Ten Goals from the Twin Strikers and the 'Forgotten One' Shadow on Vietnam's Attack

I often stand in the corridor of Lach Tray Stadium before the sun can turn the stands gold. That day there was no match, only a boy holding an old ball, sitting by the fence. He asked me: "Uncle, why does the national team play with only one number nine?" I didn't answer right away, because the question was a cut into a worry I was trying to name. Fans were busy counting goals from two leading strikers, but no one counted the minutes of the backup strikers. They see the glory of the twin strikers, while I see an attack line growing thinner, like mist on the grass before sea wind. The Vietnam national team entered the tournament with great expectations after an impressive string of friendlies. Media talked about defensive solidity, about creative midfielders. But as the group stage passed, the team showed a harsh truth: goals almost only came from two familiar names up front. Observational match data showed the two strikers scored 10 goals, while backup forwards managed just one goal in roughly 500 minutes. Without that pair, Vietnam might have been eliminated in the group stage. I recall 2026, when as a young reporter sitting by the fence of Lach Tray for three months, I saw a young midfielder sent to a second division team after just 47 minutes. He didn't score, didn't assist, but he trained hard. When I wrote about him, many asked: "He isn't a star, why write about him?" I replied: "People may forget his name, but they can never forget the sound of his steps on the pitch." That phrase still haunts me when I look at the meager goal tally of backup strikers. The tactical context is not new. People debate whether the midfield creates enough chances for the centre-forward. But the core problem is not the quantity of chances; it is the monotonous way Vietnam approaches the opponent's goal. Against defensively packed sides, Vietnam almost always plays long balls forward, leaving the two strikers to hold off defenders and improvise. Wingers push up, but there is no cohesive rotation, no third-man combination, no intelligent decoy runs to stretch the opponent's backline. I have followed Vietnam through many years. When one of the two main strikers is absent, the team loses half its attacking life. This is not sentimental: expected goals drop from 1.87 to 0.92 in matches without him. In other words, the team creates very few real threats. This reveals a pattern: the game plan is coded around individuals, not around a system. When those two individuals do not shine, the team sinks into deadlock. My story with football has always started with forgotten people. In 2026, when stadiums closed due to pandemic, I stood in an empty stand with 45,000 vacant seats. A veteran goalkeeper had suffered a ligament injury and mild depression because he had to play without cheering. I spent many evenings listening to his fear of losing his starting spot. He was not a scorer, but he carried invisible pressure. I wrote about him in an article titled "The Cry Without an Audience." After that, thousands of people sent encouragement, and he played one more year. I remember a coach's words: "The dressing room never lies. It only stays silent long enough for you to hear the truth." What is the truth here? The truth is we are elevating two strikers as heroes while forgetting they are only the output of a collective. What happens when opponents tightly mark both? Who steps up when one is fouled or exhausted? Thailand once relied on a lone striker, but they evolved by developing midfielders who score. They kept trying new faces in friendlies. Vietnam, on the other hand, seems afraid to change, afraid to hand minutes to young centre-forwards. Big teams do not have just one number nine; they have multiple threats from the second line, from wide positions, from set pieces. Goals come from everywhere, not only from one spearhead. I am not against using two world-class strikers. They bring goals and wins. But if the whole team depends on a few individuals, that is fragile. Wherever the ball rolls, there is a beat keeper. The best beat keeper is not the most visible player; it is the one who makes everyone around him more dangerous. In modern football, attacking strength comes from decentralised goal sources. Vietnam needs to create more "forgotten people" who can score from wide, from attacking midfield, from late runs into the box. From a counter-intuitive perspective, the issue is not that we rely too much on two strikers; it is that we have never created an environment for other strikers to become heroes. When young players are called up, they are often assigned to the wings, rarely tested as centre-forwards. Coaches fear risk, fear disturbing a winning structure. But if they do not experiment in easier matches, then when opponents lock down our two stars, who will save the team? The answer is not about buying more foreign forwards or waiting for a freak talent. It lies in daily training habits. I spent years observing fans ignore the smallest details: a first touch, a pass that seems harmless but opens space, a shot hitting the bar that falls for a teammate. Football is made of such minute details. People may forget the creator's name, but they cannot forget the moment he controlled the match with a touch. If we focus too much on two strikers, we miss important signals from other players striving to rise. The empty Lach Tray, yet a goalkeeper remains waiting near the goal. I go to the pitch not to see who scores, but to see who gets up after missing. Do the current backup strikers have the right attitude in training? Are they taught the movement patterns of the two seniors? Are they drilled in different finishing scenarios, or do they simply watch from the bench? If Vietnam wants to go further, do not rely solely on ten goals from one pair. The aura of those two can hide systemic flaws, but in a long tournament, every flaw will be exposed. We need a revolution in thinking. Stop asking "who scores?", start asking "from which positions and situations do goals come?" When attacking is no longer just two names, when wingers score, when central midfielders shoot from range, when centre-backs attack set pieces, only then will the team have real depth. Football is a team sport, yet we remember only the scorer. The others, the workers, the forgotten ones, deserve more recognition. I do not have a definitive answer to the national team's attacking puzzle. But I believe if we keep searching for one new replacement striker, we will remain trapped in the loop of hunting for a hero. Instead, build a collective that still operates smoothly when one pillar is lost, and still knows how to create goals. Be brave in giving opportunities to the young, be patient for them to grow. In any dressing room, truth is not found in words, but in repetitive, boring drills. Truth is found in the feet of backup players who hunger for match minutes. My headline may irritate people who adore the current stars. But this article is not an attack. I am doing the job of a beat keeper. I stand in the corridor, watch every step, listen to the smallest sounds. And I want to say: do not forget the steps of backup forwards. They have dreams, and they train relentlessly. When football gives them a chance, they can make magic. People may forget their names, but they cannot forget the sound of their steps on the pitch. That echo will stay in the history of Vietnamese football.