Empty Stands, Yet I Hear the Applause of Those Who Never Give Up

The 19/8 Stadium in Nha Trang was eerily quiet this afternoon. No cheers, no red flags with yellow stars fluttering in the stands. Only the sound of the ball rolling on the faded artificial turf, the dry whistle of the main referee, and the sigh of an elderly man sitting in the press row. I looked at my watch: 17:03, 18 minutes had passed in the match between Khatoco Khanh Hoa and the visiting team. I don't remember the score at that moment, because I was focused on a detail that perhaps no one in the stands noticed: young midfielder Nguyen Dinh Bao, number 10, was dropping deep into his own half to support the defense, something he almost never did last season. The context of this match was not simple. Khatoco Khanh Hoa was second from bottom in the V.League 2026 standings, with only 12 points after 14 rounds. They had just gone through a winless streak of 5 matches, and the pressure of relegation was weighing heavily on the young players. Their opponent today was the team in 4th place, boasting the strongest attack in the league with 28 goals. The visiting coach had publicly declared before the match that they would attack from the start, and indeed, in the first 15 minutes, they created 4 dangerous chances. But what caught my attention was not the pressure from the opponent, but how Bao, a player known for his attacking runs on the wing, was dropping so deep. I remember the 2026 season, when I began writing my series 'Locker Room Diary' about him. Back then, Bao was just 19, deployed as an attacking midfielder in a 3-4-3 formation. He had speed, he had technique, but he lacked defensive awareness. I once wrote in my notebook: 'Bao runs 1.2 km less per match than the team average. He only waits for the ball to attack.' But today, after 7 years, I see a completely different Bao. He had covered 3.2 km in just the first 18 minutes, more than any other player on the pitch. He wasn't just dropping back to help; he was actively pressing from the opponent's half. I looked at my notebook and wrote: 'Bao 10, dropping deep, pressing, running more than last season.' This reminds me of one of the principles I learned after the stumble in St. Petersburg in 2026: 'A stumble is the fastest way to learn to walk.' But for Bao, perhaps that stumble was not a defeat, but an entire difficult 2026 season, when he had to drive a ride-hailing motorbike to support his family because the club lost its sponsor. I will never forget the day I saw him standing outside the 19/8 Stadium, with a crooked smile, telling me: 'Uncle Quan, I don't know how much longer I can play football.' I didn't write about that situation then, because I believe there are moments when silence is more valuable than words. But today, watching Bao run tirelessly, I know he has learned from those dark days. The head coach of Khatoco Khanh Hoa, Mr. Tran Minh Duc, has changed tactics compared to the start of the season. Instead of the familiar 4-3-3, he switched to 4-5-1, with Bao pulled back to play as a left-central midfielder. Many thought this was a waste, because they believed Bao could only shine on the wing. But I, from the perspective of someone who has followed Vietnamese football for 45 years, see this as the right decision. Traditional wingers are being wrongly erased in modern football. They are forced to cut inside, to become 'false 10s', and this homogenizes the play. But Bao, by dropping deep and participating in defense, is showing that a winger can contribute more than that, not just with explosive runs down the flank but also with the ability to read the game and support the backline. In the first 18 minutes, I recorded 7 successful tackles by Bao, more than any other player on the pitch. He wasn't just breaking up play; he was also launching attacks with precise long passes. In the 23rd minute, from a tackle in his own half, Bao made a 40-meter pass over the top for the striker, creating the first dangerous chance for the home team. I noted: 'Bao 10, long pass 40m, first chance.' I looked towards the stands, where only about 300 fans were present, but I could hear them cheering. They haven't given up, and neither have I. By the 35th minute, the score was still 0-0. The visiting team began to show frustration, and they pushed their formation higher. This is the moment where a traditional winger would be exposed for the space behind them. But Bao, with his new tactical discipline, filled that space. He dropped back, marked his man, and even made a crucial block in the 41st minute, when the opponent had a one-on-one chance against the goalkeeper. I wrote: 'Bao 10, crucial block, 41st minute.' I remembered what I wrote in my notebook after the 2026 World Cup: 'Empty stands, but I hear the applause of those who never give up.' Today, even though the stands were not full, I could feel the expectation of those who came, those who still believe in their team. The first half ended 0-0. I left my seat, walked down the corridor to get a glass of water. I happened to meet an old friend, another veteran sports journalist, Mr. Le Van Hung. He looked at me and said: 'Quan, do you see Bao running so much today? I bet he'll be exhausted in the second half.' I smiled, shaking my head. 