Young-Pyo Lee signs a notebook and a loose piece of paper. He poses, politely, for a couple of photos. He doesn't look like he's loving it, nor does he appear annoyed. He just looks like he's done it tens of thousands of times. His response is automatic, and the three young Korean boys leave with a smile and a story, spreading news of their good fortune on their smart phones. This sort of attention, common since Lee signed with the Vancouver Whitecaps and MLS in December, is nothing (though the excitable group of Saudi Arabians in Toronto's Pearson Airport, as the Whitecaps stopped on the way to Philadelphia, was somewhat surprising). "Here in Canada, I can walk on the street," says Lee, sitting cross-legged on the turf after a recent practice at the Burnaby Lake Sports Complex. "In Korea, I cannot. Wherever I go there's always fans, in the airport, on the street, but I'm used to it." Exactly why Lee ended up in Canada, in Vancouver, playing for the Whitecaps, remains puzzling to some. Yes, he'll be 35 on April 23. But the South Korean soccer legend — second only in popularity to Ji-Sung Park — neither came to MLS as a big-money designated player signing, nor was he washed up and unwanted elsewhere. There were other offers — eight or nine, he says — and handsome ones. The rumours are true, says Lee. He did, in fact, turn down 1.5 million Euros, almost $2 million, in Saudi Arabia, to sign with the Whitecaps for what's expected to be around one-tenth of that. The Caps had a connection through departed CEO Paul Barber and current coach Martin Rennie. "Whitecaps was actually the one that offered the least salary," Lee says in his rapidly-improving English. And then he laughs like a child, rocking back and forth. This, I'll quickly discover, is one of Lee's most admirable qualities. He is a deep thinker, but, like his game, there is a lightness about him. He is a giggler. "Is money not important anymore?" I ask. "Money's very important," Lee says, "but I don't want to follow into the money all the time. This time, I needed to make a decision for my life." A QUEST FOR KNOWLEDGE Lee is here to learn. He will teach, of course, imparting his considerable experience on his teammates. Three FIFA World Cup tournaments, including a run to the semifinals in 2002. A Uefa Champions League semifinal with PSV Eindhoven in 2005. Three years in the English Premier League with Tottenham Hotspur. But he is also seeking to soak up knowledge. About how the Whitecaps operate. About how MLS is run. About how to grow a franchise from the ground up. After he's done playing, and perhaps before, Lee wants to do his MBA in sport management. He wants to be director of a club, or work for the Korean Football Association, and he felt this was the best place to learn. He's now speaking through my trusty interpreter, Andrew from accounting.

"If you can compare with the dinner table," says Lee, a fitting analogy for the son of potato farmers, "in Europe, all the food is there. They know how to eat well, how to eat deliciously. "But, in North America, they don't have much food on the table. And, so, anything you want to eat you have to create. "I was thinking of retiring, not because I cannot play soccer, but mostly because if I play more, there will be less time for me to study. But, choosing Whitecaps, I can play soccer and, at the same time, I can study about sport management." That studying, for now, will have to take place inside the club. Lee makes an impassioned pitch as to why universities here should accept him, but he knows that will have to wait. He starts English lessons this week. While he's still playing, the field, and the locker room, will be a classroom for teammates who speak of Lee with reverence. "He's quiet, not one of the big voices," says midfielder Matt Watson, "but when he says something, it's like, 'Yeah, that's right. I don't know why I did that.' "Like, late in the Philly game, I was tired and I just smashed the ball upfield and he said, 'Look, it's the little details. No matter what moment in the game, you've got to keep the ball, keep the ball.'" John Thorrington, one of the Whitecaps' veterans, sits next to Lee in the locker room. "Every chance I get to ask a question, I always do," he says. Even an airport waiting lounge, Thorrington notes, can be a place for Lee to dispense wisdom. On a recent road trip, Lee was stuck with a middle seat, which is not how it's supposed to work with the veteran players. So he walked up to the counter and asked the woman at the desk, "Can I change?" "No, I don't have anything," she replied. "You can't change?" said Lee. "No, sorry," she said. "OK, then I'll change," he said. "I like middle seats." And with that, he walked off. SPIRITUAL AND SAGE Christianity is a big part of who Lee is. In 2006, when Italian side Roma came calling, religion, it was rumoured, played a role in Lee's decision to remain at Tottenham Hotspur in England. He denied it then, though it can only have helped the Whitecaps that Rennie is also a man of faith. After Lee's arrival in Vancouver, the talking point in the Korean community, Andrew assures me, was which church Lee would choose. He settled on one in Surrey, though he lives in UBC — as good a sign as any that the training centre will end up there — and he worships near campus when the drive seems too daunting. Lee's life lessons, however, all sound a bit Seon at times, the Korean version of Zen. He's philosophical by nature, though he studied politics at university ("I'm interested in politics," he says, "but I cannot talk about it!")

A sampling of Lee's Twitter account, translated by Andrew, reveals religious themes, but also existential ones. Someone recently sent Lee a photograph of him that they took from behind. He thought about how, in that moment, he didn't know people were taking his picture, and so he wrote about truth. "The picture from behind is so truthful," he says. "Somebody can control the front. For example, somebody can put on makeup. To see from behind is more honest. I thought, the behind is most important. I want to look honest. "I try to think what's important and what's not important in life." Lee, who is closing in on 100,000 Twitter followers, says he uses social media to try and help the younger generation find their way. "Their common concern is that they don't have a dream and they don't know what they like and don't know what they're good at," he says. Recently, he wrote: "If you are ever in doubt, not sure you are on the right path, then you are on the right path. This is the first requirement of success." In another, Lee responded to a fan who asked him how he could find something he was good at. "I answered, 'Some people, if they like something, they try hard and they become good eventually. But that's only a few people.' "'Another method is whatever you do, if you just try really hard, you will become good at it, and if you become good at it, you'll like what you do.'" SKILLS THAT PAY THE BILLS Lee loved to dribble from a young age, and he quickly became good at it. To watch him on the ball, see him fool an opponent with one, two, three step-overs, glide out of trouble, is a joy. "His balance," says Thorrington, "at any point he can go right or left. You can't get near him." It's a flourish of footwork borne out of natural ability, but also hours upon hours of practice. Lee practiced dribbling all the time on his own. His idol was Diego Maradona. In games, Lee admits that when one player is coming at him he has no motivation to dribble. "Two guys, or three guys coming," he says, "I start the motivation for dribbling." Coaches have never been fond of this trait, though in Korea, crowds would scream when he held the ball, and sigh when he passed it. As soccer became more serious, with winning all that mattered, dribbling was Lee's way to make sure it was still fun. But now, he says, "feeling my own emotions is less important than passing to the team and feeling the same emotions with the team." It was because of Maradona's heroics in the blue and white kit of Napoli that Lee desperately wanted to attend Yonsei University, whose kit was identical, though he couldn't get in. "I'm all the time practising in the blue shirt and the white pants," Lee says of his childhood. "And falling like this."