Coach Kim Sang Sik's Handshake: When the Vietnam – Thailand Match Becomes a Pure Story of Friendship

When the final whistle blew on the pitch, Vietnam supporters might have expected a winning embrace, a pat on the shoulder from head coach Kim Sang Sik to his players. But the image most widely shared after the match against Thailand was a moment no tactical plan had anticipated: Kim walked onto the pitch, went straight to Chanathip Songkrasin, and shook the hand of a player nicknamed "Thai Messi." That moment had no goal, no save, no penalty. Yet it was enough to create a thousand-word article. Let us be clear: the article about this match never mentioned the score. Not a single line referred to who scored, who won, or who lost. The only professional detail revealed was goalkeeper Patrik Le Giang having to pick the ball out of the net twice. Twice. A small figure, yet a huge mystery: it should have been the main topic of every discussion. But no, all attention shifted to a handshake between a South Korean coach and a Thai player. Based on my experience following matches, I can confirm that moments of exchange between players from Southeast Asian national teams always have a strange appeal. Vietnamese and Thai fans share a love-hate bond. We have celebrated when beating Thailand, and felt bitter when they took the lead. But when Chanathip, one of the most beloved Thai players in Vietnam, appeared on screen with a friendly smile, all rivalry seemed to fade. That is why this article does not need statistics. "The beer stall taught me to read the match; the lineup only distracts me." That saying has never been truer in this context. We could analyze how Vietnam's defense left gaps, whether Patrik Le Giang deserved criticism, or how Kim Sang Sik adjusted after conceding. But all of that was ignored, because the image of "Thai Messi" filled the entire screen. Let us look from another angle. I have often said, and I repeat: "Beer not yet drunk, bet not yet placed, but I already saw South Korea beat Germany." That means an experienced football viewer can see the outcome before the match even starts. But here, I need no long-range vision. I only need to read this piece, and I see at once: this is a media product built around emotion, not information. Is that wrong? Not entirely. Football is the home of big emotions, and a handshake between fierce rivals is a beautiful message of sportsmanship. But it is also like using a flower to cover a crack in the wall. We should not forget that Vietnam just conceded two goals against Thailand. If this was a friendly, the problem would be less serious. If it was a competitive match, the question about the defense becomes even more urgent. Yet the article never asks that question. Instead, it praises the friendliness among players and the coach's care for an opponent. Look at Kim Sang Sik. He stepped onto the pitch, shook Chanathip's hand, then went to pat each Vietnamese player on the shoulder. That gesture shows a calm, big-hearted manager. It creates a good image for Vietnamese football. But if we stop there, we become naive spectators. "The stadium is empty, but I am never without an audience." Even without stands, stories about friendliness always find viewers. And precisely because it gets so much attention, it can become a distortion: we focus so much on the handshake that we forget the team still has a pack of professional problems. I do not mean to dismiss the value of sportsmanship. In a major tournament, when pressure builds, a kind gesture between two sides can truly ease tension. But that kind moment should not be used as a backdrop to hide the bigger picture. Imagine a comparison. If a team loses 0-4 but the coach embraces the opponent in a final, the media would call it "beautiful fair play." But the players on the pitch would be the ones hurting most. They know the embrace cannot replace the conceded goals. They know the defense just collapsed. As I write these lines, I remember matches I have watched in domestic leagues. I remember the jeers when a team made a mistake, the bitter faces when leaving the pitch with an unwanted result. Football is like that: it never fits neatly into an emotional photo. It is a battle between tactical ideas, between team blocks, between expected numbers and actual results. And if an article says nothing about those things, it is not a pure sports report; it is a piece of entertainment painted with the colors of sportsmanship. So where is the tactical blind spot of this match? As a viewer, I am sure Vietnam's defense had an incomplete day. Patrik Le Giang, a goalkeeper of two bloodlines, had to retrieve the ball twice. Some may argue the keeper is not to blame because the defenders in front of him made positional errors. But either way, two goals conceded remain two goals conceded. Fans come to the stadium not to watch a goalkeeper make pretty saves, but to see their team keep a clean sheet. In matches against Thailand, those details matter even more. And if we do not discuss them, then the next time the two teams meet, the crack will still be there, just covered with a layer of white mortar named "friendship." However, I must also ask myself: am I being too harsh? Perhaps. I have seen many matches where post-match friendliness calmed down controversy. And who knows, Kim Sang Sik's handshake might become a symbol of Vietnam's new football philosophy: discipline in play, kindness in conduct. If Vietnam can combine a solid professional foundation with noble sportsmanship, they will go even further. But to achieve that, we cannot live only on handshake moments. We need tactical dissections, data analyses of shots, passes, tackles. We need to ask why the defense made mistakes, why the midfield lost direction. I believe Vietnamese football is on the right path, but progress will only be measured by on-pitch results, not by the length of touching articles. We must not forget that in that moment, Chanathip not only shook hands with Kim Sang Sik. He also greeted Nguyen Hoang Duc, the player often called the heart of Vietnam's midfield. He exchanged a few words with Nguyen Hai Long, a young attacking midfielder, and patted Nguyen Dinh Bac on the shoulder. Those names form a familiar network between the two football nations. And that very familiarity turns this match story from a tale of victory and defeat into a tale of friendship. I am not the type to avoid numbers. On the contrary, I live by them. In a market where attention is gold, an article without concrete data is like a match without goals: nice to watch but easily forgotten. But perhaps I, too, am falling into the trap I just criticized. Because, as I write these lines, I know readers do not want more dry analysis of defender positioning. They want to read about the handshake. They want to feel a little warmth amid football's pressure-filled days. And I give them that. Finally, as the match with Thailand comes to a close, I want to leave a question with readers. The next time the two biggest teams in Southeast Asia clash, what will you remember? The goals, the saves, or a handshake between two men standing on different battle lines? The answer may determine how we watch football in the future. And I, a commentator by trade, hope we can see both.