The Old Drum Still Echoes: A 49-Year Journey Following Vietnamese Football

I come to the stadium not to score goals, but to keep the rhythm for stories. That saying has followed me for 49 years in this profession, from my first days holding a pen at a small sports newspaper in Seoul, until I set foot in Shenzhen and began following Vietnamese football. When new media knocks loudly on the door, I still hear the old drum from the stands. In the spring of 2026, I began my career when the Independent was just founded. I still remember the feeling of entering the press room for the first time, the smell of printing ink mixed with thick coffee. The football world then had no internet, no social media, only paper pages and stories told with the breath of insiders. I learned that a sports journalist is not merely someone who records scores, but someone who keeps the rhythm for the stories behind each match. Vietnamese football then was very different. I remember long trips to provincial stadiums, where the stands had no roofs, and the drums of supporters echoed from early morning until late at night. There were no statistics, no modern tactical analysis, only sincere people who loved football with all their hearts. They came to the stadium not to watch a technical performance, but to immerse themselves in a community ritual, where the drumbeat was the common pulse of thousands of hearts. The empty dressing room that day still carried the smell of grass and someone's tears. That was an afternoon in September 2026, when the stadium was empty for 7 months of the pandemic. I met a young midfielder sitting alone in the dressing room, his gaze looking far away through the window frame. He whispered: "Uncle, without spectators, I don't know who I'm playing for." That moment made me realize that football is not just the match on the pitch, but also the connection between people. I encouraged him to write an open letter to the fans, and the article combining his words was shared more than 50,000 times. Isco taught me that a name is not just a syllable, but a whole person. In June 2026, at the World Cup in Russia, I was invited to be a commentator for the Portugal – Spain match in Sochi. I mispronounced midfielder Isco's name three times as "I-so-ko" in the first half, and was ridiculed by netizens on weibo. The following week, I reviewed all the qualifying footage of 32 teams, noting the pronunciation of 736 players' names in their local languages. This taught me that a wrong name is a disrespect to the person and their journey. Since then, I never write a player's name without checking their origin and native pronunciation. In March 2026, at age 56, I followed a team in the Chinese First Division. A new platform posted news about training just 20 minutes after it ended, but the article was only 200 words and missed the financial crisis that forced the team to sell two key players. My 5,000-word series on supporter culture, based on a survey of 300 people, was criticized by young editors as too long and unattractive on digital platforms. I worried about being judged as outdated, and this urged me to find a fresher writing language. But then I realized that the value of an article lies not in its length or brevity, but in the depth of understanding. The stadium may change its name, but the singing of the stands never registers copyright. I have witnessed so many generations of players come and go, so many stadiums built and renamed, but the spirit of Vietnamese football remains intact. It is the spirit of nameless people, of supporters who sit in the stands all day just to immerse themselves in the match atmosphere, of boys playing football on the streets dreaming of one day wearing the national team jersey. He wears a new jersey, but I still remember how he tied his shoes on the first day. Every transfer window is a farewell, but the heart of the team never leaves. I have witnessed so many farewells in my career, from blockbuster transfer deals to the quiet departures of nameless players. But what I have learned is that even if players leave, even if the team changes, the spirit of the team remains, nurtured by people who genuinely love football. The new generation of journalists runs after the ball, I run after what the ball has rolled over. They chase breaking news, viral stories, statistics. But I chase the footprints that football has left on its journey. I believe that the true value of football lies not in numbers, but in human stories. A goal can be recorded in statistics, but the emotion of fans witnessing that goal cannot be measured by any statistic. In December 2026, the agent of a young player – who had trusted me since 2026 – revealed that this player would be loaned to a Dutch team during the winter transfer window amid the Qatar World Cup. I kept the information secret for three weeks, waited for the contract to be signed, then published an exclusive article that reached 2 million reads. Immediately after, a group of supporters criticized me for lacking transparency. I organized an online Q&A session, listened to them, and understood that collective interests need to be placed above personal issues. Since then, I created the column "Behind the News" to explain my working process, and became a bridge between the club and the community when controversies arose. Data analysts are invading the dressing room; their conclusions often detach from real rhythm. I have witnessed so many debates about tactics, about data, about statistics. But I believe that football cannot be reduced to numbers. A player may have low technical metrics, but be the soul of the team. A team may have low possession rates, but win through fighting spirit. Data is only part of the picture, and the most important part – the human part – cannot be measured by any algorithm. The Saudi Pro League is not developing football; they turn aging European stars into tourism ambassadors. I have witnessed so many stars leaving Europe for the Middle East, not for the love of football, but for lucrative contracts. They go there not to contribute, but to make money. And that makes me sad, because football should not be turned into a purely commercial tool. Football is a sport, an art, a part of culture. I come to the stadium not to score goals, but to keep the rhythm for stories. And I will continue to keep the rhythm until I no longer can. Because I believe that in a football world that is increasingly modernizing, there are still traditional values that need to be preserved. There are still human stories that need to be told. And there are still old drums from the stands, echoing forever in the hearts of those who truly love football.