U20 Vietnam – Palestine: A Fever Needs No Reason, But It Needs a Goal

Viet Tri, an early afternoon of the year, I stood on the stadium stands looking down. The pitch was still green, but I could not forget the image of three goals conceded against U20 North Korea in the opening match. Not because the 0-3 scoreline was too cruel, but because of the way our young team was drawn into the physical whirlwind of the opponent. I remember someone once said: "The pitch is not just where the ball rolls, but where dreams land." But that afternoon, the dream of U20 Vietnam did not land; it fell freely. At fifty-two, I first learned what the World Cup was — a fever that needs no reason. And now, at sixty, I still chase that fever through every match of the young generation. The match against U20 Palestine is not just a qualifying game. It is an excavation: what will we unearth from the sediment of the first defeat? The context is actually very clear. U20 Vietnam is on the brink after a 0-3 loss to U20 North Korea. Palestine, a team rated lower, is a suitable opponent to find life again. But football never operates by formula. Palestine has good physicality, plays aerial balls, and does not shy away from contact. They do not organize their defense well, but they compensate with strength and passion. Meanwhile, Vietnam is missing Nguyen Le Phat — an important link in midfield. This absence, for whatever reason, leaves a large gap in the ability to connect midfield and attack. I have watched the footage of the North Korea match over and over. Not to find faults, but to find rhythm. There is one detail that haunts me: at the second goal conceded, our young players stood looking at each other, no one saying anything. That is not a tactical problem. That is a problem of silence in the soul. When you lose a match because of physicality, you can train more. But when you lose because of disconnection, you must find yourself again. Coach Yutaka Ikeuchi certainly has his plans. From what I observe, he is not a fan of slow, possession-based play. He wants speed, quick passes to exploit the spaces behind the opponent's defensive line. Palestine does not defend well organizationally, but they have physicality. If Vietnam keeps playing long balls, we will lose in duels. But if we speed up ball circulation, deliver the ball into the spaces Palestine's defense leaves open, then the pace of Tran Gia Bao or Hoang Cong Hau will become a lethal weapon. Footy Stats gives a 63% win probability for Vietnam and a 72% probability of over 2.5 goals. These numbers, I must look at with skeptical eyes. Not because I do not trust data, but because I have witnessed too many matches where data cannot foresee the fragility of emotions. A missed penalty in the 88th minute, a desperate tackle by a defender, a sudden rain — all can change the outcome. Data is a tool, but the ball is round and it rolls its own way. What I want to say here, the contrarian view I want to bring, is about the very concept of a "must-win match." We often think pressure will make young players fearful. But I believe that, for the young, pressure can sometimes be a catalyst. They do not have many memories to fear. They do not know the historical failures of previous generations. They only know they need to run, to pass, to score. That innocence, sometimes, is the most dangerous weapon. Palestine may be physically stronger, but they are also under pressure to win to keep their hopes alive. In this match, whoever stays calm in the fever will win. I remember another story, not about football, but about a radio station. In 2026, I accidentally recorded a moment when goalkeeper Van Cong saved a penalty with a "save against prediction" reflex — he moved to the right while his eyes looked left. That footage was used by a new sports radio station as a discussion topic. I went on air to explain the perspective that "a goalkeeper is a poet of the penalty area, writing with his body instead of words." The match ended 2-1, and Van Cong was voted man of the match. I tell this story to remind myself that football is not just tactics, not just data. Football is those moments when humans rise above themselves, by instinct, by heart, by something that cannot be named. U20 Vietnam needs such a moment against Palestine. They need a hero, not necessarily the goalscorer, but someone who keeps the rhythm, who ignites the fire, who stands up and says something in the dressing room that makes everyone look in the same direction. I do not know who Coach Ikeuchi will choose, how he will set up the team. But I know that if this team finds its connection again, if they play as a unified block, then Palestine is not an insurmountable opponent. I also want to talk about Nguyen Le Phat. His absence is a loss, but not the end. In football, there are players who leave so others can grow. There are gaps created so others can fill them. I believe someone in this squad will step up, will take responsibility, will prove that the team does not depend on one individual. That is how dreams are nurtured — not by dependence, but by trust in the collective. Tactically, I want to see a Vietnam that plays faster, more direct. Not the boring possession football, but football that knows how to hurt the opponent. Let Tran Gia Bao and Hoang Cong Hau have space to run. Let through-balls become a weapon. Let Palestine chase the ball, chase our quick young players. When the opponent is tired, when they lose focus, that is when we strike the decisive blow. But I also want to warn about another scenario. If Palestine chooses to defend deep, ceding the game to Vietnam, then our pace becomes useless. Then we face a wall, and breaking that wall requires patience, technique, and small combinations. Does U20 Vietnam have enough patience? Do they have enough composure not to rush? That is a question only the match can answer. I remember Euro 2026, when I met Breel Embolo right after he came on as a substitute and scored the equalizer against France. He said: "I don't remember the feeling of touching the ball, I only remember breathing like a hunted animal for 12 minutes." I used that quote as the title of my film: "12 Minutes of the Predator." I tell this story because I believe that, in the match against Palestine, there will be young Vietnamese players stepping onto the pitch with a similar feeling. They will breathe like hunted animals, but in that very moment, they will find their predatory instinct. When the stadium is empty, I hear clearly the applause of years gone by. Today, Viet Tri Stadium may not be empty, but I still hear the applause of past generations of players, those who wore the white and red, who ran on these pitches, who dreamed the same dreams as the young players today. They are clapping, cheering, whispering: "Fight, run, believe." This match is not just a match. It is a test of character, of maturity, of the ability to rise after a fall. U20 Vietnam fell in the opening match. The question is: how will they rise? Will they rise trembling, or will they rise with bright eyes and steady feet? I do not have the answer. But I have faith. Faith that Vietnamese football, at any age, always has a fierce vitality. Faith that these young players, whether they win or lose today, will learn something valuable for the journey ahead. Every contract is an unfinished poem; every transfer window is a farewell. But today, there are no contracts, no transfers. Only a match, a ball, and two young teams fighting for their dreams. And I, a latecomer, a man who learned about the World Cup at 52, a man still learning to love football every day, I will sit here, watch the match, and write about it with all my heart. Because, as I said, the pitch is not just where the ball rolls, but where dreams land. And I believe that this afternoon, at Viet Tri, some dreams will take flight, and some will land. What matters is not which dream wins, but how we dream, how we fight, and how we rise after every stumble. Let the ball roll. Let the fever begin. And let U20 Vietnam write their own story, not with predicted numbers, but with sweat, with tears, with tireless steps on the Viet Tri pitch.