From Empty Stands to the World Cup: The Journey of Vietnam's Women

In the early morning of July 22, 2026, I sat in the stands of Eden Park in Auckland, surrounded by an ocean of white shirts from American supporters. As the Vietnamese national anthem played, a man standing beside me wiped away tears. He was an assistant coach of the national women's team, a man who had devoted nearly thirty years to women's football. In that moment, I realized we were not just witnessing a match; we were witnessing the destination of a long, arduous journey. The match against the United States ended 0-3. The scoreline held no surprises, but the performance of goalkeeper Tran Thi Kim Thanh was a true surprise. She repeatedly denied shots from world champions. There were moments when a goal seemed inevitable, but Kim Thanh's gloves kept the ball out. In the stands, Vietnamese fans cheered after every save, while I quietly took notes. For me, the story was not about the 3-0 scoreline. The story began long before, in the empty stands of the national championship. In 2026, I had just graduated with a degree in sports journalism and started my first job at an online newsroom in Da Nang. My first assignment was the opening match of the national women's football championship between Hanoi I and Ho Chi Minh City I in Thanh Hoa. I met Nguyen Thi Tuyet Dung, a small midfielder with bright eyes. After the match, she shyly avoided the cameras. I sat with her for 45 minutes, talking about her family in Tuyen Quang, about late dinners after training, about her dream of wearing the national jersey. Forty-five minutes on the sideline, a lifetime that never grows old. My article about Tuyet Dung, titled 'The 24-Year-Old Girl Carrying a Thousand Villagers on Her Shoulders,' was shared over three thousand times. But what I remember most is not that number. I remember the empty stands, the long rows of vacant seats. In Russia in 2026, while the whole world focused on the men's World Cup, I heard many empty seats bearing women's names. That has been an obsession, not just for me, but for all who love women's football. To understand the significance of Vietnam's appearance at the 2026 World Cup, we need to turn back time. Women's football in Vietnam was born with nothing: no proper pitch, no money, no attention. The players of the early 2000s trained on dirt fields and earned wages that barely covered their daily expenses. They trained with the same intensity as men but received far less support. They had to buy their own boots and arrange their own meals. Strength coaches, data analysts, dedicated physiotherapists—these were almost nonexistent. Coach Mai Duc Chung, an elderly mentor who dedicated his life to women's football, often had to serve as manager, psychologist, and sometimes father figure. He once told me in conversation: 'We don't have much, but we have girls who dare to dream.' Those dreams carried the team through everything. At the 2026 Women's Asian Cup in India, Vietnam faced countless difficulties. The Covid-19 pandemic had infected many players, severely depleting the squad. In one match, they played with just enough players to field a team; when one was injured and had to leave, there was no substitute. Yet they still advanced from the group stage. They lost to China in the quarterfinals, but Tuyet Dung's penalty goal gave the team belief that miracles could happen. The playoff match against Thailand for a World Cup spot remains one of the most memorable matches in Vietnamese women's football history. In Mumbai, Vietnam played with extraordinary courage. They defended compactly, waiting for an opportunity. A clever header from a corner found the back of the net. Joy erupted, and the final minutes felt like an eternity as the defense cleared the ball again and again. When the final whistle blew, the entire team collapsed onto the pitch in tears. Vietnam had secured a ticket to Australia and New Zealand. Yet the World Cup story is not just about that ticket. It is a story about the gap in standards, laid bare. In Group E, Vietnam was drawn with the United States, the Netherlands, and Portugal. Against the US, Vietnam defended deep with a 5-4-1 formation. Mai Duc Chung's plan was clear: minimize the damage, wait for a counterattack. But the pressure from the Americans was overwhelming. They pressed Vietnam in their own half, constantly testing the backline. Even so, Kim Thanh had a sensational match, making a series of stunning saves against Alex Morgan and her teammates. The match against Portugal showed Vietnam's progress. They were more confident, with more purposeful attacks. But the gap in speed and physicality remained too large. Portugal scored twice, and Vietnam could not find a consolation goal. The aftermath left a big question: with better investment, what could these Vietnamese women achieve on the world stage? The final match against the Netherlands was a shock. The Dutch, one of the strongest teams in the world, played with overwhelming power. They passed quickly, moved intelligently off the ball, and converted their chances ruthlessly. Vietnam lost 0-7. In the stands, many Vietnamese fans could not hold back tears. But in that disappointment, I saw something important: no player gave up. They ran to the final minutes, rebuilding their defensive lines after every goal. The seventh goal ended the match, but that spirit continued. In total, Vietnam left the World Cup with zero goals, twelve conceded, and zero points. Some might call that a failure. But I believe the measure of progress is not the scoreboard. Vietnam's presence at the World Cup shattered a stereotype: Vietnamese women can play high-level football and compete with the world's best. More importantly, it inspired a generation of young girls. In the stands, I saw girls wearing number 7 and number 9 jerseys, dreaming of being like Huynh Nhu or Tuyet Dung. Journalists often ask me about goals and points. But after every goal, I ask: which woman lost sleep over it? Was it the mother waiting late for her daughter to return from training? Was it the volunteer coach who also served as team doctor? Was it the little girl nurturing a football dream amid skeptical stares? When the stadium is empty, ordinary voices become leaders. I have witnessed this at many domestic tournaments, where without spectators or television, players organize themselves, motivate each other, and become heroes in their own right. The World Cup gave them a big stage, but what they brought to that stage was forged in thousands of matches with empty stands. The contrarian view I want to share: we should not romanticize the Vietnamese women's team story solely through spirit. The fighting spirit is real, but it should not be used to mask a lack of investment. At the World Cup, the Netherlands could rely on a development system with over 160,000 registered players. Vietnam relied on a few hundred athletes in training centers. We take pride in spirit, but spirit cannot substitute for a proper youth league, a system of certified coaches, sports doctors, and nutritionists. If we merely applaud 'fighting spirit' while avoiding questions about resources, the empty stands at domestic matches will remain. We also should not judge Vietnamese women's football against top teams solely on match results. The 0-7 scoreline against the Netherlands reflects the gap in level, but it does not reflect a lack of effort. The team played to their strengths and their tactics, and they learned more than any victory could have taught them. More importantly, they laid a foundation for a future where young girls can dream of becoming professional players without being looked down upon. Forty-five minutes on the sideline, a lifetime that never grows old. I remember Tuyet Dung's words in our first conversation: 'I want to prove that girls from the highlands can do it.' She did more than that. She became part of history. And her story, the story of the girls who brought the red flag with yellow star to the World Cup, will never grow old. So the final question is not for those girls. It is for football administrators, managers, and investors: are we brave enough to fill the empty stands? Are we willing to invest so that those girls do not have to lose sleep over training costs, so they can focus entirely on the ball? Vietnamese women's football has proven they deserve it. Now it is our turn to answer. I believe in change. Because a new generation was born in the summer of 2026. The little girls in the stands, the children watching on television screens in remote villages, they have seen role models to follow. When a child says, 'I want to become a female footballer,' that is when the real journey begins. And then, the empty stands on the terraces will no longer be a symbol of neglect, but a testament to a future waiting to be written.