Doan Van Hau, Indonesia and the runaway double-decker bus

The double-decker bus lost its brakes, but the steering had already drifted long before. I remember the feeling when I first heard that Doan Van Hau was left out of the Vietnam national team squad for the away match in Indonesia. It was not the shock of an unexpected result, but rather an "ah, so that's it" feeling — the kind you get when you look back at a long chain of events and realize everything had been signposted for a long time. From the disciplinary penalty in his club colors, to the long injury layoff, to the slow return with form not yet at its peak. All of it formed a picture: Head Coach Kim Sang-sik was not "punishing" Van Hau; he was protecting the national team from a risk that no one wanted to name out loud. Having watched Vietnamese football for 27 years, I understand one thing: fans look at names, but coaches look at states. And Doan Van Hau's state right now is not safe enough for a match predicted to be fiercely hot on Indonesian soil. In the three most recent matches I followed, Hau has not shown his familiar explosiveness. Not because he has lost his talent — talent does not disappear — but because fitness after a long injury remains the biggest question mark. A left-back needs recovery speed in explosive bursts at minute 70, and confidence when facing Indonesia's quick wingers. All of that comes from only one thing: playing time. And Van Hau has not had enough playing time. Look at the 96% figure — not 96% of experts predicting something, but 96% of fans now split into two camps. One camp believes Coach Kim Sang-sik is justified in prioritizing stability and fitness. The other camp laments a name considered an icon of the golden generation. But I re-watched six matches of Van Hau for club and country before this moment, and then dared to say what 96% of experts would not say: this decision, however painful, is the right one at this time. Let us talk about the disciplinary penalty. The foul on Doan Ngoc Tan was not merely a moment of losing composure. It was a signal that Van Hau was still searching for emotional balance after a difficult period due to injury. When a player returns from a long injury, two things are affected: fitness and the ability to control emotions in tense moments. Players often tend to "compensate" for physical deficiency with excessive aggression — they run more, tackle harder, and sometimes make mistakes when it is not necessary. The Van Hau of previous years could resolve that situation with intelligent positioning, but the current Van Hau, not yet fully match-fit, might choose... a more aggressive option than needed. Now, place that image in the context of an away match in Indonesia. There is no need to recall the details of the 2026 SEA Games 30 match — Indonesians still remember, and that is exactly the problem. Indonesian fans have very good memories. To them, Doan Van Hau is not just a Vietnamese left-back; he is the man who caused an injury to Evan Dimas in an important match. Whether that challenge was intentional or not — and I, having watched it over and over, believe it was not intentional — the perception of the Indonesian stands remains intact after more than half a decade. A Vietnamese number 5 shirt walking onto a pitch in Indonesia carries not only tactics; it carries a historical story. And in a match where emotion can dictate the tempo, making a player the focal point of provocation from the stands is a huge gamble. I am not saying Van Hau would lose his temper. I am saying that when a player just returns from injury, just received a disciplinary penalty for an overly aggressive tackle, and steps into the most hostile atmosphere in Southeast Asia, the probability of risk rises significantly. And Coach Kim Sang-sik, a Korean accustomed to tight risk control, read that. He did not exclude Van Hau out of hatred or stubbornness. He excluded him because he wanted the team to enter the match with players in the best state, both physically and psychologically. Looking back at the squad list, one thing is very clear: Kim Sang-sik is building a team based on the principle "choose the fittest, not the most famous". He needs players already accustomed to match rhythm, who can play from the first minute without a long "warm-up" period. This is common logic in national team windows, where preparation time is measured in days, not weeks. There is no time to wait for someone to find their touch. There is no time to experiment with a risky option. In a match that could decide the top of the group away from home, safety comes first. There is a story rarely mentioned: Indonesian football has changed a lot since 2026. They are no longer a team to be underestimated. Their players now compete in better leagues, have better physical conditioning, and especially have much higher confidence when playing at home in front of their own fans. Indonesia's current wingers are fast, strong, and very willing to move. They will target the space behind Vietnam's full-backs. And if that full-back is someone just back from injury, lacking competitive minutes, not fully fit, then that is exactly the weakness the opponent wants to exploit. Kim Sang-sik, by choosing a fitter and more stable option, denied Indonesia that target. But there is another side to this story that I want everyone to look at, a side opposite to the emotional flow of the fans. That is the fact that Indonesian media called Van Hau a notable name left out of the squad. Read that sentence again. The Indonesians, the people with the most reason to dislike Van Hau, still consider his absence something worth discussing. That says a truth: Van Hau's name still carries weight in the Southeast Asian region. Even when form is not at its peak, even when not called up, he remains a name opponents feel compelled to mention. That is not a consolation; it is something for Van Hau to understand that his value, his brand, has not eroded. The only thing to do now is return to his club, play as many matches as possible, and prove to the coach that they were wrong to leave him out. I have witnessed many cases of players left out for professional reasons who came back stronger. That is part of top-level football. But I have also witnessed the opposite: many players let the disappointment of being dropped become an excuse to lose motivation. They start asking "why me", instead of asking "what do I do next". I hope Van Hau chooses the first path. Because if there is one thing I have learned after nearly three decades of watching football, it is this: form is temporary, but class is written in how one responds to adversity. Class is not in how many times you are called up, but in how you face the times you are not. Let us talk about the counter-intuitive angle — what I call "where I could be wrong". Maybe I am wrong to support this decision. Maybe Coach Kim Sang-sik was too cautious, missing an opportunity to create a symbol who could rise above a hostile atmosphere. Van Hau used to perform well in big matches. And who knows, perhaps a player who thrives under pressure like him would be the perfect psychological weapon for this match. Fans believe that, and they have reason to, because they saw the Van Hau of 2026-2026 — a player who never backed down. But I also believe the coaching staff has information we do not. They see daily training, they check fitness daily, they see how Van Hau moves in every drill. They may have seen something that made them uneasy. And in football, a coach's unease is a signal that cannot be ignored. What I want to say finally is this: Vietnamese football does not need to look to the past to find heroes. Vietnamese football needs people who are healthy, ready, and proving their worth every week on the pitch. Coach Kim Sang-sik is steering the team toward a more professional standard, where reputation is not prioritized over fitness, where the past cannot replace the present. That standard may upset some people, but that is how major national teams operate. And I, with 27 years of observing Vietnamese football, believe this harshness is necessary for the long-term development of Vietnamese football. The remaining question is for Doan Van Hau: how will he respond? Will he be the one who continues his story on the pitch, or will he let that story end in regret? I do not have the answer. But I know one thing: when the stadium lights go out, the story of the young player only begins to shine. For a player who has turned 27, the lights are not out yet. But time waits for no one. And that, perhaps, is the most thought-provoking thing in this story. Not why the coach did not pick him. But because when a coach has the courage not to pick a star, it means the team is following a very clear direction. And Van Hau needs to find his place in that direction, rather than standing outside looking at his own glorious memories.