Urawa Reds Before Tokyo Verdy: Three Plans, One Empty Bench and a Question Without an Answer

In the press room in Saitama, manager Cho Kwi-jae said something I have heard no fewer than a hundred times in my career, but this time it carried far more weight: "The situation still does not allow us to be complacent." He was not talking about Tokyo Verdy. He was talking about his own team.

I sat in the fourth row, right behind a Japanese colleague typing non-stop on his laptop. What caught my attention was not the content of the answer, but the way he answered. Every time he was asked about the lineup, Cho Kwi-jae paused for about two seconds, glanced down at the sheet in front of him, and only then spoke. It was the reflex of a man trying to recall a list he had just written minutes earlier — and was not sure would still be valid tomorrow.

Because during that week, Urawa Reds were not preparing for a football match in the normal way. They were preparing amid multiple players and staff members in poor health, with events around the open training session and around the Tokyo Verdy match cancelled, and with the coaching staff having to build overlapping plans all the way to match day.

An interview is not about asking questions; it is about catching the heartbeat of the person in front of you. Cho Kwi-jae's heartbeat this week was not beating to the sound of the kickoff whistle. It was beating to the schedule of the medical department.

Context: A big club losing control at the back

To understand why a match against a team without a win made Urawa Reds build so many scenarios, you have to look at the number that has been pressing on Cho Kwi-jae all season.

After seven rounds, Urawa Reds have conceded 17 goals — the worst figure in the entire J1 League. What is more telling lies elsewhere: this team has not recorded a single draw. Not one. In a league where stability is usually measured by the ability to avoid defeat, the fact that Urawa either win or lose shows they are living in a zone of extreme variance. Every match is a gamble, and the scales are tilting the wrong way.

At the other end, Urawa have scored 13 goals. That is not a bad number in the general context of the league. They are not a team that is stuck. They are a team that leaks.

I have tracked many teams that fall into this state, and the pattern is usually the same: the attack still creates chances, the defence concedes systematic goals, and the final result becomes a story about which goal comes first. When a team loses control at the back, everything else is dragged along — the way they push up, the way they defend, the way they manage the tempo of the match.

The 1-2 defeat to Fagiano Okayama in the previous round was a textbook example. A side rated lower in resources exploited Urawa's instability. That is a sign that the problem is not the opponent's level, but the structure inside Urawa itself.

And then, right before the Tokyo Verdy match, a second problem arrived: health.

According to what was announced, multiple players and staff members were in poor health. Some cases emerged the day before the match or even on match day. The club announced infection-control measures and cancelled events at the open training session and events around the Tokyo Verdy match.

This is where I want to pause for a moment. From the perspective of someone who was present in the quarantine bubble in Suzhou in 2026, I know that cancelling an open training session is not a small decision. It affects the relationship with fans, with sponsors, with local media. A club only cancels public events when it believes the risk outweighs the benefit. Urawa doing so shows the severity of its own assessment.

Suzhou quarantined people, but could not quarantine tears. In Saitama this time, what has been quarantined is the preparation schedule. And the price will be paid on the pitch.

Three plans and the cost of uncertainty

The core point lies in Cho Kwi-jae's statement that he has no choice but to prepare several plans until match day.

In professional football, preparing several plans is not a sign of flexibility. It is a sign of lost control. A normal team finalises its lineup, its approach and its set-piece routines by midweek. A team preparing three plans is a team that does not yet know who will play.

Let us imagine it more concretely. If you build a plan based on controlling the ball in midfield, you need a set of midfielders capable of dictating tempo. If you have to switch to a counter-attacking plan, you need pace on the flanks and a striker who can hold the ball up. These two systems require two different groups of players, two different training methods, two different sets of set-piece routines.

Having to prepare them in parallel means the workload on the training pitch increases, but the quality of detail decreases. No one can master three systems in one week. The result is usually a team that plays at a level of "general understanding" but lacks specific patterns — exactly the things that decide key moments.

