Vietnam Women and Chinese Taipei: The 2026 Penalty Memory and a Match They Cannot Afford to Forget

There is a kind of light that one only sees when standing behind the stage lights. In 2026, at the Asian Games, the Vietnam women's team and Chinese Taipei drew 0-0 through 120 minutes, then moved to penalties. Chinese Taipei won 4-3. I sat in front of the screen near dawn that day, listening to the ball strike the net from the spot, and what I remember was not the result but the silence after the final kick. No cheers, no tears — only one team advancing and one team staying behind with its own particular light. Six years later, the two sides meet again. Asiad 20, Group A, on September 14, at 14:00. A match both sides understand could decide the fate of their entire tournament. The pitch never lies; it is only that we have not been slow enough to hear it.

I remember that midday more clearly than the scoreline. Because Vietnamese women's football has never lived under the bright lights the way the men's game has. Those girls grew up on training grounds with few spectators, in matches with sparse stands, in press conferences where reporters could be counted on the fingers of one hand. And yet each time they step into a big match, they make the whole nation hold its breath. That is a glory only those who stay behind can pick up.

Now, to the context. Asiad 20, Group A is one of the most brutal groups in the women's football tournament. Japan stands on another plane entirely. They arrive as title contenders, with a base of fitness, technique, and squad depth the rest of the group can scarcely match. Saying Japan will almost certainly advance is not flattery; it is a simple football calculation. That means only one quarterfinal ticket remains for the other three teams: Thailand, Chinese Taipei, and the Vietnam women's team.

Three teams, one ticket. It is no longer a tournament; it is a race for survival. In that race, every match carries the weight of a final. And the opening match between Vietnam and Chinese Taipei becomes all the more important, because winning it opens the door far wider for calculating the fixtures that follow.

Preparing for Asiad 20, the Vietnam women's team had just completed a training camp in Suzhou, China. Coach Hoang Van Phuc's side played two friendlies. In the first, the Vietnamese girls beat Jiangsu Suning 1-0. In the second, they lost 0-3 to China. Two results, two stories, two entirely different lessons, and both were necessary.

I have always had a habit of reading friendly results differently. A 1-0 win over a strong Chinese club is not merely a victory; it is a signal of the ability to keep a clean sheet and take chances. A 0-3 loss to a top continental national team is not merely a defeat; it is a test of limits and gaps. A slow writer like me rarely looks at the final number, but at what settles after it.

What Vietnam gained in Suzhou was not in the scorelines. It was the chance for coach Hoang Van Phuc and his staff to test the squad, review tactics, and let the players accumulate experience before entering an official tournament. In women's football, where the margin for error is narrow and every step onto the continental stage is a confrontation with pressure, clashing with strong opponents before the opening day is a gift, not a wound.

The meeting with China, one of the strongest sides on the continent, in particular, gave Vietnam many lessons. The good state the team reached after that match did not come from forgetting the defeat, but from understanding more clearly where they stand. There are defeats we should treasure more than wins, because they show us the gaps no small victory can reveal.

Then the next opponent appeared. Chinese Taipei is no stranger to the Vietnamese girls. In recent years, whenever the two meet, the match is even, balanced, and tense. This is the kind of opponent that makes you grit your teeth rather than fear. Not strong enough to make you give up, but not weak enough to take lightly. That kind of opponent, in football, is the most annoying.

Let us look at the head-to-head history. At the Asian Games, the two teams met in 2026. Then, they drew 0-0 through 120 minutes, and Chinese Taipei won the penalty shootout 4-3. In their most recent meeting, in March at the Asian Cup, Vietnam lost 0-1. All told, the two sides have met 10 times. Vietnam has won 5, drawn 2, and lost 3.

People look at the 5-2-3 and think Vietnam has the edge. But if you are a slow writer, you see it differently. A head-to-head record of 5 wins, 2 draws, and 3 losses is a record of balance, not superiority. Five wins in ten matches does not say Vietnam is better than Chinese Taipei. It only says this is a fixture in which any result is possible, and every goal carries a price.

The more telling point is the recent trend. The 0-1 defeat at the Asian Cup in March was not merely a loss. It was a loss in an official tournament, at a moment when both teams already understood each other well. And it was a match decided by a single goal. A decisive goal in an evenly matched game does not come from luck; it comes from a mistake missed ten seconds earlier.

I have always believed that in matches between two teams who know each other's every pass, tactics are no longer about the diagram on the board. They are about the silences. About who keeps a cool head when the match enters its decisive minutes. About who dares to take the corner at the 88th minute, when the entire game is pressing down on their shoulders.

