Vietnam 4-2 Pakistan: A Brilliant Comeback and the Cracks Left Unhealed

In the 50th minute, as Vietnam pushed its entire formation into Pakistan's half, I scribbled two words into my notebook: "still the same." Not because I doubted the final outcome. But because the way the red-shirted defense allowed the opposition to approach the goal — in a match where Kim Sang-sik's side held almost total control of the ball — repeated an old pattern that would make any long-time observer of regional football frown. After the first 45 minutes, Vietnam was behind. That goal came from a momentary lapse in concentration by the defense, not from a moment of brilliance by the opponent. A team that dominates possession yet concedes first because of a single distracted instant — that is the sign of an illness that has sunk deep into the system. The second half turned the match completely around. Hai Long equalized early in the half with a decisive finish. Then Nguyen Hoang Duc — the conductor of the midfield — appeared unexpectedly inside the box, met a perfectly weighted pass, and finished cleanly. Dinh Bac, the young striker, dribbled through the opposing defense and scored a solo goal that silenced the Gelora Bung Karno stadium for an instant. In stoppage time, Williams Minh Hoang sealed the 4-2 scoreline. It sounds like a complete evening. But I sat for a long time after the final whistle, and what lingered in me was not the four goals, but the two conceded. Before going deeper into the match, it must be placed in its proper context. This was the final group-stage fixture, and Vietnam entered it needing a win to keep hope alive. The outcome fell short of expectations: the red-shirted side finished only as Group B runner-up and failed to reach the final. For a national team that has won the regional crown, being forced into a third-place match is a painful step backward. The next match — against Malaysia, the Group A runner-up — will take place on Monday, October 5, 2026. It is a match between teams of the same caliber, sharing the same disappointment, and the same desire to salvage a tournament that is no longer theirs. It must be added that this year's tournament context contains some anomalies. The presence of Pakistan — a nation from South Asia, not a member of the Southeast Asian football federation — in a regional group is unusual. The centralized organization in Jakarta also differs from the norm for regional tournaments, which usually follow a home-and-away format. These details do not change the essence of the match, but they remind me that regional football is in a phase of transition, searching for new organizational models. And in such phases of transition, stability on the pitch becomes all the more precious. Looking at the style of play, a fairly clear tactical shape emerges. Kim Sang-sik has built his team around possession, with a mobile midfield and fast, attack-minded wingers. Against Pakistan, that shape operated exactly as designed for most of the match: the ball was circulated from the back to the front, the midfielders constantly swapped positions, and the full-backs pushed high to create pressure. The brightest point tactically lies in the scoring model. Both Hai Long and Hoang Duc are midfielders who enter the box at the right moment. They are not fixed center-forwards waiting for the ball, but rather shadows darting into the space behind the opposing defense. That is the hallmark of an attacking system built on off-the-ball movement, where goals come from the collective rather than from a lone individual. When a central midfielder like Hoang Duc dares to push as high as the penalty area, it is a signal that the coach has granted him freedom — and that freedom was repaid with a goal. Beyond that, Dinh Bac's solo goal revealed another quality: the ability of an individual to change the state of play. When the system is stifled, a young player willing to dribble past three defenders can still make the difference. This is a precious asset, because great teams need both — a smoothly operating machine and a moment of genius to break the balance. On an evening when the system did its job, it was that individual moment that people will remember longest. In the pouring rain of chaotic passages of play, I saw a star no one had ever looked up at — and its name was Dinh Bac. The appearance of Williams Minh Hoang, who scored in stoppage time, also deserves mention. A player coming off the bench and immediately leaving his mark is something every coach wants. It shows the depth of the squad, and it shows that Vietnam's bench is not merely there to fill gaps, but can genuinely make a difference. But it is precisely the contrast between attack and defense that is worrying. Vietnam conceded first through a lapse at the back, and conceded again late in the match, all while controlling possession. Those two goals did not come from elaborate combinations by the opponent, but from the gaps that open up when a team pushes high. When the full-backs surge forward to support the attack, the space behind them becomes fertile ground for counter-attacks. That is the price of a possession-based style: you have the ball, but you also expose your weaknesses. Notably, the quantitative data