The Haunting Double Absence: When Vietnam's Attack Becomes a 'Scrapheap'

I sat alone in the empty press room in Bandung, the smell of artificial turf still clinging to my shoes and the printer slowly spitting out a statistic sheet with just two lines: Xuan Son injured, Gia Hung returning home for family reasons. No xG, no PPDA, no heat map. Just one bare fact: Vietnam entered the match against Pakistan with exactly three recognised strikers – Dinh Bac, Tai Loc, Minh Hoang. Three names for an attack that was once expected to make a difference in a tournament whose official name remains a big question mark: 'FIFA ASEAN Cup 2026' – a designation that does not exist within the AFF or FIFA systems. On the pitch, the team had just suffered a 0-2 defeat to Thailand, a side described as having 'assembled all their strongest players'. In the stands, a figure who had just returned after 18 months – Minh Khoa – was awkwardly standing in for the coaching staff to reassure public opinion. All of it wrapped in one cold reality: the campaign has moved away from the title objective and is now merely a 'dignity-saving' exercise against Pakistan.

To understand how Vietnam fell into this state, one must place the Thailand defeat in its proper context. This was not a tactical watershed, but the result of a confluence between losing two attacking spearheads at different points and facing an opponent that had mobilised in full. Xuan Son – the naturalised target-man striker – left the tournament injured. Gia Hung – a backup forward option – requested to return home for personal reasons. These two departures were not simply 'losing two bodies', but losing two different types of striker: one who plays with strength and aerial ability, one who plays with pace and movement. The diversity that was once the attack's weapon has now been narrowed to three. In that context, coach Kim Sang Sik's inability to switch between a two-striker and a one-striker system is an inevitable consequence of personnel, not of tactical choice. Thailand – with a squad rated as the strongest in the region at this moment – exploited that gap ruthlessly. The 0-2 defeat therefore carries the meaning of a squad-quality gap, not a single mistake on the coaching bench.

What is worth discussing is how Vietnam handled this personnel shock. The attack has three names left, and none of them are the type of striker who can create something out of nothing. Dinh Bac, Tai Loc, Minh Hoang – they are young, energetic players, but lacking experience in big matches and lacking the 'carrying the team' characteristic that Xuan Son once displayed. The midfield is therefore forced to play deeper, ceding space for wide build-up instead of through-balls. This is the logical response of any team that loses its main striker: pulling the whole system back a notch, increasing ball control in the middle third, and relying on set pieces. But when the opponent is Thailand – a team capable of high pressing and extremely quick transitions – dropping deep only exposes the defence further to attacking waves. The 0-2 defeat, therefore, did not come from Vietnam playing the wrong tactics, but from the team no longer having enough resources to play the right tactics. When you only have three strikers, every rotation becomes a trade-off between fitness and injury risk. One more injury in the attacking line means pushing a midfielder or a defender forward – a scenario no one wants to contemplate.

There is a detail few noticed: in the tournament registration list, Vietnam had only five recognised strikers. After losing Xuan Son and Gia Hung, that number drops to three. This is a dangerously thin reserve for a team considered a regional 'big gun'. Thailand, by contrast, brought their strongest squad to the tournament, with depth in every position. This contrast reflects not only player quality but also a philosophy of national-team building: one side prepared thoroughly for a long tournament, the other depended on a few key individuals. When Xuan Son – once expected to be the number one spearhead – suffered an injury, Vietnam's attacking system lost its anchor point. This was a structural risk that had been predicted, yet no commensurate replacement plan was prepared. Minh Khoa, in the role of reluctant spokesperson, spoke of 'times to win and times to lose' and urged fans to be patient. But behind those reassurances lies a reality: the team is facing significant psychological pressure, when the person speaking after defeat is a player who has just returned after 18 months away, not the captain or a senior star. This partly shows the coaching staff is trying to cool public opinion by choosing the least scrutinised face.

But there is a counter-intuitive angle few dare to admit: losing Xuan Son is not just losing a striker, but a blow to Vietnam's entire naturalisation project.

