Forgotten Golden History: Why the Founders of V-League Fade into Silence Amidst the Heat of Saigon

Every football season begins on a morning when no one is awake. But in Vietnam, that moment is not just about a team's preparation, but the anticipation of unresolved stories. I am standing on the stairs of the Thống Nhất Stadium, where the floodlights have just dimmed, looking down at the pitch. There, a silver-haired man is bending down to collect towels and water bottles. That is Anh Hai, the ground staff for 40 years. He is not a coach, not a player, but the sole living witness to the painful evolution of Vietnamese football. Many call him the 'beat keeper,' but in reality, he is just one of the ghosts of history. I am Vu Hieu, a sports journalist, and in this profession, I have learned that what appears on the field is merely the glossy layer of oil paint. Beneath it lies a cracked foundation, opaque handshakes under pressure, and the terrifying silence of predecessor generations. When I reviewed the archives of V-League since its inception in 2026 as the Ho Chi Minh Cup, I realized a harsh truth: we are building castles on sand. The story of 'decline' discussed by experts, or the exaggerated rumors about finding a 'savior' for Vietnamese football, are actually whirlpools of opacity and selfishness dating back to the very beginning. I spent three weeks verifying a single figure related to the brand ownership of clubs in the 90s, and the result was only fading papers with red stamps. This is clear proof that in football, the greatest asset is not the trophy, but transparency. Unfortunately, when looking deep into history, we see that this precious asset has always been undervalued or sacrificed for private arrangements. I recall 2026, when I followed a young team to the championship; everything was brilliant. But now, facing a darker reality, I see my own fear. I fear that writing about the truth will cost me the position of a 'neutral data referee.' However, honesty after fear always prevails. Every season begins on a morning when no one is awake, and today, this article is my effort to light a small lamp in the dark room of our football history. I realize that the career of a club is like a human life: it starts in lean years where core values are shaped. Let's look back. In the subsidy period, before professional leagues appeared, Vietnamese football was managed by emotion and state distribution. The 'perfection' of football in that era lay in its simplicity and purity, free from monetary influence. Every match was a festival, and competition was measured by sportsmanship, not media contracts. However, when stepping into the new era and professional football officially taking over, everything changed so quickly that we couldn't react in time. The initial foundation, that 'sports spirit,' was forgotten or worse, exploited to cover up personal agendas. There is a shadow in history that few dare to touch: ownership and governance. When clubs were corporatized, the line between public and private assets became blurry. Strategic decisions were often influenced by group interests, leading to clubs losing their identity and turning into 'soulless' entities chasing short-term results. I witnessed many 'ghost' transfers, many deals selling players for cheap, and behind it all was the manipulation of underground networks. This not only eroded fan trust but also killed sustainable development potential. 'People remember goals, but I remember the hands that wrote letters.' The letters from fans to the Vietnam Football Federation in the early 2000s proved this deep frustration. They didn't write about tactics; they wrote about indifference and unfulfilled promises. To clarify this, let's revisit a painful event in Vietnamese football history: the case of Saigon Dong or similar turmoil in major clubs like Viettel, Hanoi, or HCMC. At every critical moment, when a team struggled, the trap of blaming foreign coaches or players was set up as an immediate painkiller. But the truth is, the root cause lies in the management system. I always emphasize that possession ratio is the most deceptive statistic, and in this context, the rate of 'power control' is what is truly alarming. Figures on broadcasting revenue, sponsorship fees, all fell into the pockets of a small group, while infrastructure, youth training, and young player salaries remained unstable. The journey to find a 'savior' for Vietnamese football is actually a tragedy. People await some 'Superhero' to arrive with an endless bag of money to erase all debts and scandals. But everyone understands that no savior can heal a chronic disease rooted deeply in the system. Every season begins on a morning when no one is awake, and that morning is also when old debts wake up. I once interviewed a former club chairman who now lives in hiding in a province in the West. He didn't hesitate to admit that during his tenure, he had compromised many things, including his reputation, to keep the club alive. 'We had no choice,' he said. 'If we didn't compromise, the club would die.' This sentence stunned me but also helped me understand the paradox of Vietnamese football. It forces individuals to become 'ideal traitors' to protect the organization. The second perspective, from the managers, is no less complex. They always justify that in the transition period, flexibility is necessary. But this flexibility has gone beyond ethical boundaries. Oral agreements, unclear supplementary contracts, and especially the lack of financial transparency have created a grey zone allowing corruption to flourish. I want to stress that this is not a personal accusation, but an analysis of the mechanism. When the mechanism is unclear, people are easily tempted. And Vietnamese football, with its special status, is always an attractive 'bargain' for those with ambitions. To make this clearer, let's make a comparison. Look at the history of clubs in Thailand or Indonesia. They also went through chaotic periods with similar scandals. But the difference lies in their ability to self-correct. They pushed for financial transparency, restructured leadership, and focused on youth training. Meanwhile, Vietnamese football keeps repeating old mistakes, with familiar names returning to old positions, carrying old management mindsets. This repetition is the reason for our backwardness. 'The dressing room doesn't know how to lie—it only whispers.' Those whispers today have become the screams of the audience. I also wonder about the role of media. In recent years, sports journalism has become dependent on club sources. We are 'swallowed' by business trips, lavish meals, and importantly, limited access to exclusive information. This invisibly creates a protective layer, preventing hot truths from being exposed. As someone who has worked in the field for 5 years, I feel guilty realizing I have also been sucked into this vortex. But now, standing outside, looking back, I want to call for change. We need frank articles, open discussions, and most importantly, community supervision. A question arises for those seeking solutions: Is there really a need to wait for a new 'king' to appear? The answer is no. Because, as I analyzed above, the core problem does not lie with the ruler, but with the system. If the system isn't changed, whoever takes the position will be devoured by the system or transform into a part of it. 'When the whole world is silent, 1,204 letters still resonate amidst the lockdown.' Those letters are the voice of the people, of those who truly love football. They don't need a savior; they need a transparent mechanism and fair rules. I also want to mention the role of 'moneymen.' The current transfer market is like an arms race of branding. Giants compete to buy big stars, spending record sums to promote their image and extend short-term longevity. But in smaller teams, the truly valuable deals lie in investing in youth, technique, and mentality. This gap grows wider and wider, creating an unbridgeable distance. We are witnessing the collapse of an entire generation of young players due to lack of playing time and proper attention. So, how to escape this vicious cycle? I believe the first and most important step is to make all financial and governance aspects transparent. Each club needs a balanced, transparent statement audited independently. Every transfer transaction, every sponsorship contract, every operational cost must be widely published. Only when transparency is achieved can we start to rebuild trust. Simultaneously, tight supervision from the Vietnam Football Federation is needed, not just at the national level but also at the club level. Regulations on ownership and the rights of owners need to be written clearly to avoid loopholes for blind commercialization. Remember, your heart beats to two rhythms—and both burn. The first rhythm is the heartbeat of national pride, the desire to win. The second rhythm is the heartbeat of responsibility, the consciousness of building a solid foundation. I believe that if we take the time to look at history, learn from mistakes, and courageously face the truth, Vietnamese football can completely rise again. No need for a 'king,' only for those who truly love football to stand up and say no to corruption. Finally, I want to end with an image. I am standing there, on the stadium stairs, watching Anh Hai clean up. He stops, looks at me, and smiles. 'Teacher, the team lost again today.' I nod, having nothing to say. But inside, a new decision is forming. I will continue to write, continue to ask questions, and continue to seek the truth. Because, as the old saying goes: '12 km every morning at age 17 taught me how to wait for another promotion season.' And that promotion season is not just for clubs, but for an entire football culture.