Vietnamese Football: When V.League Lives on Set Pieces and Benefactors

When the entire commentary box in Hanoi and Ho Chi Minh City said Vietnamese football had returned to its rightful place after the ASEAN Cup 2026 title, I heard a very quiet breath of a football nation that has not yet paid off its original debt.

The trophy in Bangkok was real. Nguyen Xuan Son's goals were real. But behind that glory is a question nobody dares to ask on air: if you strip away set pieces and a few outstanding individuals, what is left of the V.League?

I follow Vietnamese football through the eyes of someone born in Vietnam but working in Shanghai - an outsider with sovereignty. I read the game through two frames of reference, and the more I look, the more I believe the 2026 title is hiding an uncomfortable truth.

A football nation growing faster than its system

This is the third time Vietnam has won the number-one regional competition, after 2026 and 2026. But unlike those two occasions, the 2026 title arrived at a moment when domestic football faced more questions than ever. The national team changed head coach just months before the tournament, when Philippe Troussier left his post after a run of disappointing results. Kim Sang-sik took over, and within a short time he led the team to the title. That story sounds beautiful, but it is also a mirror held up to the V.League.

V.League 1 is the top tier of Vietnam's professional football system, operated by the Vietnam Professional Football Joint Stock Company (VPF) under the supervision of the Vietnam Football Federation (VFF). That structure sounds proper, but if you read the clubs' balance sheets, you see a very different picture. Most clubs' revenue comes from one or two key benefactors, not from broadcasting rights, ticket sales, or brand commercialisation.

This is the point I want to pause on, because it is the root of every problem that follows.

In European football, a club survives on three revenue pillars: broadcasting rights, matchday revenue, and commercial income. In Vietnam, the first pillar is unbelievably thin. V.League broadcasting rights have been sold at a price that, split evenly among clubs, leaves each club with a figure that would not cover the wages of a few foreign players. When that pillar is weak, the burden falls entirely on the benefactor. And when the burden falls on one individual, the fate of an entire club depends on that person's mood and wallet.

That is why Vietnamese football has seen withdrawals, takeovers, and clubs changing names like shirts. Not because Vietnamese people lack passion. But because the system has not yet created a sustainable flow of money.

Set pieces: the uncrowned king of the V.League

In 2026, when the pandemic halted leagues around the world and stadiums stood empty, I went back to sit in front of the screen with dozens of old recordings. In that boredom, I started counting. I counted the goals that came from set pieces - corners, direct free kicks, long throws - across many different seasons.

The result stunned me. In many Asian leagues, including Vietnamese football, the share of goals from set pieces is far higher than in Europe's top leagues. In some seasons, nearly half of mid-table teams' goals came from phases in which the ball was never played live.

The old recordings lay there, and I put on my glasses, and I saw the future.

Why does this matter so much? Because it reveals a truth about the quality of coaching and the quality of players. When a team relies too heavily on set pieces, it means they cannot generate enough chances from live play. They lack the passing combinations sharp enough to break down an organised defence. They lack players willing to hold the ball, to dribble, to create a moment.

Set pieces are the safe solution. They are how a team that is not good enough can still score. And in a league where the gap between teams is not large, set pieces become a strategic weapon. The team that practises corners better earns more points.

But here is the trap. When you build your style on set pieces, you are building a house on sand. Because at national-team level, your opponents are no longer the familiar V.League sides. Your opponents are well-organised teams capable of defending set pieces at a far higher standard.

And that is the paradox of the Vietnam national team.

Look again at the ASEAN Cup 2026 run. Vietnam scored many important goals from set pieces and from individual moments of brilliance by Nguyen Xuan Son. That is not wrong. But it reveals a familiar model: when a moment is needed to break a deadlock, the team turns to a set piece or turns to an individual.

I do not deny the value of the victory. I only question its sustainability.

Transitions and the obsession with a missing identity

If set pieces are the king, then fast counter-attacks are the queen of Vietnamese football.

V.League teams are very good at defending and counter-attacking. They sit deep, hold their shape, and wait for the opponent's mistake. When they win the ball, they transition extremely fast, often needing only two or three passes to get the ball into the opponent's half.

This is a genuinely impressive skill. It demands discipline, fitness, and the ability to read the game. But it is also a confession. It confesses that the team is not confident enough to hold the ball and control the match. It confesses that they feel safe only when they do not have the ball.

When the entire commentary box says that counter-attacking is the identity of Vietnamese football, I heard a very quiet breath of a football nation limiting itself.

The problem is this. In modern football, the ability to control the ball has become a basic skill, no longer the privilege of big teams. Look at Japan or South Korea, and you see their teams can play both ways: they know how to counter-attack, and they know how to hold the ball and impose the tempo.

In Vietnam, very few teams can do that. And when they step up to the national team, the players must play a completely different kind of football from what they are used to at club level. They are asked to hold the ball more, to build attacks more methodically, but they have not been trained enough to do so naturally.

That is the gap between the V.League and the national team. A gap nobody wants to admit, because admitting it means admitting that a regional title does not truly reflect the real level of the football nation.