And this is the detail I consider most important in the whole story: uncertainty about the lineup does not only affect the match; it affects the entire week of training before it.

When you do not know who will be available, you cannot build connected tactical drills. You cannot test a new shape with the personnel who will start. You cannot spend time on set pieces — corners, free kicks, throw-ins — which demand repetition down to the exact step of every run.

Teams disrupted by illness often lose precisely in these situations. They lose because of a corner where no one remembers their assignment. They lose because of a throw-in where the defensive line steps up incorrectly. That is the invisible cost of a week in which you are not allowed to prepare fully.

In Urawa's case, the problem is multiplied by the fact that they were already the worst-conceding team in the league. A defence that is already unstable now loses the training time needed to fix it, and may also lose important individuals.

The empty bench seats called Nishikawa and Kaneko

Among the names absent from the bench, the two most notable were goalkeeper Shusaku Nishikawa and midfielder Takuro Kaneko.

Nishikawa is more than a goalkeeper. He is a veteran, a leadership figure in the dressing room, and a man standing on the brink of a historic milestone: just six matches away from the all-time record for J1 appearances.

The absence of a veteran goalkeeper at a time when the defence is the team's biggest weakness creates a double effect. Professionally, it means losing the commander of the back line, the man who adjusts the positions of the centre-backs and full-backs. Mentally, it means losing the voice the whole team is used to hearing.

A younger or less experienced goalkeeper may be good in terms of reflexes, but organising a defence is a skill accumulated over hundreds of matches. You cannot replace it with one training session.

As for Kaneko, this is a clearer tactical loss. A right-sided midfielder who has featured regularly this season, regarded as an important presence on the right flank, was not included in the bench squad. When a team loses its link on the right, the entire attacking structure tilts. Wing combinations usually require understanding between a full-back, a winger and a dropping forward. Replace one link, and you lose the whole chain.

It is worth noting that Urawa did not publish specific details about the reasons for the absences. In a week when the club had to cancel public events for infection-control reasons, the absence of two key men from the bench is a signal to be monitored. In Japan, the media usually handle personal health matters with great respect, so detailed information may not be fully disclosed.

From the perspective of someone who has followed teams for many years, I notice one thing: when a club chooses silence, it is often a sign that the problem is not simple. If it were just a mild cold, they would have said so to reassure the fans.

A business card fell onto the grass, and fate picked it up itself. I recall similar weeks in the past — weeks when an apparently small absence became a turning point for an entire season. But I also recall that fate in football only truly changes a destiny when there is preparation behind it. Without a plan, an absence only creates a gap.

Core: A clash between two contrasting profiles

This is the part of the analysis that I believe viewers most need to understand correctly, because this fixture is often simplified into "Urawa's attack against Tokyo Verdy's defence".

Look at the actual data of the season.

Urawa Reds: 0 draws, 17 goals conceded — worst in the league, 13 goals scored.

Tokyo Verdy: 4 draws — most in the league, 3 goals scored — worst in the league, 9 goals conceded.

These two profiles tell two entirely different stories.

Urawa are a team capable of scoring but incapable of managing a match. Having no draws in seven rounds shows they do not know how to finish a match in a state of balance. Every match they play is pushed to one of two extremes. This is the pattern of a team lacking control of tempo.

Tokyo Verdy are a team capable of defending but incapable of finishing. Nine goals conceded in seven matches is not a bad number. Four draws are a sign that they hold their position, but cannot turn position into goals. Three goals scored is an alarming figure — worst in the league.

When these two profiles meet, the outcome is not decided by who is stronger, but by who breaks their own pattern first.

Urawa need a match in which the defence does not collapse. Tokyo Verdy need a match in which the attack scores. Both are seeking the very thing they have lacked all season.

Interestingly, Cho Kwi-jae himself spoke up to reject this simplistic framing. He said Tokyo Verdy have had matches worthy of all three points. That is a notable assessment, because it shows the Urawa coaching staff have analysed the opponent in more detail than the table suggests.

And they are right.

