The Broken Left Flank and the Personnel Puzzle: Indonesia is Smiling, but Does Vietnam Have Other Plans?

Hanoi, a late autumn afternoon. The training ground of the Vietnam Youth Football Training Center was missing the familiar laughter of the central region players. On the electronic bulletin board, the call-up list had three names crossed out. No noise. But in the world of news hunters, phone calls started heating up. An Indonesian journalist texted me: "In Jakarta, they are popping champagne." I didn't reply. Because I know, the pitch is silent, but the numbers still whisper. The backdrop is the upcoming ASEAN Cup. The Vietnam national team, under coach Kim Sang-sik, is in its preparation phase. Recently, Indonesian media stirred when reports surfaced that three key players—Van Vi, Hoang Duc, and Duy Manh—were injured and likely to miss the tournament. Articles from the archipelago did not hide their excitement: their direct competitor—if in the same group—had suddenly weakened. But as a journalist covering football and transfers for 25 years, I have learned that news of absence is only valuable when we understand exactly what that loss means. For a well-defined tactical system, losing a key player can collapse the entire plan. Conversely, if the system is designed to be flexible, the new names might be the deadly factor the opponent didn't anticipate. Let's start with Van Vi. This player emerged as a speed factor on the left flank. In Kim Sang-sik's setup, Van Vi is often deployed as a left-back or left winger with attacking tendencies. His acceleration and overlapping runs are often the key to unlocking space in front of the opponent's defense. But more importantly, in defensive transitions, Van Vi is the bridge between the defensive line and the midfield. He receives the ball from the left center-back, carries it upfield, and escapes pressure with a long pass or his own solo run. Without Van Vi, Vietnam loses not just a drill, but an escape outlet. Opponents know that if they press the build-up from the back, Vietnam will be choked. Hoang Duc is a different story. In the most recent friendly against Indonesia—a 3-0 victory—Hoang Duc played the role of creator: two crucial assists he made broke the opponent's defense. It's no coincidence that media called the Hoang Duc-Van Vi duo the "star pair" in that win. Van Vi scored the opener, Hoang Duc delivered each precise through-ball. Tactically, Hoang Duc is the link between midfield and attack, the one who makes the final passes that not everyone sees. Losing him, Vietnam lacks the vision to place the ball into the space between the opponent's center-backs. Indonesia understands this well. That's why they smiled. What about Duy Manh? The title "pillar" given by the media is enough to show his status. But what position does he play and what is his specific impact? No statistics in any article answer this. To me, this is the biggest blind spot in how Indonesian media are blowing up the story. They see the name, but not the role. Meanwhile, Kim Sang-sik is a pragmatist. I have followed his training sessions during his time at a Korean club—his squad rotation never depends on one individual. What he builds is a system, operational principles. Let's delve into the domestic transfer market. When a key player is absent, the question isn't who replaces him, but whether that player has enough quality to execute the exact role in Kim's system. I believe that, in his preliminary squad list, he already has a plan. But who is that Plan B? For Van Vi's position, perhaps a young player who is still inexperienced at international level. For Hoang Duc, the shadow is too big. Will the replacement have the same creative ability? In football, the gap between the training ground and the battlefield is huge, and not everyone can cross it. But this is where I want to go against the current. Indonesia is smiling, but are they sure Van Vi's absence makes Vietnam weaker? Look at how Kim Sang-sik operated in the recent Asian Cup: when he lost a key midfielder, he switched to a 3-4-3 formation, turning the team into a high-pressing block with two central midfielders sweeping. Van Vi isn't the only link. Without him, Vietnam can't attack via the favored left side. But in modern football, the left flank isn't necessarily the primary attacking direction. If Kim decides to funnel the ball through the center, where technically gifted midfielders like Hai Long or Quang Hai operate, then Indonesia's defense—with tall but slow center-backs—will crumble. Moreover, the real loss isn't about losing an individual, but about losing the refined partnership. The Van Vi-Hoang Duc duo understands each other so well that they could speak through eye contact. That understanding can't be replaced overnight. But football is a game of moments. A young player given the opportunity can create a surprise the opponent doesn't anticipate. I remember at the 2026 World Cup, Russia lost a key center-back before the opening match, but that's when they discovered a young, passionate central defender—and they won 5-0. Fake transfer data also knows how to cry, if we listen. Look at player valuation numbers. Before the injury, Van Vi was valued at around 2 million euros on the international market by his agent. That's a high price for a Southeast Asian full-back. Now, injury has frozen his