Vietnamese Football: Lessons from 12 km Every Morning and 1,204 Letters

Every football season begins on a morning when no one is awake yet. I stood at the PVF training center pitch in June, as the sun was just rising above the high-rise buildings in Hung Yen. No cameras, no fans, only the sound of studs crunching on dew-soaked grass and the heavy breathing of 30 young players running their warm-up laps. That moment reminded me of the 2026 promotion season of Shenzhen Kaisa FC, when I followed 17-year-old striker Ha Jiahao through the mornings he ran 12 km from the workers' dormitory to the training ground. People remember the goals, but I remember the hands that wrote letters. In Vietnam, football is changing not because of flashy contracts but because of a generation of players who learned to endure through mornings no one witnessed. The context of Vietnamese football in 2026 is very different from when I left my homeland to work in China nearly a decade ago. The national team just finished the Asian Cup qualifiers undefeated against Southeast Asian rivals, but still cannot overcome the psychological barrier against West Asian teams. Meanwhile, the V-League is witnessing the most dramatic title race in five years with four teams separated by just 3 points before the final round. But what I really care about is not on the standings. It lies beneath the surface — in the youth academies, in the changing rooms where culture is shifting, and in how fans are starting to demand more from their clubs. The changing room cannot lie — it only whispers. During my three-week return to Vietnam, I spent time at three different youth academies: PVF in Hung Yen, Nutifood JMG in Ho Chi Minh City, and the Viettel Football Academy in Hanoi. What impressed me most was not the facilities — though they have improved significantly — but the shift in coaching philosophy. Academies are no longer just focusing on physical conditioning and individual technique like when I was a young player in Vietnam. They are teaching young players how to read the game, how to handle pressure, and most importantly — how to manage their own careers. A Korean technical director at PVF told me: "We don't train footballers, we train people first. Football is just the tip of the iceberg." I noted that statement but kept some skepticism. After all, I have witnessed too many promises in football being broken. But then I met Nguyen Quang Hai, a 19-year-old midfielder playing for PVF's youth team. He is not the most outstanding talent in his cohort — not the fastest, not the most skillful. But when I asked about his training routine, Quang Hai told me about how he keeps a daily training journal, analyzes his own match videos, and sets specific goals for each month. "I learned this from a YouTube video about how European players manage themselves," he told me with a shy voice. I looked at his hands — fingers that write notes, not fingers that scroll through phones. That was the moment I realized something is genuinely changing here. Possession percentage is the most deceptive metric in modern football. Many teams grind out 60% possession with meaningless sideways and backward passes, but that does not make a difference on the scoreboard. When I watched Vietnam U19 compete at the Southeast Asian championship in July, I noticed something interesting: this team no longer plays the traditional possession-based style Vietnamese fans once took pride in. Instead, they play more direct football, with high pressing and faster transitions. In the match against Thailand U19, Vietnam U19 only had 43% possession but created 14 shots compared to the opponent's 6. They won 3-1. Not because they were weaker in possession, but because they learned that possession is not the goal — it is merely a means. Their focus is on controlling space and timing, not controlling the ball. This leads me to an important observation about the changing philosophy in Vietnamese football. Over the past decade, Vietnamese football has gone through various philosophies — from the technical style of Cong Phuong and Tuan Anh's generation, to the pragmatic approach under coach Park Hang-seo, and now the blend of high pressing and fast transitions under the new French coach. But the most interesting thing is not at the national team level. It lies in how clubs are starting to build their own identities. Hanoi FC plays a Barcelona-style possession game, while Nam Dinh FC favors a direct defensive-counterattacking approach. CAHN (Cong An Hanoi) recruits experienced players to compete immediately, while Hai Phong FC builds from youth with a much more modest budget. This diversity is a good sign for the sustainable development of Vietnamese football. I spent a day at Nam Dinh FC's headquarters — the club currently leading the 2026 V-League with a squad that has no major stars but remarkable cohesion. Their coach, a native son of Nam Dinh, shared with me how he built the team on "honesty in daily work." He said: "We don't have money to buy expensive players. But we can create an environment where every player feels important. That matters more than any tactic." I remembered that statement when I witnessed their training session — no shouting, no excessive tension, just focus and mutual respect. That is a truly professional working environment, and it reminded me of how Shenzhen Kaisa FC overcame the 2026 crisis through internal cohesion. But there are also things that concern me. The transfer race among big clubs is a brand arms race; the truly valuable contracts are at smaller clubs. When I looked at the summer 2026 transfer list, I noticed CAHN spent over 5 million USD on new signings — a massive figure for the V-League. Meanwhile, Hai Phong FC spent only about 300,000 USD but is still competing well thanks to an effective youth system. The issue is not how much money is spent, but whether it is spent in the right places. I recalled a 2026 study showing V-League clubs spend an average of 2.3 million USD on wages but only 12% of that goes to youth academies. Meanwhile, Thai clubs spend an average of 18% of their budget on youth development. This gap needs to be closed if Vietnamese football wants to develop sustainably. When the whole world was silent, 1,204 letters still resonated during lockdown. I remembered that moment when I watched Nam Dinh fans gather outside Thien Truong Stadium on a Saturday afternoon, not to watch the match (it was away) but to cheer through a big screen set up temporarily. They brought banners, flags, and even handwritten letters to the players. An elderly fan named Nguyen Van Hung, 67, told me he has followed this club since 2026, through ups and downs. "Football is not just the match on the pitch," he said. "It is community, identity, and pride for us." I looked at the letters in his hands and remembered how 1,204 handwritten letters from Shenzhen Kaisa FC fans helped the club overcome the 2026 crisis. There is a profound similarity between these two football cultures — both are nurtured by the genuine love of fans, not by money. The ball rolls through two generations, my job is to catch its rhythm. As I write this article at a coffee shop in Hanoi, looking out at Hoan Kiem Lake, I cannot help but compare Vietnamese football and Chinese football. Both are searching for a sustainable development model amid the pressure of results and the aspiration to reach Asian levels. China tried the approach of spending massive money on foreign stars and failed. Vietnam is taking a different path — the path of building from the foundation, from mornings no one sees, from handwritten letters of fans. The question is: will that path be fast enough to keep up with regional football development? I do not have a definitive answer, but I believe Vietnamese football is heading in the right direction. 12 km every morning at age 17 taught me how to wait for another promotion season. And I believe that promotion season is approaching for Vietnamese football.