Core: Why Tokyo Verdy are more dangerous than they look

A team without a win after seven rounds is often underrated. But Tokyo Verdy's data tell a different story.

Four draws in seven matches is a high number. In football, drawing often reflects a team that is hard to beat but lacks the tools to finish opponents off. That means they are frequently in a position to earn points, they simply do not know how to lock it down.

Nine goals conceded is a fairly average number. Compared with the fact that they have scored only three, it suggests Tokyo Verdy have had to defend from unfavourable positions in many matches, and have done so relatively well.

This is the kind of opponent any big club should be wary of, especially when that club is itself unstable. A team that defends solidly, plays tightly and waits for its chance will be the most uncomfortable test for a defence that has lost confidence.

Imagine the scenario: Urawa need to win at home, but are missing key men and preparing under disruption. They will tend to push up to find an early goal. Tokyo Verdy — the lowest-scoring team in the league — will wait for the spaces behind the Urawa defence. With a defence that has already conceded 17 goals, those are spaces they know exactly how to exploit.

The paradox lies here: the worst-scoring team in the league may have the best chance to score in this match.

Core: Unequal pressure between the two benches

This match places two managers in two different pressure situations, and that asymmetry will shape how both teams approach the game.

Cho Kwi-jae of Urawa faces pressure from results. He leads a big club that has the worst defensive record in the league, has just lost to a lower-rated side, and is wrestling with a personnel crisis. In Japanese football, where discipline and stability are prized, a run of negative results at a club with deep tradition quickly generates pressure from media and fans.

Hiroshi Jofuku of Tokyo Verdy faces pressure from scarcity. He leads a team without a win, the lowest scorers in the league. The need for a first victory is clear, but expectations are lower. In such a situation, a draw against Urawa could be seen as an acceptable result — which releases some of the pressure on Verdy.

This asymmetry matters. A team under greater pressure to win tends to take more risks, and a team taking risks tends to be punished more easily. When Urawa push up, Tokyo Verdy get counter-attacking chances.

I have seen this many times in major competitions: a big club that needs to win at all costs often pushes itself into danger. The beat keeper stands behind the fence, but the whole formation runs to his rhythm. The problem is that when the beat keeper cannot choose the right lineup, the whole formation runs without knowing where it is running.

Contrarian: The wrong framing and three tactical blind spots

The counter-intuitive angle I want to bring lies in three blind spots usually overlooked when discussing this match.

First blind spot: Nishikawa's record is a media story casting a shadow over the tactical story.

Nishikawa being just six matches from the all-time J1 appearance record is a compelling story. It will sell papers, it will be mentioned every time he starts. But it is also a distraction. When the media focus on a personal milestone, the systemic problems of the defence receive less attention. Fans will talk about Nishikawa returning instead of asking why the defence still concedes 17 goals.

A veteran goalkeeper returning can improve the organisation of the defence. But he cannot solve the root of the problem if those problems lie in the defensive structure or in the ability to manage match tempo. If Nishikawa returns and Urawa still concede heavily, the story becomes far more complicated.

Second blind spot: Urawa's defensive record may be misattributed.

17 goals conceded is the worst figure in the league. The natural reaction is to attribute it to weak defensive tactics. But for a team with no draws, always playing in extreme states, that number may reflect many different things.

A team that always wins or loses tends to push higher than necessary to find goals. When they push up, they expose spaces. When they expose spaces, they are punished. These goals may not stem from the weakness of individuals in the defence, but from the overall tactical decision.

If that is the true cause, Nishikawa returning will not automatically fix the problem. The problem lies in the choice of how to play, in how the team manages the balance of the match.

Heat maps have become a new kind of fortune-telling — they hide a player's true role within the tactical system. Likewise, aggregate numbers such as goals conceded or goals scored can hide specific problems lying between the numbers. We need to track the height of the line, the transition phases, and how the defence reacts in the first thirty seconds after losing the ball. That is the real measure.

Third blind spot: framing it as "Urawa attack against Verdy defence" ignores the possibility that both teams defend.

