It is just how Park looks at things at these days. There was a time - and he freely acknowledges it - when such a scene would have been unsettling for him. In the early days of what has become a 15-plus-year career, he looked upon the adoration of his countrymen as an intrusion, a place to point the finger of blame if he happened to pitch poorly. Hysteria surrounded him whenever he went back home, where the crowds would become so intense, he needed two bodyguards just to have dinner. Whenever he was scheduled to pitch over here, the Korean population in whatever city he happened to play would come out by the thousands. According to Chul-Jin Kim, who is working on a documentary on Park for the Munhwa Broadcasting Corp., the pitcher "was and is a symbol of hope and strength for the Korean people."
Shouldering that assignment would have been hard for anyone. But age has imbued Park with a degree of wisdom. The 36-year-old pitcher has come to understand that his relationship with the fans is reciprocal - that they are just as significant to him as he is to them. Even if the adulation he receives occasionally seems excessive, he wonders where he would be today if he did not have the fans' positive energy to draw on. So he enjoys the attention from his Korean fan club in Philadelphia in a way that would have been hard for him as a young man who spoke no English.
"To be honest with you, I used to hate it when people would ask for autographs - again and again and again," says Park, whose English has improved since he began playing in the United States. "Now, I want to meet as many people as I can. Because each person is special. I appreciate it more than I used to. Without the Korean people to support me, I know I would feel lonely and sick."