On the opening night of the 2018 Winter Olympics, journalists and photographers from around the world assembled in a large cabin in the shadow of the Kwandong Hockey Centre. Some sipped tea, having stepped indoors from the teeth-chattering cold, others were seated by tables; reading, typing, preparing for the historic evening ahead.
From the public address system, a voice issued a warning in English, reminding the media of the importance of the occasion, of the stature of the dignitaries who would be present in the arena they were about to enter. Equanimity, they were told, had to be maintained at all times.
There is always brouhaha when history is made. But when the world has time to foresee a momentous event, when sport and politics collide, anticipation builds into a chaotic crescendo, the intensity burning like a red-hot flame, as it did on the south-east coast of South Korea when a unified Korean ice hockey team made its Olympic debut.
just months previously, there were fears there could be conflict on the peninsula. but the Winter Olympics had given North and South Korea, two countries still technically at war, a reason to talk again.
And so, on the grandest sporting stage of all, the sport became secondary.
Given just weeks to train together, to assimilate and to bond, little was expected on the ice of the hastily-assembled group of 35 players. Then again, this wasn't about winning.
The team was part of a political message, a tool for rapprochement in an attempt to slow down the North's nuclear program and the outcome of a plan cobbled together by representatives of both governments during discussions at the demilitarized zone that separates the two countries.