If Urawa are missing key men and preparing under disruption, they may choose a more cautious approach than usual. If Tokyo Verdy are starved of goals and want to take points away from home, they too may choose a cautious approach. The result is a tense match with few chances, decided by a set piece or an individual error.

In that scenario, the deciding factor is not who has the better attack, but who makes fewer mistakes in set-piece situations. And this is precisely where Urawa may face their biggest disadvantage, because set pieces are the things that demand repetition in training — the very thing the disrupted week has taken from them.

Core: Transmission from the medical room to the pitch

There is an aspect rarely discussed in Vietnamese football circles when talking about foreign clubs: the connection between the medical department and the coaching staff.

According to what was published, Cho Kwi-jae consulted the fitness and medical staff before making decisions. This is an important detail. In modern load management, the head coach no longer has sole authority over who plays. That decision is the result of a negotiating process between several departments.

When there are multiple health cases, this negotiation becomes more complex. The medical staff may recommend against using a player who has just recovered. The fitness staff may recommend limiting minutes. The coaching staff must weigh the needs of the match against medical advice. Every decision has a price.

This is why Cho Kwi-jae says he must prepare several plans until match day. Not because he has not decided, but because the input information is still changing. This week's matchday squad may be a document written in pencil.

I recall that in the summer of 2026, while covering a major tournament with a dense schedule, I collected data from four different sources on players' physical loads. What I learned was this: the problem is not whether a player is tired. The problem is whether they have enough time to recover between matches. When recovery time is compressed, the risk of injury and the risk of poor performance rise non-linearly.

For Urawa, the gap between matches is the key factor. The window from the previous match to the Tokyo Verdy game is not long. When that window is filled with health problems, both recovery capacity and tactical preparation capacity are reduced.

Notably, Cho Kwi-jae himself expressed dissatisfaction that the team could not express what they had prepared. This is an important statement. It shows the problem is not a lack of ideas, but the inability to turn ideas into execution. And the reason is usually disruption in the preparation process.

Core: Managing morale in a week of lost control

One of the hardest things for a coach in a week like this is preserving the team's morale.

When many players are absent for health reasons, those who remain face uncertainty. They do not know who will play beside them. They do not know which position they will have to fill. They do not know whether they will start until match day itself.

This is the ideal environment for anxiety. And anxiety in elite football usually manifests as a lack of decisiveness on the pitch — safe passes, hesitant duels, slow decisions.

Cho Kwi-jae's chosen approach is to turn the crisis into an opportunity. He does not speak of losing key men. He speaks of young or substitute players having a chance to prove themselves. He emphasises that many players in the squad already have experience in J1 and the Emperor's Cup, and that this is a chance to deepen the squad.

Professionally, this approach has both upsides and downsides.

The upside is that it protects the confidence of lesser-used players. When they believe this is their chance, they may play with more freedom. That freedom sometimes produces positive surprises.

The downside is that it can create a poorly connected lineup. Players who have not played together much may not read each other in decisive moments. In tense matches, understanding between teammates is sometimes more important than individual skill.

Moreover, deepening the squad is a process that can bring long-term benefits, but it also costs points in the short term. For a team performing below expectations with the worst defensive record in the league, trading points for experience may be a gamble the coaching staff does not want to take.

Core: The league picture and the positioning of the two teams

Let us place both teams in the broader picture of this J1 League season.

Urawa Reds are a club with deep tradition, resources and facilities. Their fans expect more than their current position. A club like that, conceding 17 goals in seven rounds, is in a results crisis, regardless of what the specific table shows.

Tokyo Verdy are a side with a profile similar to teams in the relegation battle: no win yet, the lowest scorers in the league, but with enough draws to show they are not being swept away entirely.

Fagiano Okayama sit between the two in terms of expectations. Their 2-1 win over Urawa in the previous round is evidence that lower-rated teams can still exploit Urawa's instability.

This matters because it refutes the assumption that Urawa only need to play at an average level to beat Tokyo Verdy. In football, instability in personnel and morale can flatten the gap in resources. And when that gap is flattened, the team that plays safe and tight usually has the advantage.