value. But for the national team, tactical value cannot be measured in euros. The issue is the machine's ability to operate. I called an assistant to Kim Sang-sik to ask about the plan. He just smiled: "Wait and see." I understood implicitly. Indonesia is starting a media campaign to create psychological pressure. They release long analyses pointing out that Vietnam cannot win without three key players. But I have witnessed too many ASEAN Cup tournaments. Vietnam usually fails not because of missing players, but because of complacency. This time, if Kim Sang-sik turns these absences into an opportunity to test new tactics, then Indonesia might be in for a surprise. Speaking of surprises, small teams often reach the final thanks to lucky draws and one explosive match. But at the national team level, a long campaign requires squad depth. Vietnam doesn't have the depth of Japan or South Korea. So every injury is a painful puzzle. However, the coaching staff has been preparing from early on. I remember, in August, my sources told me Van Vi was unlikely to recover in time. They were hopeful then. Now that it's become reality, they definitely have a plan. The biggest question is: who will play in place of Van Vi at left-back? In the current squad, it could be Nguyen Phong Hong Duy—an experienced defender, but lacking Van Vi's speed. Or a young player like Nguyen Van Cuong—typically a right-sided player but can play on both flanks. If Kim chooses Cuong, he would bomb forward but leave space behind. That's a trade-off. For Hoang Duc's central midfield role, it may be given to Nguyen Hai Long—a player with good tactical vision, but lacking physical dueling ability. From a tactical writer's perspective, I view this through the lens of former coach Park Hang-seo. Park succeeded with a 3-4-3, but Kim Sang-sik leans toward 4-2-3-1 or 4-1-4-1. Without Van Vi, maybe he would revert to 3-4-3 with Van Thanh on the right and Dinh Duy on the left? But Dinh Duy hasn't had much playing time with the national team. Everything remains uncertain. I recall a similar situation in the 2026 World Cup qualifiers. Then, Vietnam lost center-back Dinh Trong before a match against Japan. Everyone was worried, but Thanh Chung stepped in and played so well that he silenced Japan's attackers. Football has its rules: opportunity always comes to those who are ready. And a big team is defined by how they handle crisis. Is Indonesia being overly optimistic? They forget that they themselves are struggling with injuries to Marcelino Ferdinand and some naturalized players. In the 2026 AFF Cup final, they beat Vietnam 1-0 in the group stage, then lost in the final to Thailand. Excessive confidence killed them. Now, they're confident again. But football is a 90-minute sport, not of newspaper articles. Another perspective: in modern football, national teams no longer overly rely on a single star. Vietnam's pressing system under Kim Sang-sik is built on the continuous movement of the whole collective. With Van Vi absent, other wingers like Van Khang or Van Do could be tasked. They don't have Van Vi's pace, but they compensate with youth and hunger. So what? If the opponent presses hard on the left side, they'll face a full-back who isn't afraid of contact, or a winger who knows how to hold the ball and wait for support. I am sure that in the tactical meeting room of the Indonesian team, they are glued to videos of goals by Van Vi and Hoang Duc. They build defensive drills based on those scenarios. And when these two don't play, they'll be confused: "Who is our plan for?" That's exactly when Vietnam can exploit. Contracts don't lie in paper, but in 3 am phone calls. Right now, in the middle of the night, Vietnam's scouts are still watching footage of opponents. They are looking for weaknesses in Indonesia's defense—a team with a host of Dutch-naturalized players. But football is not a simple addition. A team with many stars doesn't mean a strong collective. Looking back, whenever Vietnam was underestimated due to missing key figures, they often played better. Pressure reduces, young players get freedom to express themselves. When they are expected, they become tense. So these three absences might inadvertently become a psychological advantage for Vietnam. I end this article at 2 am, when confirmation calls are done. Outside the window, the city is asleep. But I know that negotiators in Jakarta and Hanoi haven't closed their eyes. They are calculating next moves. And I will follow every development, because the hottest trench isn't where the bombs are, but where the breaking news is. Vietnam may lose three key players, but the battle still lies ahead. The pitch is silent, but the numbers still whisper. In football, they say: "Never underestimate the heart of a champion." And I believe Coach Kim Sang-sik has a plan in mind that no Indonesian journalist can read. The Vietnamese team enters the ASEAN Cup with a bag full of questions. But the answers will be given on the pitch, where 22 players step out and prove their worth. Indonesia might pop champagne now, but I'm certain: they will have to drink water when the final whistle blows. The lesson I learned after 25 years in this profession: never trust what is written before the match, because history is always written by the winners on the pitch. And I am waiting for a new page of history.