Ulsan Dawn and the Personnel Puzzle of Vietnamese Football

The dawn in Ulsan never lies. But there are personnel puzzles that even the earliest sunlight cannot fully illuminate. I still answer the phone at 4 AM, a habit of twenty years from my days as a commentator in Busan. This call was not from Ulsan Hyundai, but from a colleague in Hanoi, asking my view on a domestic transfer debate: the young players from the PVF academy being loaned to different clubs, and a major club wanting to gather them under one roof. Modern football runs on money, but the dawn call runs on trust. I have witnessed too many failed transfers because parties only looked at the numbers on the contract, forgetting that players are human beings, not assets to be transferred. The regular season of the V.League is entering its decisive phase. From afar, I see a paradox: Vietnamese clubs spend tens of billions of dong to bring in foreign players from Brazil and Europe, yet leave their own talented young players on the bench or loan them out without a clear strategy. The problem is not a lack of talent, but a lack of a system to nurture and use them properly. I remember 2026, when Son Heung-min was vilified for his World Cup performance. Korean netizens called him 'a jogger who cannot score.' But I looked at the data: 11.2 km covered in the match against Mexico, the most on the team. He did not lack effort; he lacked patience from the fans. Vietnamese football is the same. The U23 generation that made history in Changzhou 2026 is now 26-27 years old, and I see many of them being worn down by short-term performance pressure instead of being developed on a long-term path. Let's talk about data. xG – expected goals – is being overused in Vietnamese football analysis. I recently read an article concluding that a club was 'overperforming xG' and would soon be relegated. But xG does not explain why that team won four consecutive home matches, where the crowd creates tremendous pressure on referees and opponents. It also cannot measure the spirit of a team fighting for survival. I have followed football for 45 years, and I have learned that people are not charts. Fans see a contract; I see the sleepless nights behind it. When a major club spends 30 billion dong on a 32-year-old foreign striker, I do not look at his goals in the Thai League. I look at the contract: a two-year term, a 500 million dong monthly wage, and a release clause if the club is relegated. That is a gamble, not a strategy. Back to the PVF generation story. I watched footage of Nguyen Van Truong – a 19-year-old central midfielder on loan at a First Division club. He has a rare tactical vision: he always knows how to move into the space between two opposing midfielders, and he can pass long distances accurately with both feet. But the problem is he only plays 60% of matches, and the coach of the loan club prefers a 28-year-old foreign midfielder with better physicality. No one says he is bad; it is just that the system is not designed to develop him. The empty summer of 2026, Kim Min-jae canceled his contract with a European club due to the pandemic, and football stood still for us to reflect. I wrote then that football is not just matches, but a system that nurtures people. Kim Min-jae could cancel a contract, but no one can cancel the trust I placed in him. Vietnamese football needs to learn that: investing in people is a long-term investment, not seasonal trading. I want to address an often-overlooked aspect: the role of scouts. In South Korea, every K League club has at least five full-time scouts, and they have the power to veto transfers the coach wants if the data does not support them. In Vietnam, I know many clubs with only one or two part-time scouts, and transfer decisions often rest with agents or club owners. The result is emotional contracts without cross-verification. I witnessed a typical case: a V.League club spent 15 billion dong on a striker who scored 12 goals in the First Division. But when I examined those 12 goals, 8 came from penalties or counter-attacks with vast open space. In the V.League, where teams defend in numbers, he would not have that space. Sure enough, after six months, he scored only 2 goals and was loaned out. No one took responsibility, and the player suffered. Vietnamese football stands at a crossroads. On one hand, the national team's success under coach Park Hang-seo has created an unprecedented wave of investment. On the other hand, clubs still operate in a 'every man for himself' manner, lacking a common strategy for youth development. I am not saying Vietnam should copy the Korean or Japanese model, but I believe there needs to be a shared data foundation so clubs can make more informed decisions. I remember a night in Busan, sitting with a friend who scouts for Ulsan Hyundai. He told me: 'You know, we watch a young player at least 20 matches before recommending a contract. We watch him play, watch him train, watch him eat, watch how he treats the stadium janitor. Because signing a player is signing the whole person.' Modern football runs on money, but the dawn call runs on trust. At 61, I still answer the phone at 4 AM – because Ulsan does not call to say goodnight. And I believe Vietnamese football, with its dedicated people, can build a sustainable system. But that requires patience – the very thing the transfer market always lacks. The question is not 'who will win the league this season,' but 'whether we have enough patience to build a real football foundation.' The dawn in Ulsan never lies, and I hope Vietnamese football does the same – not lying to itself, not lying to the fans, and not lying to the young players who need a system to develop.