AFC Asian Cup 2027 Qualifiers: When Vietnamese Football Needs to Listen to Its Own Rhythm

When the stadium is empty, I can hear the breath of the match. At a training session of the Vietnamese national team at the Youth Football Training Center, I witnessed a small but haunting moment: Nguyen Quang Hai, now 29, attempted a cross from the right wing. The ball flew too high, sailing over the goal. He stood there, hands on hips, sighing. Coach Kim Sang-sik said nothing, only gestured to do it again. The afternoon sun cast long shadows across the pitch, and I remembered a completely different story – about a dog named Jerry, my family's loyal companion, who taught me that every enduring journey begins with small steps. The context of Vietnamese football right now is not easy. After being eliminated in the second round of the 2026 World Cup qualifiers, the national team entered the 2027 Asian Cup qualifying campaign under heavy pressure. Coach Kim Sang-sik, who led the team to the AFF Cup 2026 title, faces the challenge of rebuilding a generation. The pillars of the golden era under coach Park Hang-seo are aging: Quang Hai is 29, Cong Phuong is 31, Van Hau is 27 but has suffered multiple injuries. Meanwhile, the young generation like Nguyen Dinh Bac, Bui Vinh Hao, and Khua Van Khang still lack international experience. Fans are impatient, media are skeptical. I see in them a lack of patience – something that has never existed in top-level football. The core issue I observed from training sessions is not tactics, but something invisible that is eroding us. The era of fast talkers demands slow listeners in football. Look at how Southeast Asian teams operate now. Indonesia is mass-naturalizing players, Thailand develops young players from their domestic league, but Vietnam – where are we? Many say we need a revolution in personnel, we need high-quality naturalized players. But I see something else. At the training ground, I saw a player crying over a misplaced pass – it was Pham Tuan Hai, blaming himself for ruining a chance. No one scolded him. Kim Sang-sik just patted his shoulder. That was the moment I realized: what Vietnamese football lacks is not people, but calmness. I have followed Vietnamese football for decades, and what troubles me most is the gradual disappearance of traditional wingers – those who can hug the touchline, deliver accurate crosses, and create differences through simplicity. The global trend of inverted wingers has homogenized football, and Vietnam is no exception. Quang Hai, despite his talent, often cuts inside instead of crossing. This makes the team predictable, as every opponent knows we will play short passes in the middle. We have lost a crucial weapon – diversity in play. Southeast Asian teams like Thailand and Malaysia still maintain pure wingers, and they succeed. So why are we so quick to abandon this? Another issue highlighted in the analysis is physical endurance. In recent matches, Vietnam often plays well in the first half but fades in the second. This is not due to a lack of fitness but rather how the tactical system is operated. We run too much without controlling the rhythm of the match. Look at how Japan controls time – they don't run more, they run smarter. Kim Sang-sik needs to solve this puzzle before thinking of a complete squad overhaul. The problem is not in the legs, but in the collective mind. Many believe Vietnam's failure in the 2026 World Cup qualifiers was a disaster. But I see it differently. It was a necessary signal, a wake-up call that we cannot live forever on past achievements. Coach Park built a golden generation, but every generation has its endpoint. What matters is what legacy they leave. The answer lies not in trophies but in the youth development system. I have visited academies in Hanoi and Ho Chi Minh City, and I see real talent. But they lack a sustainable development environment. A contract is just paper; a team is built with the rhythm of feet – the rhythm of the children being properly trained today will determine the future ten years from now. On naturalization, let me be direct: we don't need to chase Indonesia's trend. Every nation has its own identity. Vietnamese football was once known for its flair, technique, and fighting spirit – things that cannot be imported. Instead of spending millions on naturalized players, we should invest in improving the V-League's quality, where too many businesses are exploiting for profit. A strong league creates a strong national team – that is the immutable law of world football. So what should we do right now? The answer sounds simple: be patient. But patience here doesn't mean sitting still and waiting. It is the patience of a farmer who knows the harvest only comes after months of cultivation. Kim Sang-sik is trying to build a new team with new people and a new philosophy. There will be mistakes, there will be losses. But what matters is whether we see progress from match to match. From what I have observed in training, I believe the answer is yes. I am nearly sixty, but the opening whistle makes me young again for ninety minutes. Every time the national team steps onto the pitch, I feel a different rhythm beating in my heart. I have witnessed so many ups and downs of Vietnamese football – from the days when we were considered the region's underdogs, to the historic nights in Changshu, to bitter defeats. But I have never stopped believing that Vietnamese football has a bright future, if we know how to listen to ourselves. One last thing I want to say: let the young players make mistakes. Don't rush to condemn them for a misplaced pass. Let them cry when they fail, and rise stronger. Because football, like life, is not about avoiding falls, but about learning to stand up after each fall. And I knew a dog named Jerry, who taught me that even when everything seems to collapse, as long as we have love and patience, we will find our way. Perhaps that is what Vietnamese football needs most right now: love and patience.