Look at this fixture the way someone who has followed Vietnamese women's football for years would. I have watched many matches, and what I have realized is this: the Vietnam women's team often struggles most in the first half of big games. They need time to adjust to the tempo, to read the match, to find the gaps. But once they find their rhythm, they can play like an entirely different team. The problem is that in a decisive match like the Asiad opener, the first fifteen minutes can be everything.

Chinese Taipei is an organized team. They do not have individuals capable of turning a game on their own, but they have cohesion, tactical discipline, and patience. This kind of team often leaves evenly matched opponents in a state of deadlock. You do not concede to them from beautiful moves. You concede from a sudden conversion, after you have exhausted yourself struggling to break down their defense.

That is precisely the puzzle coach Hoang Van Phuc must solve. How to keep Vietnam compact at the back without imprisoning themselves in a counter-attacking posture. How to capitalize on the few chances an evenly matched game offers. And how to make time work for them rather than against them.

In football, there is a simple principle that is often overlooked: when you cannot create many chances, you must make each chance worth many times more. That is why matches between balanced teams are usually decided by the smallest details. A well-timed corner. A burst of pace at the right moment. A pass the naked eye does not see, but which, ten seconds before the goal, tells you how much it mattered.

People remember the name of the scorer, but I remember his run ten seconds earlier. In women's football, this is even truer. The girls who score are remembered, but the girls who run off the ball, contest every square meter, and hold position so a teammate has space are often forgotten by history. That is why I choose to stand with those who stay behind, those who make the match out of things no one counts.

Now, the numbers. In the ten meetings, Vietnam has scored more and conceded fewer. But those numbers span many years, different generations of players, and different contexts. They are not a prophecy. They are merely a mirror reflecting the past, and that mirror is fading with time.

The recent trend is what deserves discussion. The 0-0 at the 2026 Asian Games showed the two teams so evenly matched that 120 minutes could not separate them. The 0-1 defeat at the Asian Cup in March showed Chinese Taipei had found a way past Vietnam in an official match. That is a more worrying signal than a simple defeat. Because it shows the opponent has improved, understood us better, and learned to make us pay for even the smallest mistakes.

In football, the most fearful opponent is not the one stronger than you. It is the one that has already beaten you. They walk into the next match with a different belief. They know you can be beaten. And that belief, in an evenly matched game, can be the deciding factor.

But that is also precisely the point Vietnam must look squarely in the eye. The defeat at the Asian Cup in March is not a full stop. It is a comma. And commas, in football, are usually pauses for breath, for reflection, and for writing the story differently.

What I want to stress here, and perhaps this is the crux of the whole match, is fitness and energy management. In a match as important as the Asiad opener, both teams will play at high intensity. But high intensity does not mean running a lot. High intensity means running at the right time, in the right place, for the right purpose. A team that runs little but runs smart will always have an advantage over one that runs a lot but runs to no purpose.

The friendly against China, despite the 0-3 loss, was a valuable lesson in maintaining team distances. When you face a stronger team, you learn that the distance between the lines is the boundary between life and death. If Vietnam carries that lesson into the match with Chinese Taipei, they will have a very good chance.

The 1-0 win over Jiangsu Suning, on the other hand, was a lesson in cold-bloodedness. You do not need to win big to win. You only need one more goal than the opponent. In a group with few matches, and with every point as precious as gold, the ability to maximize limited chances becomes a survival skill.

I once read a story about a coach who said that football is the sport where you do not need to play better to win. You only need to play at the right time. That is what Vietnam needs to remember. Chinese Taipei may control more of the ball, may create more chances. But if Vietnam seizes the right moment, victory can still belong to our girls.

And here, I want to offer a counterintuitive view. Many think the opener is a match where the team that scores first holds a big advantage, because both sides may play cautiously. That is true, but it is not enough. What really matters is not who scores first, but who keeps a cool head in the fifteen minutes after the goal goes in. Football history is full of matches where the team that scored first ended up losing, because they did not know how to live with the advantage. And it is equally full of matches where the team that conceded won, because they understood a conceded goal is not the end of the world.

That is why, looking at Vietnam against Chinese Taipei, I care less about who opens the scoring. I care about whether our girls can hold their composure in the moments when everything on the pitch is compressing. That is a quality not every team has. And in women's football, where the gap between teams is often narrow, that quality can be the only difference.

One more point I want to raise is the psychological factor. The 0-0 and the 4-3 shootout loss at the 2026 Asian Games still sits somewhere in a few players' memories. Memory never disappears; it just hibernates and waits to be awakened. The question is whether that memory will be a burden or a motivation. That depends on how the coaching staff prepares the players mentally.

In this piece, I want to stress a dimension few discuss. It is the difference between forgetting a memory and accepting it. Forgetting is not a solution. Acceptance is. When you accept that you once lost a shootout, you no longer fear it. You understand it is just part of the game, not a sentence.

