Urawa Reds: 17 Goals Conceded, Sickbeds, and a Silent Autumn in Saitama

I stood in front of the gates of Saitama 2026 Stadium on a September afternoon, and the first thing I noticed was not the singing from the stands, but the silence. There was no open training session. There were no children running around asking for autographs. There was only a small sign announcing a cancelled event, hastily taped beside the revolving door. In more than thirty years of watching football from Madrid to Liverpool, across stadiums in Asia and Europe, I have learned that signs like that often tell more than an entire press conference.

At Urawa Reds, the club once nicknamed the "Red Devils of Japan", this season is unfolding in a strange way: 17 goals conceded - the worst figure in the J1 League - and not a single draw after seven rounds. When manager Cho Kwi-jae stepped into the press room and said "the situation still does not allow us to be complacent", I heard something deeper than a tactical warning. I heard the breathing of a team trying not to collapse. And in football, sometimes that breathing matters more than the scoreline.

To understand what is happening in Saitama, it must be placed in the broader context of this J1 League season. Urawa Reds - one of Japan's most storied clubs, with three AFC Champions League titles - are going through a turbulent early phase. They have just lost 1-2 to Fagiano Okayama, a result that has made their position in the competitive pack more fragile than ever. But that defeat is not the main story. The main story is what is happening inside the dressing room.

According to the pre-match press conference before facing Tokyo Verdy, several Urawa players and staff have suffered health problems. Some fell ill the day before or even on match day. The club announced infection-control measures and cancelled events at the open training session and at the Tokyo Verdy fixture. Veteran goalkeeper Shusaku Nishikawa - who is just six appearances away from the all-time J1 League record - and midfielder Takuro Kaneko were both absent from the bench. This is no longer a story about a few individual injuries. This is a crisis of fitness and availability, on a squad-wide scale.

Cho Kwi-jae admitted: "The situation still does not allow us to be complacent. We have no choice but to prepare several plans until match day." He also revealed that some players are beginning to return, but the final decision on the starting XI may wait until the last minute. Behind those diplomatic words is a harsh reality: Urawa cannot focus on tactics when they do not know who will play. In more than thirty years in this profession, I have seen many teams fall into a similar state, and I understand that this kind of uncertainty is a form of pressure that no coaching manual can solve.

This is the part I want to spend the most time on, because beneath the health story lies a far more troubling tactical one.

Seven rounds, 17 goals conceded. That is the worst figure in the J1 League this season. To put it in perspective: Urawa concede almost 2.5 goals per match on average. For a club once built on the foundations of disciplined Japanese defending, this is close to a betrayal of its own DNA. What stands out is that Urawa are not bad in attack: their 13 goals scored is not a poor number. The problem lies elsewhere - in a defensive structure that is cracking.

Look at how Urawa concede. There are no draws after seven rounds. That means whenever they fall behind, they either win or lose - they never hold a single point. This is the mark of a team unable to manage a match, unable to freeze the game when necessary. In modern football, the ability to grind out points when you are not at your best is a survival skill - and Urawa lack it.

Their direct opponents, Tokyo Verdy, present a completely opposing picture. Verdy are the only team without a league win this season, with three goals - the worst in the division. But they have four draws, the most in the league, and have conceded only nine. That is the profile of a team that is hard to beat, but simply does not know how to score. Four draws in seven matches means Verdy regularly hold their shape until the final whistle, even when they do not create enough chances to win.

Cho Kwi-jae was right to reject the simple framing of "Urawa's attack versus Verdy's defence". He said Verdy have had matches worthy of three points. That is not diplomatic courtesy. It is an acknowledgement that Verdy - under manager Hiroshi Jofuku - are an organised side that knows how to make life difficult through patience and discipline. Conceding nine in seven is an acceptable number for a team struggling near the bottom. Their problem is in the final third.

And here is the crux: this match is a meeting between the worst defence in the league and the worst attack in the league. On paper, that is a strange balance. In practice, it depends on which side can hide its weakness better. For Urawa, the question is whether their fragile back line - already leaking 17 goals before the health crisis hit - can hold against a Verdy side with no bite. For Verdy, the question is whether they can exploit Urawa's instability to score their first goal.