For many years, Xuan Son has been the symbol of a focused naturalisation policy: seeking overseas Vietnamese or eligible foreign players to fill positions that domestic football cannot produce. The central striker, with aerial ability and finishing inside the box, is precisely the position that domestic academies have long failed to generate. When Xuan Son was injured and left the tournament, Vietnam lost not just a player – the team lost the shield for a long-term strategy. If Xuan Son cannot play, the pressure on domestic strikers like Dinh Bac or Tai Loc will multiply, while fan expectations remain anchored to the image of a naturalised centre-forward who once shone. This creates a paradox: the more Vietnam depends on naturalisation, the less it invests in developing domestic strikers. And when a naturalised pillar suffers injury, the system collapses faster than anyone could imagine.

Furthermore, there is a suspicious sign about the very authenticity of this tournament. The name 'FIFA ASEAN Cup 2026' does not exist in the official competition system of FIFA or AFF. The Southeast Asian national-team championship – commonly known as the AFF Cup – takes place in November and December, not September and October. A match reportedly held on 2 October in Indonesia, with training in Bandung, does not match any official calendar. This raises questions about the true nature of the event: is it a youth-level friendly tournament, an unrecognised regional event, or simply an inaccurate shorthand from the media outlet? The answer affects not only how Vietnam's defeat should be assessed, but also the value of any analysis derived from it.

If the tournament is not an official FIFA-ranked event, the Thailand defeat carries less significance in terms of ranking, but is all the more concerning psychologically. For when facing Thailand at any level, Vietnamese fans still expect a positive result – and when that expectation is not met, pressure on the coach and players still rises regardless of the tournament's nature. Moreover, losing two strikers before a match against a lower-rated opponent like Pakistan poses another problem: can Vietnam score, when the attack consists only of unproven names? The Pakistan match is therefore no longer a 'formality', but a genuine test of the entire system's adaptability.

From another angle, this personnel crisis also exposes a reality about team management. Gia Hung's request to return home for family reasons is a personal decision that cannot be judged morally, but it raises questions about the assessment and contingency process for centralised tournaments. In modern football, taking only five strikers to a multi-week tournament is an unnecessary risk, especially when regional tournaments are dense and physically demanding. The coaching staff perhaps trusted the adaptability of attacking midfielders and versatile players, but reality shows that trust was not repaid. When Minh Khoa – a midfielder – had to be the one speaking after defeat, it also showed the remaining strikers were not mature enough to handle media duties, or influential enough to reassure public opinion.

The biggest question for the future is not how to beat Pakistan, but how to rebuild an attack capable of competing at regional level without depending on a few individuals. Looking at Thailand – with a squad rated the strongest in years – one thing is clear: their stability comes from diversity of personnel, not just from one star. Vietnam, by contrast, is showing signs of a team 'locked' into a small number of key players. When those players cannot play, the system not only weakens – it loses its identity. And in a tournament whose very name is under suspicion, clinging to personnel lessons becomes more urgent than ever.

The absence of Xuan Son and Gia Hung is not the sole cause of the Thailand defeat, but it is a reminder that elite football does not forgive hasty preparation. A team can win through a moment of individual brilliance, but to endure over a long cycle, it needs a system that can function even when key links are missing. With three strikers left, Vietnam still has a chance to prove they are not just a collection of names, but a collective capable of adapting. The Pakistan match is therefore not just a third-place playoff – it is an opportunity to answer the question: does this team have the character to rise after the shock, or will it continue to sink into the vortex of dependency?

I still keep the notebook from my days at the Levante academy, where I learned to watch a boy play football for three hours just to perfect his touch rhythm. Football is not made of glamorous moments, but of habits forged in silence. Vietnam's national team lacks those habits – the habits of an attack that can stand on its own without someone carrying it. And when you look at a bench with only three names, you do not see a regional powerhouse – you see a scrapheap of unfinished intentions.