Kim Sang Sik returns to South Korea after his father's death: A week away and the problem Vietnam must solve

Hanoi, late at night. A short statement appears on the official channel of the Vietnam Football Federation. No images. No press conference. No one behind a microphone. Just a few lines saying that head coach Kim Sang Sik has flown back to South Korea after his father passed away at the age of 84. The statement closes with a message from the VFF president wishing him and his family strength through an immense loss.

In this profession, I have grown used to statements like that. A funeral. A father well into old age. A flight home. Scan it, nod, keep scrolling. But there is a question few pause to ask: when the man at the head of the national team goes missing exactly during the finishing straight before a regional tournament, what fills the gap?

First lesson: when the press room is empty, interview the silence itself.

The man the VFF chose to reshape a cycle

In May 2026, the VFF made a decision that raised eyebrows. Kim Sang Sik, a former South Korean international centre-back, was appointed to lead the Vietnam national team on a long-term contract. He arrived as the team was coming out of a turbulent cycle, and what was needed was a man patient enough to rebuild the foundation.

The choice of a Korean coach was not random. After Park Hang Seo's success, Vietnamese football had grown familiar with this model: discipline, physicality, a touch of dryness, and, most importantly, an understanding that here people do not simply need to win, they need to win in a way that leaves a legacy.

Kim arrived and worked. That is the closest description. He led both the U23 and the senior national team, a workload many in the industry call impossible given Southeast Asia's congested calendar. He guided the team to the 2026 ASEAN Championship title. He does not talk much. He lets the results speak.

Then, just as everything was settling into rhythm, the shock came. His father died at 84. Perhaps, for months before, he had known his father was fading. But knowing and living with a loss are two different things.

What struck me in the VFF statement was the wording. No mention of results. No mention of the upcoming tournament. Only family. For a federation often criticised for hasty decisions, that is a sign of maturity. The VFF president personally encouraged him to go home. Not every federation would do that. The dressing-room door carries no nameplate, but I have learned to knock with precision, and sometimes the best knock is stepping back so someone else can pass.

Countdown: from today to kick-off

According to initial information, Kim Sang Sik is expected to spend about a week in South Korea for the funeral before returning. One week. It sounds short. But in the context of preparing for a major tournament, a week can be everything. Vietnam sit in a group with Thailand, the Philippines and Pakistan. Kick-off is set for September 24. If we do the basic arithmetic, Kim has roughly ten days before the opening match once he is back.

From a professional preparation standpoint, that is not a tragic number. Southeast Asian teams routinely compress tactical work into short camps. But one detail is easily missed: a week's absence at this exact stage means the head coach is not present for the sessions that decide the team's structure. In the final three weeks before a tournament, three things are locked in: the starting shape, the fixed combinations, and set-piece drills. If one of those weeks is lost, the remaining two must carry the load.

Injury-decoder view: the heaviest week

There is an angle plain news reports often miss. The pre-tournament acceleration phase forces a team to do two contradictory things at once: tighten intensity to reach peak match fitness, and limit injuries. It is the most dangerous phase of the entire training cycle.

In 2026, the stadiums were empty, and I saw the wounds the stands had once hidden. The lockdown taught those of us in this line of work a lesson: an athlete's body runs on load cycles, not inspiration. When the cycle breaks, muscle tears spike. Not because players are lazy, but because their load rhythm is wrong.

In this pre-tournament phase, both foundation work and explosive work are needed. Both require the head coach's coordination. Not because assistants lack ability, but because the final decision on each player's load always belongs to the head coach.

Injury does not begin at the moment of contact; it begins with a signal everyone chooses to ignore. Here, the easiest signal to ignore is the coach's own psychology. A grieving manager may unconsciously lower standards, or over-tighten to compensate for lost control. Both carry risk.

The dressing room without its captain

When the head coach is absent, the dressing room speaks with looks more than words. Some players push themselves to be more professional. Some worry about their starting spot. Most simply want the boss back. The standard in professional football is that a senior assistant takes interim charge.

For the players, the coach's return to Korea is an indirect but powerful message: the man in charge is human, has family, carries grief that cannot be converted into tactics. In a sport where only results are usually visible, such moments can create a different bond.

What the opponents see

Thailand is the toughest group rival, with more resources and more overseas-based players. Their analysts will watch closely, not by reading news, but by tracking training rhythm revealed in short clips, friendly schedules and small squad changes. A missing head coach is not just news. It is a tactical signal. A team lacking leadership during preparation tends to play more cautiously, which can cost early momentum in a short tournament.

Counter-intuitive view: grief that is never encoded

People assume a sports professional must separate emotion from work. But between me and the team doctor there is a question never spoken aloud: when is a professional allowed to publicly admit they are not okay? We have never answered. We only deal with the aftermath.

There is a dangerous trend in regional sports media: turning every event into a story in which the protagonist must overcome adversity and inspire. If the team wins, it becomes a victory of will. If it loses, people ask whether grief clouded the decisions. Both harm the person at the centre.

Signals to track

The official return date. The composition of the coaching staff in training. The shape in the opening match. The performance of young players given unexpected opportunities.

Why this week matters more than it looks

The story does not end at the condolence statement. Football is run by people responsible for the smallest things. In a tournament where every match is a final, every day of preparation has a price.

The issue is not whether Vietnam win or lose the first match. It is how the team adapts when its leader is absent at a critical moment. That adaptability is a marker of a squad's maturity. Great teams always have more than one person who can hold the structure.

Back to the human being

Amid all the analysis of schedule, structure, load and tactics, one thing should not be overlooked. A 47-year-old man, more than a decade from home, has just lost his father. He does not need a team to play better to prove anything. He needs time.

Football is a sport defined by time. The clock runs, and no one waits. But sometimes football is the only place that can let a man slow down. Can Vietnam keep running while their leader is away for a week? The answer is not in this article. It will be on the pitch, on September 24, when the ball starts rolling.

What I believe, after all these years, is this: a group matures when it understands that its leader is not immortal. A healthy group can operate while its head attends to family. If Vietnam can do that, this week of loss may become a week of growth. If not, it will simply be a lost week.

When the tournament begins, everything we analyse today will be swept into the flow of matches. Fans will forget the team once had a week without a head coach. They will forget after a tenth-minute goal. But those of us in this profession will remember, because those weeks shape a cycle.

One week does not make a champion. But one week can tilt the details that separate a semi-final from elimination. The outcome of a tournament depends on many things: form, luck, referees, schedule. But how a group faces a human event depends on culture. And culture cannot be changed in a week. It is built over years. Kim Sang Sik helped build it. Now it is up to those who remain to prove it still stands when he is not there.

I will watch every step. Not out of curiosity, but because that is how this profession works: never skip the weeks no one is looking at, because that is where the real story begins.