There is one detail I consider the most important, yet the least noticed: the absence of Shusaku Nishikawa. He is not merely a veteran goalkeeper. He is the spiritual captain at the back, the organiser of the defensive line, the man who has been here through so many seasons of ups and downs. When Nishikawa is missing, Urawa lose not only a pair of hands but a commanding brain at the back. I have watched enough Urawa matches to understand that their defence operates completely differently with him and without him.

Alongside Nishikawa, Takuro Kaneko - the right-sided outlet - is also absent. He is a player capable of creating something out of nothing on the right flank, one of Urawa's few bright spots this season. Losing both a defensive leader and an attacking outlet leaves Urawa in a state of being both leaky at the back and weak on the counter - the worst possible combination against a patient side like Verdy.

Now, let us talk about how Cho Kwi-jae is handling the crisis. He says he must prepare several plans until match day. That is not the language of a manager confident in his blueprint. That is the language of a manager trying to control what cannot be controlled. He consults medical and fitness staff before every decision. He cannot focus on building a pressing system or set-piece routines when the line-up changes daily.

At the elite level, tactical preparation is often the decisive factor between two teams of similar quality. Urawa have lost that advantage. They cannot repeat combination drills, cannot build understanding between the lines, cannot prepare set-piece situations - the small details that separate a cohesive team from a collection of individuals. When you must prepare several plans, you have no plan that is truly deep.

Cho has also framed the crisis as an opportunity for squad depth. He notes that many players have already featured in the J.League and the Emperor's Cup this season, and that this is a chance for them to gain experience. That is a way of managing dressing-room morale, turning forced rotation into a positive development narrative. But the truth is different: those fringe players do not have enough time and stability to build tactical cohesion. They are like good musicians pushed onto a stage together for the first time, with no rehearsal.

I remember Euro 2026, when Bukayo Saka missed the decisive penalty and I saw a child stroke his father's cheek amid the tears of an entire nation. "The child stroking his father's cheek after three missed penalties — I saw how football teaches people to live." Defeat is never purely a sporting story. At Urawa right now, I see a smaller but truer tragedy: a team trying not to lose with a sick body. I no longer chase the ball like Mbappé once did, but I have learned to chase its story.

But here is what I want to set against the orthodox narrative. There is another reading of this crisis - one that makes me doubt whether health-related instability is the sole cause of the problem.

Look again at the 17 goals conceded. This is not a figure that appeared after the health crisis. According to the data, Urawa conceded heavily from the start of the season, before the illness cases hit. In other words, Urawa's defensive problem existed before the storm. The health crisis did not create the hole - it only made an existing hole more severe.

I have followed many teams through squad crises. There is a familiar pattern: when things go wrong, people tend to blame external factors - injuries, illness, referees, the schedule. But football, at its deepest level, does not allow us to escape the truth. If Urawa conceded heavily before the crisis, then the problem lies in tactics and structure, not only in fitness.

The same applies to Tokyo Verdy. They have scored only three goals in seven matches. Three. That is not bad luck. It is a systemic attacking problem. When Cho says Verdy deserve more points, I think he is half right. Verdy can defend well, but they cannot score - and in football, the team that cannot score is the team that cannot win. Four draws serve as a reminder that Verdy are wasting chances to turn balanced matches into victories.

Both teams are masking structural problems with more comfortable stories: "health crisis" for Urawa, "slow start" for Verdy. But those stories will dissolve when the referee blows the whistle. And when that happens, only structure, discipline and cohesion will answer the real question.

As I left Saitama that afternoon, the cancelled-event sign was still there. I thought about this: every season that passes is a book closing; the careful reader will find themselves within it. Urawa have written a sad chapter, and so have Tokyo Verdy. But the question is not whether Urawa can beat Verdy. The question is whether they can find themselves again on those tired legs - or not. Football is the only place where adults are allowed to cry like children without explanation. And sometimes, a draw is enough to make people feel alive.