Vietnamese Football: A Symphony of Silent Fates

At My Dinh Stadium on a March evening, when the floodlights blazed and the opening whistle sounded, I remembered a quote from French writer Albert Camus: "All that I know about morality and obligations of man, I learned from football." But tonight, I am not learning about morality. I am learning about the patience of a people who have waited three decades to see their national team stand on the continental stage with the posture of no longer being the underdog. When midfielder Nguyen Quang Hai received the ball in midfield, he was not just receiving a round ball. He was receiving a legacy of generations of Vietnamese players who dreamed of this moment but never reached it. I have followed Vietnamese football since the 1990s, when the national team still had to walk to training because there was no bus. I have witnessed painful defeats against Thailand, the heartbreaks at SEA Games, and the tears of fans in the stands. But I have also seen the slow but relentless transformation of a football nation once considered the "backwater" of Southeast Asia. Today, as I sit in the broadcast booth of a Vietnamese television channel to commentate on the match between Vietnam and a strong West Asian opponent, I realize that Vietnamese football is no longer a story of isolated individual efforts. It is a story of a functioning system, a philosophy being built from the roots. Coach Park Hang-seo, a Korean, brought a tactical discipline that Vietnamese people once considered "luxurious." But more importantly, he gave the players a belief: that they can compete with any team in Asia, not through physical strength, but through intelligence and organization. However, I am not here to praise a hero. I am here to listen to absence. When I look at the starting lineup, I see a name that is missing: Nguyen Cong Phuong. The player once considered the "prodigy" of Vietnamese football, who scored against UAE U23 at Changzhou, who amazed all of Asia with his skillful technique. But today, he sits on the bench. His absence is not a criticism, but a testament to the maturity of the football nation. Cong Phuong is no longer the center of the team, because the team has learned to play without depending on any individual. I remember the match at Changzhou in 2026, when Vietnam U23 defeated Iraq U23 on penalties to reach the final of the Asian U23 Championship. That was a historic moment, but I wrote at the time that this was not a "miracle." It was the result of a systematic training process, a serious investment in youth football, and a collective spirit that I rarely see in Southeast Asian teams. I still hold that view today. Vietnam U23's victory was not a lucky accident, but a deliberate turning point. But if I only talk about tactics and results, I would miss the most important thing: the people. I have spent years interviewing Vietnamese players, from stars like Quang Hai and Van Duc to unknown players in the second division. I realize that they do not play just for money or fame. They play for a deeper reason: they want to prove that Vietnamese football can stand on the continental map, that children in poor rural areas can dream of becoming professional players, that a nation that has gone through war and poverty can still find pride on the pitch. When I watch this match, I notice a small detail: at minute 67, after scoring the goal that made it 2-0, Quang Hai ran to the corner of the field and embraced a young player who had just come on as a substitute. That was not a theatrical celebration. It was a gesture of a senior passing on belief to the next generation. I have seen this moment many times in my career - from Zidane embracing Mbappe, from Modric embracing Gvardiol - and I always believe that these are the most beautiful moments of football, not the spectacular goals or the miraculous saves. But there is one thing I worry about. The success of Vietnamese football is creating a wave of expectations that could become a burden. I have seen this happen with many teams in Asia - from Japan, Korea to Thailand. When a team reaches a new height, fans begin to demand more, and that pressure can destroy what has been built. I hope that Vietnamese football managers will remain calm and patient, not letting short-term successes obscure the long-term vision. I also notice another issue: the dependence on naturalized players. In the current national team lineup, there are some players of foreign origin, like Doan Van Hau (German origin) or Nguyen Filip (Czech origin). This is a common trend in Southeast Asia, but I believe that Vietnamese football needs to focus on developing local talent, rather than relying too much on naturalized players. I am not against using them - they bring quality and experience - but I fear that without a solid youth training foundation, Vietnamese football will become dependent on short-term solutions. Looking back at the journey of Vietnamese football, I remember a story I heard from a former national team player. He said that in the 1990s, when Vietnam played at the SEA Games, they had to buy their own shoes and kits. There were no sponsors, no bonuses, and sometimes not even a full meal before matches. But they still played with all their hearts, because they knew they were representing a country desperate to assert itself. Today, when Vietnamese players are cared for by nutritionists, train in modern sports centers, and earn billions of dong per year, I wonder if they still keep that fire. I believe they do. Because when I look into Quang Hai's eyes as he prepares to take a free kick, when I see the absolute concentration of goalkeeper Dang Van Lam before each shot, when I hear the roar of fans at My Dinh Stadium, I know that fire still burns. Vietnamese football has changed in every way - from facilities, to tactics, to professional standards - but what has not changed is the spirit, the desire to win, the national pride expressed through every touch of the ball. In tonight's match, when the final whistle blew with a 2-0 victory for Vietnam, I did not cheer. I just smiled and wrote in my notebook: "March 25, 2026, Vietnam defeated Iraq in World Cup qualifiers. But more importantly, they proved they are no longer the underdog." I have lived long enough to know that such victories are not destinations, but a stop on a long journey. And the journey of Vietnamese football still has a long way ahead. As I left the stadium, I saw a group of children playing football on an empty lot nearby. They had no shoes, no beautiful pitch, no coach. But they had a ball and a dream. I stopped and watched them play for a few minutes. One of the children, about 10 years old, executed a beautiful long-range shot. I clapped and smiled. The child looked at me, shyly lowered his head. I thought about what I have written throughout my 51-year career: that football is not just a game, but a mirror reflecting society. And Vietnam's mirror today reflects a beautiful image: a nation rising, not only on the pitch but in every aspect of life. I will end this article with a question, not an answer. Can Vietnamese football sustain this development momentum for the next 10 years? Can those children I saw on the empty lot become the future Quang Hais, the future Van Lams? Will the managers have enough patience to build a solid foundation, rather than chasing short-term successes? I do not have the answer. But I have a belief: that Vietnamese football, with all its difficulties and challenges, is on the right track. And that, for someone who has witnessed the rise and fall of so many football nations around the world, is a precious thing. I left My Dinh Stadium with a sense of peace. Vietnamese football is no longer a story of unfinished dreams. It is becoming reality. And I, a Frenchman born in Saigon, a 67-year-old documentary scriptwriter, have been fortunate to witness this transformation. I do not know what the future holds, but I know that I will continue to write about Vietnamese football, because it deserves to be told. Not as a myth, but as a story of perseverance, of courage, and of people who never gave up on their dreams. On the way back to the hotel, I saw the neon lights of Hanoi, and I remembered a quote from Vietnamese writer Nguyen Nhat Anh: "Youth is never too late to dream." I thought about the young players of the U23 team, who will be the future of Vietnamese football. They are standing on the shoulders of giants - the previous generations who paved the way. And I believe they will continue to grow, will take Vietnamese football to new heights, perhaps not champions of Asia, but certainly a formidable opponent for any team on this continent. Football, as I have written many times, is a symphony. Each player is an instrument, each match is a movement, and each generation is a distinct style. The symphony of Vietnamese football is being composed, with notes of confidence, passion, and aspiration. I am proud to listen to it. And I will continue to listen, until my heart stops beating.