The Wind from Kazan Blows Over Hanoi: Lessons for Vietnamese Football from the Rise of the Old Soldiers

At My Dinh Stadium, on a late May evening, when the floodlights bathed the lush green pitch, I witnessed a moment that no statistical figure could fully capture. It was the 73rd minute of the match between Cong An Ha Noi and Thép Xanh Nam Dinh. A 34-year-old player, his hair already touched with grey, received the ball on the left wing and executed a sprint... no, not a sprint, but a lunge like an old beast remembering its spring. He dribbled past two young defenders, then from a tight angle, fired a curler into the far corner. The net rippled, the stands erupted. I turned to my colleague beside me, who was engrossed in recording xG data, and said, 'Do you hear the wind? That is the wind from Kazan.' He looked at me blankly. I smiled, offering no explanation.

In the June days, Vietnamese football is undergoing a strange transition. While top clubs splash millions on unknown Brazilian imports, it is the domestic players beyond 30 who are quietly leaving the deepest marks. They no longer have the speed to run 100 meters under 11 seconds, nor the stamina to cover 12 km per match, but they possess something far more valuable: an understanding of the rhythm of the game, of the spaces that never appear on a computer screen. I call them 'the old soldiers' – those who lived through the era of subsidized football, through defeats at SEA Games, through the feeling of getting up after being crushed. They are like the wind from Kazan in 2026, when a 19-year-old Mbappé tore apart the Argentine defense, but this time the wind blows in reverse.

The tactical landscape of V.League this season reveals a clear divergence. Wealthy clubs like Cong An Ha Noi or Thép Xanh Nam Dinh adopt a high-pressing philosophy, demanding constant movement and rapid ball circulation. The theory is beautiful, but in practice they are often broken by opponents who play deep blocks, and it is the veteran players who keep the rhythm. Look at Le Tan Tai of Nam Dinh, now 38 years old, still a key link in counter-attacks. No radar measures his speed, but I would bet that in his mind, every situation has been simulated for 20 years. That is something no coach can teach, no graph can plot.

The rise of the old soldiers is not a random phenomenon. It reflects a harsh reality: Vietnamese football lacks a generation of young players with enough grit to inherit. I watched the U20 Vietnam team at the Asian championship last year, and I saw them run fast, strong, and tactically disciplined. But when faced with pressure, they seemed to lose their soul. They didn't know how to 'steal' a corner kick, how to cleverly force a foul. Those are skills that only time and scars can bring. Young Vietnamese football is being trained in a mold too perfect, so much so that they forget the pitch is a place for mistakes and necessary ugliness.

But be careful. If you think I am glorifying experience, you are wrong. I am warning against a dangerous romanticization. The old soldiers, however talented, cannot run forever. When they leave, the next generation will face a void, not just in skill but in spirit. I recall the story of Van Basten, who retired at 28 due to injury, and I wonder: are young Vietnamese players ready to stand up when there are no 'big trees' to lean on? This is not a rhetorical question; it is a problem that football administrators must solve immediately.

Look at how CLB Hai Phong operates. They have the youngest average squad in V.League, yet their results are unstable. In contrast, CLB Song Lam Nghe An, with an aging squad, remains in the mid-table. This contrast reveals a counter-intuitive truth: youth does not automatically bring efficiency. Hai Phong's high-pressing tactics often collapse after 60 minutes due to lack of stamina, while SLNA's 'old men' know how to conserve energy and wait for mistakes. It is not beautiful football, but it is effective football. And it poses an uncomfortable question: is our preference for modern European values blinding us to traditional values?

I am not a nostalgic person. I have witnessed the remarkable progress of Vietnamese football over the past 15 years, from a semi-professional foundation to a regional champion contender. But I also perceive a risk: the homogenization of playing styles, over-reliance on foreign players, and lack of patience with imperfect players. The youngsters today are taught to make runs, pass quickly, maintain shape. But few teach them how to 'steal' a match with a cunning touch, how to create space out of nothing. These are skills learned only from street football, from matches without referees, from being bullied and finding ways to retaliate.

The story of the wind from Kazan is not just about Mbappé. It is about the moment when youth and audacity defeat caution and experience. But in Vietnam, I see the wind blowing backwards. The old soldiers are fighting for something bigger: the identity of Vietnamese football, the assertion that there is another style beyond pressing and circulation. And I, as an observer for 41 years, choose to stand with them. Because in a world without spectators, football is left with only breath and truth. And the breath of the old soldiers, however raspy, is the most honest sound I have ever heard.