'No, Hung. He won't be exhausted. He's learned how to conserve his energy during those difficult years.' I remembered my interview with Bao in 2026, when he told me: 'Uncle Quan, when I drove a motorbike, I learned to save every drop of fuel. I think it's the same with my energy.' I wrote that quote in my notebook, and it's still there today. The second half began, and the visiting team continued to push forward. They created a lot of pressure, but the defense of Khatoco Khanh Hoa, with Bao's support, held firm. In the 55th minute, from a quick counter-attack, Bao received the ball in midfield, dribbled past two opponents, and then made a cross-field pass to the striker, who hit the post. I heard the collective sigh from the stadium. But I saw Bao; he didn't show any frustration. He ran back to his position, signaling to his teammates to hold the shape. I noted: 'Bao 10, dribble, cross, chance, 55th minute.' In the 68th minute, the visiting team had a dangerous attack, and Bao again dropped back to help. He made a perfect tackle inside the penalty area, causing the referee to pause the match to check VAR. While waiting, I looked at the big screen, which showed the replay. I could clearly see the ball hit Bao's foot before hitting his hand. The referee confirmed no penalty. I heard applause from the stands, small but full of weight. I noted: 'Bao 10, tackle, VAR, no penalty, 68th minute.' By the 80th minute, the score was still 0-0. The visiting coach made three consecutive substitutions, bringing on more attacking players. They pushed their entire formation up, creating a fierce attacking pattern. Khatoco Khanh Hoa had to drop deep into their own half. Bao, instead of holding his central midfield position, dropped all the way back to play as a third center-back. I saw him directing the defense, reminding his teammates to hold their positions. I noted: 'Bao 10, dropping to center-back, directing, 80th minute.' In the 88th minute, the visiting team had a dangerous moment, when one of their players headed from a corner kick. The ball went towards the goal, but the goalkeeper of Khatoco Khanh Hoa made a brilliant save. The ball bounced out, and Bao was the first to react, clearing it. He jumped, headed the ball out of the box. I noted: 'Bao 10, clearance, 88th minute.' I looked at my watch: 89 minutes 30 seconds. The referee added 5 minutes of stoppage time. I looked at Bao, he was still standing, no signs of fatigue. I remembered what I wrote in my notebook: 'The quiet star of Nha Trang never goes out.' During stoppage time, the visiting team continued to attack. In the 90+3rd minute, they had a dangerous chance, but Bao blocked it again with a diving tackle. The ball hit his chest, and he fell to the ground. I jumped up from my seat, worriedly looking at him. But Bao quickly got up, smiled at his teammates, and continued the match. I noted: 'Bao 10, block, got up, 90+3.' The match ended 0-0. Khatoco Khanh Hoa earned a valuable point against a much stronger opponent. But for me, the score was not the most important thing. The most important thing was that I witnessed an excellent defensive performance by Bao, a player who completely changed his game to meet the needs of his team. I looked at Bao; he was walking towards the tunnel, head down, but I knew he had fought his heart out. After the match, I walked down to the pitch to find Bao. He was standing next to another young player, talking to him. I stood back, not wanting to intrude. When he saw me, he smiled: 'Uncle Quan, do you see? I ran 12.8 km today. More than last season.' I nodded, smiling. 'I saw, Bao. I saw.' I didn't say anything more, because I know there are moments when silence is more valuable than words. What I want to tell my readers, what I want to record in this article, is not a dry tactical analysis of the match, but the story of a man who overcame adversity to become a better version of himself. Bao is no longer the winger who only knew how to attack like in 2026. He has become a complete midfielder, ready to sacrifice for the team. And that, to me, is more valuable than any goal. I looked up at the stands, now almost empty, but I still heard the applause of those who never give up. They came, they cheered, and they will return. And I, a 61-year-old sports journalist, will still be here, recording the moments that others overlook. Because I believe that every season has its own heartbeat, you just have to listen. And today, I heard the heartbeat of a heart that never gives up.