Road to ASIAD 20 for Vietnamese Women's Volleyball: Ambition or Illusion?

Last night, at Tran Quoc Toan stadium, when the final whistle echoed, I rose from my press seat with a familiar feeling that has haunted me for 44 years in this profession. It was a mixture of pride and anxiety — the anxiety of someone who has witnessed too many generations of Vietnamese female athletes rise and fall, yet never stopped believing in the light at the end of the tunnel.

Vietnamese women's volleyball just completed a preparation camp for ASIAD 20 with impressive results on paper: 8 wins, 2 losses in international friendly matches. But statistics are numbers, while the reality on court — the only thing I care about — is riddled with concerning gaps.

NUMBERS DON'T LIE, BUT THEY DON'T TELL THE WHOLE STORY

Mr. Nguyen Van Duc, Head of Volleyball Department at the General Department of Sports and Sports Training, announced that the team's attack success rate reached 48.3% — higher than the Southeast Asian regional average. Sounds good, but I sat in the press gallery through 6 of those matches, and my 60-year-old eyes spotted what the statistics hide: most of our friendly opponents didn't bring their strongest squads. They were saving their stars for official tournaments, testing young lineups, or simply not wanting to reveal their tactics.

What really worries me lies at the setter position. Ms. Hoang Thi Loan, 28, remains the number one option. She has been playing elite volleyball for 10 years, from SEA Games 2026 until now. Her technique is impeccable — the out-in sets, the quick middle attacks, all accurate to the last centimeter. But what I noticed from the match against Japan in April is: Loan starts slowing down in the third set.

Stamina. That is the silent enemy of every Vietnamese female athlete entering a major tournament.

LESSONS FROM THE 2026 THAILAND DEFEAT NOBODY WANTS TO REMEMBER

Twenty-three minutes. That was how long the first lost set in the 2026 SEA Games semifinal lasted before the Vietnamese women's team completely collapsed with scores of 14-25, 18-25 in the remaining sets. I sat in the press gallery in Kuala Lumpur that evening, feeling the suffocating silence from the Malaysian journalists beside me — they understood, they had lost like this before.

The cause? After the match, I slipped into the Vietnamese team's locker room, recording every whisper from the girls. Team captain Tran Thi Thu said a sentence I still remember to this day: "We weren't weak, we were tired." Thirty-six hours earlier, they had just played a 2-hour-47-minute semifinal against Indonesia. Stamina not recovered, spirit broken, and Thailand — the well-rested team — was like a machine tearing them apart.

Now, with ASIAD 20, the schedule is even more demanding. The Vietnamese women's team is in Group C alongside Japan, China, and Kazakhstan. To reach the quarterfinals, they need at least one win against one of the two major opponents. Harsh reality: Japan holds the ASIAD 2026 gold medal, China is the defending Olympic champion.

THE YOUNG STAR AND THE UNNECESSARY BURDEN

Nineteen-year-old Nguyen Thi My Linh has been dominating social media this past month. Her highlight video from the national youth league has reached 2.3 million views — a number that makes many male athletes look up in envy. Her spiking technique is truly impressive: jump speed, hitting angles, power — all showing the potential of a genuine star.

But I watched Linh train for three consecutive mornings last week. And what I saw didn't appear in any video: the girl stood before the opponent's net trembling. Every time she prepared to jump, her head turned to look at the coach as if waiting for orders. In volleyball, a split-second of hesitation is enough to end a play.

Who is to blame? I suspect most of it comes from public pressure. Vietnamese media has a habit of building monuments for youth, then destroying them faster than the speed of a smash. SEA Games 2026, the 17-year-old scored two goals against Thailand, the whole country cheered. Three months later, she was criticized for not scoring in the Asian Cup qualifiers. Six months later, she was called a "failed contract" on a sports forum.

For Linh, I only hope she gets to play, makes mistakes, grows — without carrying an entire nation's hunger for success on her shoulders.

THE UNCOMFORTABLE TRUTH ABOUT TRAINING REGIMENS

I have traveled across Southeast Asia to observe how volleyball systems develop. Thailand has a professional coaching system trained thoroughly by Germany and Japan. Indonesia invests in youth training centers with a budget equivalent to 12 billion VND per year. The Philippines hires foreign coaches with salaries that make many Vietnamese athletes gasp.

And us? The national women's volleyball training budget for 2026 is 8.5 billion VND — including coach salaries, specialists, equipment, and travel. Divided among 14 athletes in the main roster, each person receives less than 600 million VND per year. With the cost of living in Hanoi, that's barely enough to survive, not thrive.

Lack of money is not a sin. But hiding that scarcity while expecting the team to bring home medals — that is what is absurd.

WHAT I REALLY EXPECT

If you ask me: "Ms. Tran Huy, will Vietnamese women's volleyball win a medal at ASIAD 20?" — the short answer is: No. But I will still sit in the press gallery, eyes fixed on the court, recording every play, and cheering when Linh — or any girl — makes an outstanding spike.

Because sports is not just about winning or losing. It is about girls aged 19, 20, 25 daring to step onto international courts, daring to face bigger, stronger, wealthier opponents — and still standing tall until the final minute.

ASIAD 20 will be the real test. Not a test of ambition or illusion, but a test of the maturity of a system, a generation of athletes, and an entire volleyball community learning to look in the mirror for lessons.

I will be there, as I have always been there for the past 44 years. And I will write about them — with sweat and tears, not with ink.

That is my job. That is the life I have chosen.