A magical sporting moment took place last night in Vietnam and it wasn’t on the field – it was on the streets.
The AFC Under-23 Championship would’ve hardly been covered in Australia – in fact most of the world probably didn’t know or even care about it, but in Vietnam, a football-mad nation, it meant everything.
Vietnam’s a developing country with a small football budget that has traditionally been a football minnow and has hardly played in an international final of any significance let alone won one. However, Vietnam’s current under-23 team has captured the attention of the nation, making a habit of coming back again and again from seemingly hopeless positions in this championship.
Last Saturday in the quarter-final against Iraq Vietnam fell behind in extra time 2-1. When all hope seemed lost Vietnam somehow managed two goals in a row to sensationally take the lead before conceding a few minutes later and then winning the penalty shootout.
Then, just three days later, Vietnam played Qatar in the semi-final and went down 2-1 the 87th minute. All hope seemed lost, but incredibly the Viets scored a minute later, forcing the match into extra time before again winning it on penalties to send the country into football hysteria.
Vietnam had made the championship final.
After the quarter-final a few thousand Vietnamese fans had taken to the streets on their scooters beeping, waving Vietnamese flags and doing laps around the city to share their joy.
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What had been a trickle of fans on Saturday night after the quarter-final victory turned in to a flood of elation after the semi-final victory on Tuesday night, with the centre of Ho Chi Minh City turned in to a sea of red as mammoth crowds celebrated.
Thousands of scooters, constantly beeping, zoomed around bearing Vietnamese flags. Trucks with football fans on the back playing drums and chanting circled the city streets. Local families quickly plonked their kids on their bikes and rode downtown to see this once-in-a-lifetime spectacle.
It was a celebration filled with an innocent happiness and amazing energy. Vietnamese TV media went into meltdown covering the celebrations in the street, more so than for the game itself.
Suddenly in the four days leading up to the final every second shop seemed to be selling Vietnamese flags, football tops, headbands, and various other paraphernalia. Every bar in town was offering drink discounts, hoping to cash in on this sudden gold rush.
The Prime Minister congratulated the team while local authorities scrambled to assemble ten giant LED screens in the centre of Saigon for the fans to watch the final.
I found myself watching the game with a few mates in this atmosphere on Saturday in a small restaurant in Ho Chi Minh City on the side of a canal away from the tourist district and western enclaves. The restaurants, bars and cafes lining the canal all had Vietnamese flags adorning their entrances the staff all wore red Vietnamese T-shirts and dresses. Some of the girls had small heart-shaped stickers of the Vietnamese flag on their cheeks.
The tension was palpable and the atrocious semi-blizzard conditions in China added to the drama.
Early in the game Uzbekistan scored with a diving header that flew past the Viet keeper. The Uzbeks knew how to handle the snow, but their opposite numbers were more used tropical conditions and were slow to adapt.
As the first half wore on the Vietnamese slowly began to find their feet, and after several forays forward they finally earned a free kick on the edge of the box just before half-time. After some improvised hand shovelling of the snow to clear a spot for the ball Nguyen Quang Hai calmly stepped up and lofted the ball over the Uzbek’s wall and curled it expertly into the top left-hand corner with a world-class strike.
Cue pandemonium.
Now the many eateries surrounding me echoed with drums and clanging cymbals while chants of ‘Vietnam’ rang out. They were back.
In the second half the game became a slow, hard slog, with the Uzbeks gradually gaining control. However, despite repeated shots on goal they were unable to make a breakthrough, mainly due to the unbelievable exploits of the young Vietnamese keeper Bùi Tien Dung.
The game would go to extra time.
It became increasingly clear that Vietnam were holding on for dear life after 90 minutes. They weren’t making any serious forays forward and were constantly defending against Uzbek attacks – but they were holding on.
The Vietnamese around me upped their chanting, growing confident as it drew towards the end of the two halves of extra time that if it went to another penalty shootout, they would have the Uzbeks’ measure. After all, they’d won their last two penalty shootouts to get here.
Then with just a minute and a half left the Uzbeks scrapped a goal from a corner. This time there’d be no miracle comeback for the Vietnamese team, and just 90 seconds later the game ended with the sound of smashed glass as a devastated Vietnamese local threw his bottle of beer on the ground.
For the next few minutes there was silence as the jovial noise that had filled the late afternoon and early evening air disappeared.
Then up the back of the restaurant, standing by himself, the owner started clapping. At first a solitary clap, after a few seconds it was joined by the whole restaurant, and a great cheer went up.
Despite this movie-like moment over the next hour it became clear Saigon was in mourning. The bars, cafes, and restaurants cleared out quickly. There was no beeping, there were no flags being waved.
(AAP Image/Joe Castro)
At about seven o’clock a mate and I decided to walk to a bar behind an old French colonial house. I didn’t want to see the streets empty of the life they’d had over the past week and the locals’ gloomy despondent faces.
After four hours of drinking, commiserating ourselves over the game and talking about the extraordinary scenes we’d witnessed in Ho Chi Minh City over the last week, we emerged from our refuge – and there it was.
It was back. They’d done it. The beeping, the smiles, the flags, the trucks. Bike riders flew past holding out their hands for high-speed high-fives, families were riding around taking in the unbelievable scenes of joy. I looked at my phone for the first time in hours to see photos of the centre of Saigon packed with red flags and partying revellers. It was incredibly emotional.
They were celebrating, but this time it wasn’t for a victory; it was for the effort in defeat. Vietnam was paying over $5 for the win before the game and yet with a minute and a half to go in Arctic conditions they found themselves on the brink of an improbable victory.
It showed the true character of the Vietnamese people and acted as a counterpoint to football fans from around the world.
There was no violence, no riots, no death threats to players in the team. There were no hooligans or confrontations with police.
Let’s be clear: I’m an AFL man, and back in Australia I always found general criticism of football to be justified. What the Vietnamese fans made me realise was that football isn’t the problem.
The fans make or break the game, and with the profoundly moving tribute to their under-23 football team, the Vietnamese have made the game for me.
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