The Two-Striker Dilemma: Vietnam's Dangerous Dependence

When the final whistle sounded at Bukit Jalil, I still stared at the ball lying still at the center of the pitch, as if it were crying. That night, Vietnam left the tournament with a goalless draw against an opponent who chose to defend deep with numbers. The two strikers who had stormed the group stage, who had alternated in scoring 10 goals between them up to that point, stood motionless inside the box. They did not have a single shot on target. The silence that came from the stands was the loudest sound I had ever heard. And in that silence, I recalled a phrase I once said on the radio many years ago: "Football gives us moments, then takes away a lifetime of regret to grieve." From the context of the tournament, one can easily see the journey of the Vietnam national team was written by two names at the highest position on the frontline. In the group stage, the team scored 18 goals in total, and this striking pair alone contributed 10. A number both terrifying and alarming. Terrifying because their finishing power is devastating; alarming because the rest of the team appears only to pass the ball to them, to watch them solo, to watch them shoot. When facing a low-block, disciplined team like Thailand—with two seasoned centre-backs and a tireless defensive midfielder—the space behind the defence almost entirely disappears. Instead of facing the goalkeeper, both of our strikers had to receive the ball with their backs to goal amidst four defenders, while the surrounding satellites offered no penetrating option. From a tactical perspective, I—who have spent more than half a century watching matches—want to emphasize that relying on a twin-striker duo is not something to be proud of; it is a warning. As a colleague of mine in Vietnam might say: this pair can break any defence when they have space, but they will become mere shadows when the opponent decides to mark them out. The system the coach is building revolves around two sole spearheads, and that is a major tactical error if we look beyond the group stage. In the recent match against Thailand, we saw only x_t a bout of stagnation; but without a Plan B, what will happen when we meet an even more organized opponent in the semifinals or final? I need to look back at the playing style of this striking pair. Both are central strikers who rely on being served inside the box. They are not the type of number 9 who drops deep, who tracks back to defend, or who frequently comes short to link play in midfield. They are lethal finishers, standing and waiting for the final pass. In matches against weaker sides in the group stage, they could comfortably receive crosses from the flanks and overpower the opposing centre-backs with strength or pace. But when facing an opponent that knows how to cut off our attacking supply, they become ineffective. Data from the tournament showed that when they both scored, the team always won by a big margin. However, in the match against Thailand, when they were marked out, the whole team nearly produced no dangerous attempt. What I want to emphasize here is not just their ability to score, but the operation of the collective. In modern football, relying on one or two individuals is a dangerous path. Look at the big clubs in Europe; they always build their play around a system, with many attacking threats from various positions. Vietnam cannot forever depend on two out-and-out strikers, because when they are neutralized, we have no other weapons. Midfielders like Hoang Duc, Quang Hai, or wingers such as Van Thanh—players capable of scoring from the second line—rarely appear in decisive situations. The disparity in goals scored by these positions is almost negligible when compared to a diverse team like Japan or South Korea. That is the blind spot of the optimists. They look at the 10 goals of this pair and believe everything is heading in the right direction. But I remember an old football maxim: "The aura of a winner can hide deep cracks in the foundation." If we only celebrate hat-tricks against weak teams while failing to realize the real problem when facing a disciplined defense, we will soon pay the price. The match against Thailand was a clear example: the whole team held 61% possession but failed to register a single on-target shot in the second half. Possession without that spark of creativity is soulless football. Based on my experience following matches over many decades, I assert that a great team cannot build its tactics around just a duo. If anything, they will turn that duo into a part of a flexible whole, where anyone can score. The great Vietnam side under coach Park Hang-seo impressed with sharp counter-attacks, born of the entire team's movement, not just individual brilliance. Now, we seem to have lost that. When the ball reaches the two strikers, all other players seem to stop and watch, as if they bear no responsibility to continue the attack. This creates simplicity, predictability, and extreme danger in decisive matches. Yet the issue is not just tactical; it is psychological. Fans change shirts across generations, but their chants remain the same. Supporters want to see beautiful goals, entertaining performances, and they will always look toward the stars. However, if the two stars are on the pitch, they carry even more expectations on their shoulders. In matches where everyone expects them to shine, they often crumble under the weight of those expectations. The fear of criticism, of losing their spot, of disappointing fans, causes them to play nervously and indecisively. Better to have a team that plays as an equal unit, where players take turns scoring, than to rely on two names. When I think of that forgettable draw, I recall a rained-soaked night many years ago, when Vietnam was also divided by a generation of talented but disconnected players. They had stars like Le Huynh Duc, Hong Son, but lacked a collective style. The result was a string of failures in SEA Games. They lost not for lack of quality, but for lack of ideas. That is the lesson we must remember: the euphoria of victories in easy matches can lull us into complacency. The reliance on the striker pair is not a sign of a progressive football nation. It is an admission that we have not yet developed a system superior to outstanding individuals. A good coach must account for different scenarios within a match—whether it is going behind, facing a packed defense, or protecting a lead. That flexibility can only come from an adaptable group with multiple options from the substitutes’ bench. If we only have one move—feeding the ball to two strikers—the opponent will just need one night of research to nullify