The Silent Journey: When Vietnamese Football Writes Its Own Poetry

On my five-decade journey observing football, I have learned that the most memorable moments often lie not in beautiful plays or decisive goals. They lie in the small details that go unnoticed: a lowered head after a missed chance, a pat on the shoulder between two opponents after the final whistle, or the captain's armband placed carefully on the substitute bench. As the ball rolls through my age, and I chronicle it in verse, I realize Vietnamese football is writing a story many have not yet read carefully. Vietnamese football does not operate by the rules of major football nations. There are no hundred-million-dollar transfer deals, no cutting-edge technology in every youth academy, no league with massive broadcasting revenue. But I went to My Dinh Stadium on an evening in March, when Vietnam hosted a opponent from West Asia. The stadium shook with over thirty-nine thousand spectators, and in the empty stadium, I hear applause clearer than waves. In the stands, I blended my heartbeat with the drums, so no one would see that I am old. Writing about Vietnamese football, I cannot separate the people who make it. Nguyen Quang Hai, at twenty-seven, has experienced more ups and downs than most players his age. I remember the first time I watched him play at the 2026 SEA Games in the Philippines. It was not a goal or an assist that caught my attention, but how he scanned the pitch before receiving the ball, like a quiet librarian reading the space before rearranging books on a shelf. That is something statistics never record. Each pass is an unfinished poem, and I sit waiting for someone to complete it. And those completing the poems in the red jersey with the yellow star are often players wearing number 10 or 9, but sometimes it is a silent center-back executing the launching pass from his own half. Vietnamese football today is built not by exceptional individuals, but by a collective that is better organized than any period in its history. But I do not write to praise. I write to see the undercurrents moving beneath the surface. When I look at Vietnamese football today, with eyes that have observed seven World Cups and countless matches at all levels, I see a football nation at an important crossroads. Vietnamese football has improved enormously compared to two decades ago. They have won the AFF Cup twice in 2026 and 2026, reached the Asian Cup quarter-finals in 2026, and maintained their status as Southeast Asia's leading team. But the road ahead requires steps not everyone is ready to take. The development of football, as I have written many times, is never a straight path. In 2026, when I started my career at a sports newspaper in Seoul, Asian football was merely a backwater of world football. The World Cup was a dream too distant for most Asian nations beyond Japan, South Korea, or Saudi Arabia. I have witnessed South Korea overcome countless ups and downs to become a regular World Cup participant. And I have witnessed Japan, the country where I now live, build a methodical football system since the 1990s, with the J-League and youth development centers, to become an Asian powerhouse. Vietnamese football cannot copy the paths of Japan or South Korea. Their resources differ, their culture differs, and their players' physiques differ. But there are lessons they can learn from those who came before, and how they apply those lessons will shape their future. The story of Vietnamese football also has a subtler dimension, a story of generational transition. When I watch Vietnam's U23 team play, I see new faces gradually replacing those who made history in Changzhou in 2026. The Nguyen Quang Hais, Do Duy Manhs, Nguyen Cong Phuongs, Doan Van Hau's have passed through the most beautiful years of their international careers. They have contributed blood and bone to the national colors, but time waits for no one. And the next generation—players born in 2026, 2026, 2026—are beginning to take over. They grew up in a more professional football environment than their seniors. They are trained more systematically and exposed to modern football philosophy earlier. But can they withstand the tremendous pressure of expectations from more than ninety million people? I remember a saying from a veteran English journalist I met at the 2026 World Cup: "A national team is not just a football team; it is a mirror reflecting the dreams of an entire nation. And when you break that mirror, you break the dreams of millions." Vietnamese football needs wise steps. Vietnamese players going abroad has become a heated topic in recent years. Every time there is a rumor about a Vietnamese player going overseas, social media erupts, but the reality remains modest. As someone who has observed Asian football for nearly half a century, I understand that going abroad is not the ultimate destination. What matters more is that the player actually plays in a genuinely better environment where he can develop daily, not just sit on the bench in a higher-tier league. When I followed Nguyen Van Toan during his time at Seoul E-Land in K League 2, I saw a humble yet ambitious image. Though it is only South Korea's second division, that environment gave him a different experience from the V-League. Long away trips, matches in harsh weather, and competitions where his name was not treated as a star. I call that the injury-time I owe to time, because only by leaving one's comfort zone does a player understand who he truly is. The economic story of Vietnamese football also deserves serious attention. The V-League has made significant professional strides, but its dependence on sponsorship from state-owned corporations remains a potential risk. I have witnessed leagues in Asia rise quickly and collapse within a decade when sponsorship dried up faster than a river after the flood season. Vietnamese football needs to develop sustainable revenue streams from commercial, media, and ticket sales, rather than relying solely on sponsors' generosity for brand promotion purposes. The appeal of Vietnam's national team is undeniable. Every World Cup qualifying match creates tremendous pull, with tens of thousands of spectators in the stadium and millions watching on television. That is an invaluable asset few nations possess. But that asset must be cultivated with sustainable results, not only at the national team level, but also at the youth and club levels. I want to mention the growing presence of football academies in Vietnam. The Nutifood JMG Academy, with its partnership model with Belgium's JMG Academy, or the Hoang Anh Gia Lai Academy with its relationship with Arsenal, have produced generations of players with noticeably better technical foundations than previous generations. But what I care about more is: do these academies produce many quality players for Vietnamese football, or just a few lucky standouts? The sustainable development of a football nation comes from depth, not from a few exceptional individuals. When I look at Vietnam's FIFA ranking, currently around 