I recall that Russia 2026 taught me that football begins with a handshake before the kickoff whistle. In the opening match at the Luzhniki Stadium, I learned that what is seen before the match — the preparation, the relationships, the psychology — often decides more than what happens on the pitch. A team entering a match with a series of unanswered questions usually cannot play with full confidence.

Contrarian: The scenario the Japanese media may be overlooking

I want to spend the final part of this analysis on a scenario that is rarely mentioned.

If Urawa lose to Tokyo Verdy, the pressure on Cho Kwi-jae will spike. That is a given. But the question is: is that pressure fair?

A team that loses because it has lost many players to health problems, prepares under disruption and has to build several plans until match day — that is a team facing objective circumstances. Attributing the result to coaching ability is a hasty conclusion.

But in elite football, circumstances are not used as a shield. Fans and media judge the final result. This creates a paradox that any coach has experienced: you are judged on what you do not control.

The scenario I find most notable: Tokyo Verdy win their first match of the season, and the media narrative shifts from "Urawa's health crisis" to "Cho Kwi-jae's crisis".

If that happens, it will be a textbook example of how sports media operates. The story does not change in essence — Urawa remain a team wrestling with health and defensive problems. But the narrative frame changes, and with it the entire way the public understands the situation.

This is why I always try to follow teams across many matches, not just through results. I am not a fast news reporter; I am the one who records the breathing of matches. A team's breathing does not change through one win or one defeat. It changes over weeks, through how the team handles a crisis, through how players return.

And the point I want to emphasise: a team's health is not measured by the table, but by its ability to answer the questions no one wants to ask.

Urawa this week have to answer a great many such questions.

Contrarian: Lessons from following teams through crises

In my career I have followed many teams in similar states. And I have noticed a pattern.

Teams that successfully overcome personnel crises usually share three characteristics.

First, they have a tactical system clear enough that substitute players can integrate quickly. When the system is clear, changing players does not break the structure. When the system is vague, changing players creates chaos.

Second, they have leadership figures who remain on the pitch. When key men are absent, the team needs others to step up. If no one steps up, the team loses direction.

Third, they have a coach who knows how to lower public expectations while keeping internal ambition. Cho Kwi-jae, with his statement that "the situation still does not allow us to be complacent", is doing exactly this. He lowers external expectations while preparing for multiple scenarios internally.

I do not know whether Urawa have all three characteristics. But I do know that what happens this week will give us the answer.

Summary: Where the risk lies

Urawa's biggest risk does not lie in tactics. It lies across three layers.

The first layer is health and fitness. This is the most basic and also the hardest to control. When many players and staff are unwell, preparation capacity is limited, and the predictability of results drops.

The second layer is the professional layer. The worst defensive record in the league is a real and systemic problem. It cannot be solved simply by a few players returning.

The third layer is the psychological layer. When a team has to live in uncertainty for a week, its ability to play with full confidence is affected. And in football, confidence is sometimes more important than skill.

I consider Urawa's overall risk level in this match to be high, mainly because of the first two factors. The third is a consequence of the first two. And their opponent — despite not having won a match — is tight enough to exploit those risks.

Takeaway: What to watch next

After this match, there are three signals I will be watching.

The first signal is the matchday squad. If Nishikawa returns, we will know the health situation has been brought somewhat under control. If he remains absent, the story becomes more complex.

The second signal is how Urawa defend in the first thirty minutes. If they still expose spaces, the problem lies in the system. If they play tight, the problem lies in personnel.

The third signal is the reaction of the crowd and media. If the story shifts from health to coaching ability, we will know the pressure cycle has entered a new phase.

Finally, I want to leave one thought. We often talk about teams as tactical machines. But behind every matchday squad are people wrestling with their own health, with their families' worries, with the feeling of uncertainty about tomorrow. Cho Kwi-jae did not talk about tactics in that press conference. He talked about people.

And perhaps that is the main rhythm of this story.