PEBBLE BEACH, Calif. — The shout rang out from behind the 1st tee, as clear as a cry of “mashed potatoes!” Except that the word was in Korean, and it was not a reference to a starchy steakhouse side.
“Namdalla!” Eun Sun Kim shouted again.
An otherwise soft-spoken, self-described “mother and housewife,” she wore stylish shades, a sun hat and a snug-fitting blue sweater, unlike the gaggle of women standing with her, all sporting pink jackets with the letters NDL, short for “namdalla,” emblazoned on back. They screamed “namdalla,” too, a chorus of support for an out-of-form player in the 1:18 p.m. group, in the second round of the U.S. Women’s Open at Pebble Beach.
Namdalla translates to “I am different.” It’s also the nickname of Sung Hyun Park, two-time major champion, former No. 1 female golfer in the world, and object of a cultish adoration in Korea that verges on the love afforded K-pop stars. That Park’s play has declined steeply since her 2017-18 peak — she hasn’t won in four years and her Rolex ranking has plunged to 226 — has done little to dampen the fervor of her fans. When she plays in Korea, cries of “namdalla” call for noise-cancelling headphones. In this country, the echoes are fainter, but they filter through the air at far-flung venues, thanks to faithful followers like Eun Sun Kim.
She’d arrived in California from Seoul on Wednesday, and showed up at Pebble just past sunrise on Thursday to watch Park go off at 7:22 a.m.
“Namdalla!” Kim had shouted. It was no use.
Park bogeyed her first hole of the tournament, a grim indicator of the seven-over par 79 that she would card. The whole day was a slog, but Kim and her fellow Namdalla-shouters stuck with Park for all 18, cheering — or groaning — with every shot.
What inspired such devotion was hard for Kim to say. She’s a golfer herself, with a handicap of 18, and a fan of the pro game, but she’d never fallen head over heels for any player until 2016, when Park began to hit her stride. Maybe it was because Kim’s two children were now grown, and she needed something new to occupy her time. Or maybe she just liked Park’s fluid, upright swing, with an effortless move that produced so much power.
Whatever the case, it was probably not the force of Park’s personality. Shy with the press, reserved with fellow pros, Park was once described by a noted sportswriter as making “Ben Hogan look gregarious.”
“I don’t know,” Kim said. “I could just tell she had a good heart.”
In Korea, when Park was playing her best, Kim became a regular in the crowd. Nor was she was averse to international travel. In 2019, she tracked Park to two international events, one in France and one in Florida.
Soon after, Park’s game faltered, but not Kim’s fondness for her. When Pebble came along, it was too good to pass up.
“I wanted to support her in this beautiful place,” Kim said.
Friday dawned cloudy but Kim’s outlook was hopeful. She’d turned up at the course with her Park-fanatic friend Mim Sun Cho, who’d also made the trip from Seoul. Fan club members have a way of coalescing wherever they travel, and soon the two were joined by 12 others of their kind, all with the initialized jackets to prove it. Some had Park’s moniker stitched into their caps.
Park split the fairway with her opening shot, but the first four holes at Pebble are where the pros make hay, and Park was steady but unspectacular on them, playing them at par before back-to-back bogeys on 5 and 6. Park’s shoulders slumped as she walked to No. 7.
“Namdalla!” someone shouted, though the tone had a hint of desperation.
“Our hearts are all hurting,” Kim said.
Rough days on the course have the arc of a slow death. Anger and denial give way to sadness, which shifts to resignation and, finally, acceptance. Park’s round dragged on, and Kim and Co. marched with her, calling out their trademark exhortation.
Namdalla. Namdalla. Namdalla. Now more a rote recitation than a rallying cry.
Park bogeyed the 9th. And the 11th to drop to 11 over for the event. There was no hope for the weekend when she reached the 18th tee, nearly six hours since her day had started.
The sun was low. Mist blew in off the coast. Three full shots and a chip, and Park was on the green, with a four-footer for par, which she lipped out. Bogey.
“A very difficult day,” Kim said. “No birdies. Not even close.”
Still, she was smiling. She knew what was coming. Park ducked into the scorer’s tent and, moments later, emerged and strode directly toward Kim and her crowd. Hugs. Bows. Photos.
“It is hard for me to express in words how much this support means to me,” Park said through a translator. With one final bow, she walked away.
Kim watched her go.
“I will come back Sunday to watch the final round,” she said. “Tomorrow, though, I will sleep in.”