105-115, I do not consider it a disaster. I see it as an honest reflection of the current level: better than most Southeast Asian teams, but still a significant gap from the top group in Asia. Vietnam beating Thailand or Indonesia in the regional context has proven superiority in organization and tactics. But against Japan, South Korea, Iran, or Australia, the gap in physicality, speed, and international experience remains a major challenge. However, I have also witnessed many intriguing things from Vietnamese football when facing Asia's top teams. In the World Cup 2026 qualifier at My Dinh Stadium against Japan, despite losing 0-1 to one of Asia's strongest teams, Vietnam showed commendable defensive organization. They were not overwhelmed by the pressure from the team from the land of cherry blossoms. They stood firm, resisted, and even created a few counter-attacking opportunities, though not sharp enough to score. As someone who has lived in Japan for over thirty years, I know how strong Japan's national team is. And Vietnam causing them difficulties for the full ninety minutes, even if just a home match, was no small achievement. Football is a game of moments. A team can build tactical plans for months, but one moment of individual lapse can destroy everything. Conversely, a moment of genius can create a legend. Vietnam's 2026 team was not the most talented in the country's history, but they had moments that turned them into the most beloved team in that history. They won through unity, through an unyielding fighting spirit, and through the fervent belief of their fans. Then came difficult years. Results were not as good, public pressure rose, and debates about domestic versus foreign coaches became intense. When football creates expectations, it also creates disappointments. And those disappointments are often expressed more fiercely in nations where football is the king of sports. I have learned that no football nation develops in a straight line. Every sporting empire experiences ups and downs. What matters is not avoiding difficult periods, but how a football nation overcomes them. When Vietnam lost at the AFF Cup 2026 in Thailand, or when they were eliminated at the 2026 Asian Cup group stage, that was not the end. That was part of the journey. The biggest question Vietnamese football faces is one of identity. Will they develop their own playing style, a clear tactical identity like Japan's possession game or South Korea's high-intensity pressing? Or will they become a strong counter-attacking team like Iran or Australia? The answer will come from the philosophy of Vietnamese football administrators, from how they train young players and how they select coaches. Coach Philippe Troussier, who succeeded Coach Park Hang-seo, arrived with a strategy of developing a possession-based style. That style requires time, patience, and long-term investment in youth development. But pressure from short-term results is always a major challenge to any long-term strategy. And when results do not meet expectations, the story of a foreign coach being sacked is only a matter of time. In 2026, Coach Kim Sang-sik, a Korean like me, came to lead Vietnam's national team. He won the AFF Cup 2026 title in his first year. I see something familiar in that journey. I remember when I was a young reporter, I interviewed many Korean coaches working abroad. They carried a philosophy of discipline, of an undying fighting spirit, and of putting collective interests above individual ones. And they often faced difficulties adapting to local football cultures. Coach Kim Sang-sik learned that lesson quickly. He understood that managing a national team is not just about setting tactical drills on the training ground. It is about understanding the psychology of each player, understanding the culture of the country he serves, and knowing how to create a stable collective environment. That lesson came from early mistakes but ultimately led him to the 2026 AFF Cup title. I wonder whether Vietnamese football can learn from China's story, a cautionary tale of spending money on past-prime stars without building a sustainable system from its roots. I hope they will not follow that path. I believe that with a young population, a deep football-loving culture, and the intense determination of their fans, Vietnamese football can find a sustainable development path. Vietnamese football needs time, patience, and smarter strategies rather than quick miracles. The V-League still has many issues regarding professionalism and transparency, but it is much better than ten years ago. Matches are better organized, pitch quality has improved, and clubs have invested in youth academies more seriously. This shows sustainable development is happening. I want to add one more thing from the heart of a man who has lived with football for fifty years. The success of Vietnamese football in 2026, with the AFF Cup title, brought joy to millions of fans. The images of players celebrating the championship in their red jerseys on Rajamangala Stadium in Thailand on January 5, 2026, will forever be part of Vietnam's sporting memory. But I know, as someone who has witnessed many championships in his career, that trophies last only a moment. What lasts is the development of a football nation, the health of the youth development system, the stability of the domestic league, and the growth of the people who make up the team. The championship trophy is a glorious moment, but what builds that moment is an extremely long journey. Throughout nearly five decades of observing and writing about football, I have witnessed countless rises and falls of football nations. I saw South Korea and Japan co-host the 2026 World Cup. I watched Asian football develop rapidly in the twenty-first century, and I am watching Vietnamese football gradually assert its position. I write for the number 9 striker, who does not know my name but keeps me up at night. And I believe Vietnamese football will keep me up many more nights in the years to come. As I sit in the stands, watching Vietnamese young players grow through each match, I recall the images of a young Park Ji-sung at the 2026 World Cup, or a young Shunsuke Nakamura just starting his professional football journey. I do not know which of today's young Vietnamese players will become tomorrow's stars. But I believe that if they persist, if they are guided by coaches with vision, and if they play in a professional environment, they will write glorious pages in Vietnamese football history. The injury-time minutes are a debt I owe to time, and I must repay every night. I sit down and write about matches, about people, about moments. And in every word, I pour an unconditional love for this beautiful game—the game that gave me a career, a family, a home, and a reason to wake up each morning. That night on Russian soil, I understood that the tide recedes only to return sorrow. But it is also the tide that brings new things. It leaves on the sand those glistening shells under the sunlight—new hopes for Vietnamese football.