When Vietnamese Women's Football Is No Longer Just Their Story

On the eve of the 2027 Women's World Cup qualifiers, I received a special message. A fan from Da Nang wrote: 'I've watched women's football since 2026, and to this day I've never seen Huynh Nhu in person. But every time she appears on TV, I feel like I can do something too.' I read that message three times before deciding to respond with an article. In 2026, I sat in the stands at Stade Océane, witnessing the 13-0 match. I saw Alex Morgan and her teammates make history, but what I remember most wasn't the goals—it was the faces of the young girls in the stands. They looked at Morgan like she was a deity. And then I asked myself: 'What about the Vietnamese girls? Who do they look up to?' That question has haunted me for six years, and today, I have an answer.

From my position as a commentator living in Da Nang, an Australian by birth, I am perhaps one of the most oddly positioned observers of this change. I don't belong to any faction, I owe no emotional debts. This allows me to see things coldly: Vietnamese women's football is no longer just their story. It has become a story for all of us.

Look at the shockwave named Huynh Nhu. She is not just an excellent striker; she is a cultural phenomenon. In 2026, Huynh Nhu signed with Lank FC in Portugal. It was a bold move, initially met with skepticism. But I remember a quote of hers from an interview I translated for my YouTube channel: 'In Vietnam, when I play football, people ask me why I don't study for a degree. In Portugal, they ask me why I don't score more goals.' That difference says it all. Huynh Nhu has proven that Vietnamese women's football can exist at the highest professional level, not as a guest, but as a formidable opponent. She doesn't just bring goals back to the national team; she brings an attitude, a new confidence. The shock of 2026 was not just a match. It was a knock on the door of a generation. And Huynh Nhu is the one who opened it.

I must admit, there were times I thought Vietnamese women's football would forever remain a small piece of the puzzle. The empty corridors of 2026 taught me a lesson in patience. The pitch never dies; it only knows how to wait. The girls of Ho Chi Minh City I Club continued to train under the 40-degree heat, with no audience, no live football. I sat with them, documented every moment, and I saw they didn't cry. They just sweated. It was a purposeful patience. I often wondered if the men could do the same, but I wouldn't ask that question publicly. I only know that that wait gave birth to a fighting spirit that no tournament could ever produce.

What is happening now is not just about results; it's a shift in vision. Over the past three years, the number of professional women's leagues has increased, not just in quantity but in quality. The arrival of foreign coaches, structured youth academies, and, most importantly, media attention has created an entirely new ecosystem. At Euro 2026, when I analyzed the 'false nine' tactic on national television, I saw the young women not just enjoying the goals, but asking me about the role of the number 10, about off-the-ball movement. They didn't just want to watch women play football; they wanted to understand how they played. That is a ruthless kind of growth, and it is what I have always hoped for.

However, we must not romanticize this process. I have witnessed inflated transfers, figures presented as proof of growth, while behind them are girls being sidelined for commercial contracts. They face a paradox: they have to fight to be recognized, but once recognized, they are sold off like commodities. That is not liberation; it is a new form of exploitation. And here, I offer a counter-intuitive perspective: the commercial value of women's football is rising, but that does not equate to its competitive value. We are building an industry on the backs of girls who have already endured so much, and we must be careful not to repeat the mistakes of men's football. Big contracts do not make the game better. Only respect for tactics and for the people can do that.

I don't say this as a distant critic. I say this as someone who once sat in the stands, who saw those bright eyes, and who saw them dim. When the cheers fade, I finally hear the true breath of the match. And that breath tells me that the future of Vietnamese women's football does not depend on where they stand on the FIFA rankings, but on whether these girls are allowed to live their dreams fully.

I replied to the Da Nang girl. I wrote: 'You don't need to see Huynh Nhu. You need to see yourself in her. And that, you can do right now.' Vietnamese women's football is at a crossroads. One path leads to professionalization and global recognition, the other to commercialization and loss of identity. Which path will we choose? Or will we forge a third path, one where tactics and heart move in the same direction? The answer lies not with the federations or sponsors. It lies in the training sessions under the sun, in the goals celebrated not just for their beauty, but for their meaning. One thing I know for sure, after 36 years in the trade: women's football doesn't need to ask for praise. It has already written its own story. And that story is still very long. We have only just finished the first page.