In football, women players are often treated differently from men. The pressure on them is often smaller, but the expectations are not a bit smaller. And the irony is that precisely because the pressure is smaller, their defeats sometimes become more painful, because they feel they must prove more. I have witnessed this many times in my watching career.

I remember a match where Vietnam played at home against an opponent rated lower. The whole match, the girls played as if carrying an invisible weight on their shoulders. Every pass seemed heavy. Every shot lacked confidence. That was not a technical problem. It was a psychological one. And that is what I fear most in the match against Chinese Taipei.

Chinese Taipei, on the other side, is not a perfect team either. They have weaknesses of their own. They lack an attack strong enough to apply relentless pressure. They rely heavily on the organization of their defense. And that means if Vietnam can break their tactical shape, chances will come.

But to break that shape, our girls must be patient. They should not rush. They should not try to settle the match in the first fifteen minutes. Because football is a battle of patience. And in evenly matched matches, the more patient team usually wins.

Against an opponent rated as equal, Vietnam having a sensible approach, limiting mistakes, and taking chances will be the key to victory. This is something coach Hoang Van Phuc and his staff surely recognize. The question is how to turn it into reality on the pitch.

Let us talk about a sensible approach. Against a team with a well-organized defense, Vietnam should attack more from the flanks, combining with long balls to break the defensive block. Variety in attacking options will make the opponent harder to read, and thus create more gaps. At the same time, controlling midfield well will help the team control the tempo.

Let us talk about limiting mistakes. In evenly matched matches, mistakes are usually decisive. A misplaced pass. An unconvincing clearance. A faulty header. The smallest error can lead to a goal, and a goal can lead to a defeat. So keeping high concentration throughout is a prerequisite.

Let us talk about taking chances. This is what Vietnam did very well in the 1-0 win over Jiangsu Suning. They scored only one goal, but it was enough to win. In football, one goal can be worth more than a dazzling display. And in a match where chances come only a few times, converting them is decisive.

I believe that with careful preparation in Suzhou, the lessons from two friendlies, and the guidance of an experienced coach like Hoang Van Phuc, Vietnam has every ability to win the opener. But football is never a game of calculations on paper. It is a game of moments. And those moments can only be decided on the pitch.

In a group where only one quarterfinal ticket remains for three teams, every match is a final. Every point is a precious gem. And every goal can be the key that opens the door. That is pressure, but it is also opportunity. Because pressure is a thing that can crush you, or a thing that can make you shine. That is each team's choice.

I remember standing in front of Hoa Xuan Stadium after the pandemic, when the V-League had just returned and the entire stand was empty. It was a match with no applause, no cheers, only the sound of boots on grass echoing like the creak of an old door. I wrote about that match with what I felt in the silence. And what I realized was this: football does not need spectators to tell the truth. It only needs a pitch, a ball, and people whose hearts know how to beat.

That is why I always believe that, whatever the result against Chinese Taipei, the girls of the Vietnam women's team deserve respect. Because they have represented, and still represent, a generation of players who never lived in the glow of the media, yet still give themselves daily to a goal larger than themselves.

I wonder whether any of those girls, on a late afternoon, sitting alone in the dressing room, remembers the 2026 shootout. Whether that memory is an unhealed wound, or a scar faint enough to no longer hurt. I do not know. But I know football is a sport where memories never disappear. They only wait to be reborn, in a new match, with a new fate.

The match between Vietnam and Chinese Taipei takes place at 14:00 on September 14. It is a midday. A midday when the sky may be sunny, when outside there may be the everyday worries of life. But inside the stadium, twenty-two girls will be fighting for a dream. And somewhere, there will be people like me, slow writers, sitting in front of a screen, waiting to hear the sound of the ball on grass.

That is football. A sport we never touch the ball in, but the ball always touches us. A sport where the numbers are not just numbers, but lives. And a sport where the glory of the defeated is a light only those who stay behind can pick up.

In the context of Asiad 20, with all three teams — Vietnam, Chinese Taipei, and Thailand — looking at the same ticket, the opener becomes a hinge. It can open a door, or slam shut an opportunity. It can be the start of a journey, or the end of a dream. That is the weight of a match. And that is why, even as a group-stage fixture, it deserves to be remembered.

I will end this piece with a thought looking forward, rather than a summary. It is a thought about how Vietnam can turn the match against Chinese Taipei into a turning point, not a knot. To turn the lessons from Suzhou into tactical weapons on the pitch. And to turn the memory of the 2026 shootout into motivation, not a burden.

When silent, I hear a whole generation waiting for something mad. And in the first fifteen minutes of the match on September 14, I will listen. I will listen to the ball, the footsteps, the breathing. I will listen to whether our girls are ready to write a new chapter, or are still reading the old one. That is something only the pitch can answer. And the pitch, as I have said, never lies.