The benefactor problem and a distorted wage structure

Back to the financial story, because this is where everything begins.

In a league where collective revenue is low, clubs depend on their owners' money. This produces a harmful consequence: the wage structure becomes distorted. When a benefactor decides to spend big on a marquee signing, that player's wage can be many times the average wage of the rest of the squad.

Imagine a team with a modest average wage, and then suddenly it signs a player on an outsized package. What happens? The dressing room fractures. Older players feel treated unfairly. Motivation drops. And the benefactor, who spent the money, begins demanding immediate results to justify the investment.

This is a recipe for instability. It explains why V.League teams change coaches so often. When the money comes from one person, patience also depends on one person. And in Vietnam, patience is usually very short.

I recall reading an analysis of coach pressure in Southeast Asia, which pointed out that a V.League coach can be sacked after just two consecutive defeats. In Europe, two defeats is a bad week. In Vietnam, it can be the end of a career.

This instability has a price. It breaks the continuity of a playing philosophy. It means players never get to live inside a stable system long enough to develop. And it turns every season into a short-term race where results matter more than process.

This club does not need more money; it needs someone willing to think backwards.

The player-export pathway and its limits

There is one bright spot in this picture, and I want to give it fair treatment.

In recent years, more and more Vietnamese players have gone abroad, especially to Japan and South Korea. This is an important step forward. When a player moves to the J.League or K.League, they are exposed to a more professional environment, trained more methodically, and tested against higher-quality opponents.

FIFA's solidarity mechanism - the system that distributes a share of transfer fees to clubs that trained a player between the ages of 12 and 23 - also brings income to Vietnamese academies. This is a legitimate and far more sustainable revenue channel than depending on a benefactor.

But this pathway also has its limits.

First, the number of Vietnamese players succeeding abroad is still small. Not everyone adapts to a new environment, a new language, a higher training intensity. Many players return after a short time, carrying experience but also carrying doubt about their own ability.

Second, exporting the best players can weaken the V.League itself. If the best players all go abroad, the quality of the domestic league drops. This is a paradox many small football nations face: you need to export to grow, but exporting too much drains your resources at home.

Third, and most importantly, exporting players cannot replace building a solid youth-development system at home. If you rely only on selling players, you are living by selling assets, not by creating value.

The youth-development story: between glory and reality

In Vietnam, a few football academies are spoken of with admiration. They have produced many generations of talented players, who have worn the national shirt and gone abroad to play.

But if you look more closely, you see a problem. These academies are usually tied to a specific individual or corporation. Their existence depends on the goodwill of a founder, not on a sustainable national system.

What does this mean? It means Vietnam's youth-development foundation is being built in a scattered way, lacking overall planning. There are good academies, but they are oases in a desert. There is no national network connecting the academies, sharing methods, and creating a continuous flow of players from grassroots to professional level.

Compare that with Japan, where the youth system is tightly linked to schools and clubs, or with South Korea, where universities play a central role in developing young talent. Vietnam does not yet have such a structure.

And here is the consequence: when one generation of talented players departs, the football nation must wait for the next generation with a sense of luck. Nothing guarantees that there will always be a new batch good enough to replace them.

That is why I say the ASEAN Cup 2026 title, however beautiful, is not proof of sustainable development. It is proof of the emergence of a few outstanding individuals at the right moment.

The reverse angle: where I might be wrong

At this point, I must be honest with myself and with the reader.

I might be wrong. And I will spell out where I might be wrong.

First, I may have underestimated the power of patience. Perhaps V.League clubs are gradually learning to build long-term, and what I see is merely the residue of an older era. Time will tell.

Second, I may have focused too much on structure and ignored the human factor. Football, after all, is played by people, not by balance sheets. Some teams succeed not because they have the best system, but because they have people who inspire one another. If I look only at numbers, I may have missed that.

Third, and this is what troubles me most, I may have imposed a European standard on a Southeast Asian football nation. Perhaps Vietnam's football development does not need to follow Europe's path. Perhaps there is a separate path, suited to Vietnamese culture, resources, and people.

I have lived long enough to know that every football nation has its own rhythm. And sometimes, an outsider like me sees problems where an insider sees opportunity.

But I hold my view. Not because I am certain I am right, but because I believe a football nation can only progress when it dares to ask hard questions.

At 55, I still believe in what you call delusion - and then it comes true.

What I predict

So what do I predict for Vietnamese football in the years ahead?

I predict that the V.League will continue to depend on set pieces and fast counter-attacks, unless there is a systemic change in how coaches are trained. Because style reflects the quality of coaching, and the quality of coaching reflects the quality of the football education system.

I predict that at least one V.League club will face a financial crisis within the next two seasons, because a model dependent on a benefactor cannot withstand pressure forever.

And I predict that the national team will continue to harvest success at regional level, but will struggle against higher-tier Asian teams - unless the gap between the V.League and the national team is narrowed.

I might be wrong. But hear my reasons.

Because what I want is not to be right. What I want is a Vietnamese football nation brave enough to look straight at its own blind spots, and patient enough to build a sustainable foundation - not for one title, but for many decades ahead.

The trophy is already in the cabinet. But the real question remains open.