for this match is very limited. There is no expected-goals metric, no defensive-pressure metric, no specific possession figure. All we have is a qualitative description: Vietnam dominated the game. But dominating the game while still conceding twice, and still needing stoppage time to seal the win, means the very notion of dominating deserves a question mark. Modern football has taught us that possession only has value when it comes with solid defending. A team that holds seventy percent of the ball but concedes twice — that number means nothing beyond decorating the stat sheet. Here, I want to offer a blunt word. This was not a victory of character, but a victory of luck blended with individual quality. Vietnam won because the opponent was weaker, because it was fitter in the second half, and because it had individuals capable of creating moments of difference. But a team that wants to win the region cannot rely on coming from behind after conceding first. The pattern of conceding first and then rising is an unsustainable winning mechanism. It only works when the opponent is weak enough for you to correct your mistakes. Against Thailand, against Indonesia, against an opponent that knows how to punish errors, that gap will no longer be so easy to fill. This is precisely the biggest blind spot of collective memory. After a 4-2 win, people will remember the four goals, will praise Dinh Bac, will applaud the second-half explosion. Very few will remember that the team conceded first and conceded again. Collective memory tends to remember the scoreline and forget the process. But it is the process that determines a team's fate in the big matches. A win that still exposes two cracks is not a complete win — it is merely a win concealed by the light of four goals. I have followed regional football for more than four decades, and I have learned one thing: champion teams are not the ones that score the most goals, but the ones that concede the fewest at decisive moments. Vietnam tonight scored four, but conceded twice. That number, if repeated in the third-place match, could be the full stop on a tournament. The pressure on coach Kim Sang-sik is high. A national team that has won the regional crown being forced into a third-place match is not easy for fans to accept. He will face questions about his tournament approach, about squad rotation, about why the team keeps conceding first so often. A win in the third-place match will soothe public opinion somewhat, but it will not erase the feeling of a tournament that has slipped from reach. There is one more thing that troubles me: the value of individual performances. A solo goal like Dinh Bac's, or a finish like Hai Long's, can raise a player's transfer value on the international market. Regional tournaments have long been a stage for young players to introduce themselves to clubs in Japan, South Korea, or Thailand. But the transfer market is where dreams are priced in black and white, and one good match has never been enough to guarantee a future. Dinh Bac and Hai Long will need more than that — they will need stability, maturity, and above all an environment that knows how to nurture talent. Regional football is changing very fast. Football nations in the region are investing heavily in youth development, in modern training centers, in sending players abroad. Meanwhile, a team like Vietnam — with its deep tradition and a generation of talented players — is struggling to find itself again. Finishing only as group runner-up, being forced into a third-place match, is a reminder that past achievements do not guarantee the future. Football does not live on memory; it lives in the present. The ball does not lie, but it knows how to tell a story — and the story it is telling about Vietnam right now is the story of a team with much work still to do. I remember a rainy evening in Shenzhen years ago, when I sat alone in an empty stand to rewatch match footage. When the stadium is empty, I learned to listen to the echo. That night I learned that the beauty of football lies not in the scoreline, but in the smallest details — a run, a pass, a momentary lapse. And from that, I understood that a win can hide more than a loss. The third-place match against Malaysia will be a test. Not a test of talent — Vietnam has enough talent. But a test of concentration, of the ability to repair the cracks, of whether the team can win without needing a comeback. If the defense still concedes first, if the team still needs stoppage time to decide its fate, then the problem is not luck, but the system. Malaysia, as Group A runner-up, is an opponent of the same caliber — no stronger, no weaker. It is the most accurate mirror of Vietnamese football's true standing right now. At 61, I still believe the most beautiful match is the one that never took place — because in that match, every mistake can be corrected, every crack can be healed. But football does not let us live in the match that never took place. It forces us to face what has happened, and to choose: to learn from it, or to let it repeat. For Vietnam, that choice will be made on Monday, on the Jakarta pitch, before millions of witnesses. And I, as always, will sit for a long time after the final whistle.