was especially painful," Kim said. "The players can only do so much. If the organizations supporting them aren't functioning properly, changing coaches alone won't solve the problem."
The contrast with archery
Korean archery provides a sharp contrast.
The Korea Archery Association is widely regarded as one of the country's best-run sports organizations. Its national team selection process is highly competitive and overwhelmingly performance-based. Olympic champions receive no automatic places. Every athlete must repeatedly earn selection through transparent competition.
That system has helped Korea dominate Olympic archery for decades and has made the sport a frequent reference point whenever other federations face questions about fairness and accountability.
The comparison is uncomfortable for football. If one Korean federation can build a culture in which selection is transparent and merit-based, critics ask, why do others continue to rely on opaque processes and insider judgment?
Football is larger, more commercial and more politically visible than archery. But that makes governance more important, not less.
For many supporters, the disappointment was symbolized by Son Heung-min.
In 2025, Son left Tottenham Hotspur after a decade to join Major League Soccer side Los Angeles FC. The move was widely reported as one of the league's biggest signings, while Korean media said he had declined more lucrative offers elsewhere, including from Saudi Arabia.
Those figures should be treated carefully. Son did not forgo money he had already earned. But many in Korea viewed the move as part of his preparation for a North American World Cup, allowing him to adapt to local conditions, reduce the physical demands of European football and secure regular playing time ahead of what could have been one of the final major tournaments of his career.
In footballing terms, the gamble yielded little reward. Korea exited after just three matches, and Son finished the tournament without a goal or an assist.
His career will continue. But for many supporters, the tournament became a symbol of a larger frustration: one of Korea's strongest generations of players left the World Cup before it had the chance to demonstrate its full potential.
Hong's resignation answers the most immediate question of responsibility. It does not answer the deeper one.
Who approved the process that brought him back? What standards were applied? How much independence did technical officials actually have? Those questions matter less for assigning blame than for preventing a repeat. If the same leadership structures remain in place, critics argue, the next coaching search could easily produce the same controversy.
President Lee's intervention suggests football could become part of a broader effort to reform sports governance. But meaningful reform is difficult because it challenges the internal networks that have shaped federation leadership for decades.
Replacing a coach is easy. Reforming the system that appoints him is considerably harder.
Korea's next World Cup cycle has already begun. The next debate is no longer simply about who will coach the national team. It is about whether the institutions behind it are prepared to change before the next tournament arrives.
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