us. So what should we do? First, we must diversify attacking avenues. We need flank overloads, set-piece routines, long-range strikes from midfielders. Moreover, we need a central striker capable of holding up the ball, dropping deep, to drag the defense out and create space for runners around. Our two current strikers are pure finishers; they need a tailor-made environment to flourish. If we cannot change them, we must change the system around them, to give them more room to operate. The more midfielders we involve in goalscoring, the more we force opponents to divert attention, and thereby the two main goalscorers will find space. Additionally, we must consider fitness and injuries. When these two strikers play an arduous international schedule with high density, they are prone to burnout. Rushing back from minor knocks will blunt their sharpness. I have seen many talented strikers lose their form after a calf or knee injury, simply because they wanted to compete in a major tournament. The psychological fear of a setback is harder to cure than the physical body—as I have often shared. If the team does not rotate them wisely, the risk of losing one to injury is greater than a defeat itself. Another point is the pair's invisibility in big games. They score a lot against weak sides like Laos or Cambodia, but disappear against Thailand, Philippines, sides with well-organized defending. Is that a dependable quality of a striker? In knockout tournaments, you need players who rise to the occasion, who can handle immense pressure. This duo must prove they are not just group-stage poachers, but heroes in the semifinals and finals. If not, we will say goodbye to championship dreams. I still remember a semifinal six years ago, when Vietnam faced Thailand at My Dinh. That day, they had a striker who played superbly but did not score; instead, a centre-back scored from a long-range effort. That win never came from an individual, but from surprise. Football always needs unpredictable elements, so that when the opponent anticipates one direction, you can attack in another. Sad to say, the current Vietnam side has become too predictable. The striker pair remains a pride of the fans, but they cannot do everything alone. Excessive dependence will kill creativity, kill smooth combinations, and ultimately kill the championship hope. Standing in the stands watching the two strikers trudging against Thailand, I felt they were swimming in a concrete sea. No teammate moved to stretch the defense, no midfielder dared to push forward to shoot, no full-back overlapped to create numerical superiority. Everyone stood still, waiting for a miracle that never came. That ending of resignation did not surprise me. The stagnation had been forecast long before, because of an overly one-dimensional style. Let me be clear: I do not intend to deny the talent of both strikers. They are excellent players who have left their mark on national football history. People call them Vietnam's "twin assassins," a grand-sounding label. But in modern football, "twin assassins" have become an outdated concept heavily studied by opponents. Asia's leading sides no longer build their attack around two out-and-out central strikers; they prefer a single mobile striker or an attacking midfield line with numbers. Look at Japan, South Korea, Australia—they have strikers scoring consistently, but other goals come from many positions. Vietnam needs to learn that lesson, if we want to advance on the international stage. Another major issue is squad depth. Vietnam does not have many quality alternatives to replace this pair. When one has poor form, the coach must introduce young, inexperienced players, or those of similar profile, lacking a different dimension. The scarcity of striker types is a big obstacle. We can list a few names on the bench, but none are close to these two stars. Therefore, beyond creating alternative playing style, we must invest in youth development to generate new talents capable of taking the highest attacking line. Back to the disappointing match at Bukit Jalil, what pained me most was not the draw but the helplessness in the way we played. Watching the red-shirted players trying hard yet disjointed, I felt they had lost their own identity. They scrambled to find a path to the opponent's goal like lost travelers in a forest. Perhaps the problem lies not with the players, but within the philosophy. As long as we think that two star forwards are enough, Vietnamese football will continue to wobble when encountering real difficulties. I want to offer a concrete tactical suggestion. In matches against low-block defenders, instead of deploying two strikers, use one striker dropping off and linking with two attacking midfielders behind. That way, a player constantly runs in behind, while the third midfielder can roam free. This rotation forces the opposing defense to reassess their marking assignments. If we want to use both quality strikers, try a 3-5-2 system with speedy wing-backs and three centre-backs capable of good distribution. That way, without replacing too many personnel, we increase the variety of attacking patterns. What I have written above is not a negation, but a call for improvement. Vietnamese football is at a crucial moment. We have a generation of talented players, strong fan support, and potential for growth. But all will be in vain if we do not break free from tactical monotony. Leading teams around the world always change, adapt, and evolve day by day. We cannot stay still with just a striker pair. There is a sentence I often hum before historic matches: "We lose, and we choose to lose like an epic poem." But a true epic is not a defeat born of stagnation; it is victory born from adversity. It is time to write a new heroic chapter with a versatile playing style—not just beautiful on paper but also sharp in reality. As I left the stadium that day, I did not feel anger toward the players. I felt concern for the future of our national football if we fail to draw lessons from seemingly minor matches. That draw may cost is not the lead in the group; but if we learn from it, it can nourish future seasons. We just need to dare to change, to step out of the comfort zone of dependency, to trust in a united collective where every position can make a difference. I will still stand in the stands, still follow the players' every step, and still hope that one day we will see a Vietnam national team playing a varied brand of attacking football, leaving opponents guessing. And on that day, the statistics of dependence will only be a memory, and I can say with contentment: "The city finishes second in silence, but pain becomes silt nourishing the next season."