Inside the V.League: When the Money Follows the Owners, Vietnamese Football Is Still Searching for a Sustainable Model

Inside the V.League: When the Money Follows the Owners, Vietnamese Football Is Still Searching for a Sustainable Model

On the stands of Thien Truong Stadium on a midweek evening, thousands of Nam Dinh fans were still singing. Their hometown club had just come off a brilliant season, and that image seemed to be the most beautiful proof of Vietnamese football's vitality. But just a few days later, in a closed meeting of the league's organizers, club leaders still had to gather to answer a familiar question: where will the money come from next season? The contrast between the fiery stands and the silent meeting room is the truest portrait of the V.League — a league with enormous passion but a financial structure that is frighteningly fragile.

After years of watching Vietnamese football, I always start each season with a single question: what is actually holding this league up? Not television rights, not shirt sponsorship money, but the wallets of a few individuals and businesses behind the clubs. Understand that cash flow, and you will understand almost the entire fate of the V.League.

Context: A league fed by corporate goodwill

V.League 1 currently has 14 clubs, and almost all of them are tied to a company or group. Some teams carry their sponsor's name directly, others keep the local name but sit on top of an entire economic ecosystem. This model is not unique to Vietnam, but here it operates with a distinction: commercial and broadcast revenue is too small, forcing clubs to live off the owner's cash.

According to figures published across recent seasons, the entire league's broadcast revenue is only in the tens of billions of dong per year — split evenly among clubs, that is not even enough to pay the salaries of a few key players. Matchday ticket revenue, even with record attendances, cannot cover stadium operations, travel and wages. Shirt sponsorship income is equally uneven: a few big clubs can sign deals worth tens of billions per season, while many small clubs receive modest sums and sometimes must pay for printing themselves.

The result is a financial structure I call the "inverted triangle": owners at the top, clubs in the middle, and independent revenue streams at the bottom, nearly invisible. When owners are enthusiastic, clubs spend heavily, sign stars and compete for the title. When owners grow tired or a business faces hardship, the whole club instantly falls into a spiral of unpaid wages, dissolution or merger. V.League history is full of names that were once strong and disappeared after a few seasons: clubs from banking, steel and construction materials — they came, spent, and left, leaving gaps no one could fill.

The core: Youth development sacrificed to short-term profit

This is the key point I want to emphasize: when clubs live off their owner's cash, every decision is dominated by the need for quick results. And that need directly strangles youth development.

An academy needs at least eight to ten years to produce a cohort of players capable of competing in the V.League. That is a timespan no owner wants to wait for, because they need results within two or three seasons to protect their position in the eyes of shareholders or superiors. Instead of patience, clubs buy established players, or sign foreign players hoping for instant productivity. The consequence is a vicious circle: local players get fewer opportunities, domestic transfer fees are pushed unreasonably high, and the quality of the national team depends on a handful of outstanding individuals rather than a broad foundation.

Look at other Southeast Asian football nations and the difference is stark. Countries with academy systems tied to schools, localities and regularly organized youth tournaments tend to have far richer player pools. In Vietnam, although we have a few highly rated academies, the number of players graduating from them remains far too small relative to the size of the population and the nation's passion for football.

I have had the chance to talk with young coaches at academies in the north. Their concern is not a lack of talent, but a lack of an outlet. A 19-year-old playing well in youth competitions can be abandoned simply because the first team needs results and dares not take a risk on an unknown name. This problem repeats every season, and it explains why Vietnamese football always feels "lacking depth" even though outstanding individuals are never in short supply.

Tactical and data detail: Slow tempo and reliance on foreign players

If you follow the V.League closely, you will notice a fairly clear tactical feature: the overall tempo is slower than in Asia's top leagues, there are fewer vertical passes, and transitions from defence to attack usually happen at a moderate pace. This partly stems from pitch and climate conditions, but mostly from a philosophy of safe play: many teams prioritize not losing before thinking about winning.

In that context, foreign players become the problem-solvers. Most V.League clubs allocate a significant share of their budget to two or three foreigners, typically forwards and attacking midfielders. These players are responsible for creating moments of difference — a piece of individual skill, a long shot, a decisive pass. When a foreign player is injured or loses form, the team's entire attacking system collapses almost instantly. This is a form of structural dependency, and it makes V.League teams more predictable in the eyes of opponents.

Another feature is fitness management. With a dense schedule and long travel distances, many teams must rotate heavily. During peak periods, you can see a team field two almost completely different lineups in two matches four days apart. This reflects both a lack of squad depth and the difficulty of sustaining high pressing intensity across a full season.

I remember a period when a once-strong southern club kept winning thanks to a foreign front line scoring regularly. When their main striker got injured, the club went into freefall and dropped into the bottom group within a few rounds. That is not an isolated story; it is the rule of a league whose system is not yet deep enough to absorb shocks.

The contrarian angle: The problem is not money, it is ownership structure and governance

This is where I want to go against the consensus. When people talk about Vietnamese football, most conclude the problem is a lack of money. I think that is a lazy and inaccurate conclusion. Vietnamese football is not short of money in absolute terms — clubs still spend hundreds of billions of dong per season, there are still high-paying contracts, matches are still organized at no small cost. The real problem lies in ownership structure and governance, not the scale of the cash flow.

When a club is owned by a single business, every decision serves that business's interests. Football becomes a marketing tool, a branding tool, or simply a channel for leaders to demonstrate influence. In that model, there is no room for financial transparency, no room for independent control mechanisms, and no room for building a professional, sustainable operating system. Everything depends on one person.

If clubs were organized as joint-stock companies with multiple shareholders, independent boards and obligations to disclose finances, Vietnamese football could raise capital from the market instead of relying solely on owners. But that requires a tighter league governance system, including club licensing criteria, financial controls and a fair revenue-sharing mechanism. In Vietnam, most of these mechanisms remain very rudimentary compared with Asia's top leagues.

This is also where developed football nations left us far behind. They built financial fair play rules, forced clubs to live within their means, and created mechanisms to distribute revenue fairly. Applying those rules to Vietnam's circumstances is not easy, but having no standards at all is even more dangerous.

The transfer mechanism and the instability of the domestic player market

One direct consequence of the owner model is the instability of the domestic transfer market. Because contracts are often short, because many players lack professional representation, and because clubs lack systematic player evaluation, transfer values swing wildly. A player who shines for one season can be valued many times his true worth, while an injured player can be abandoned after a few months.

This creates two problems. First, clubs spend inefficiently, pouring money into contracts that do not deliver corresponding value. Second, players have no incentive to develop long-term, because they know their value can vanish at any moment. Meanwhile, developed football nations have transparent transfer systems, long-term contracts and mechanisms protecting players' rights, benefiting both sides.

I do not believe Vietnamese football can escape this spiral simply by spending more money. To change, the way it operates must change: longer contracts, more professional representation, and most importantly, a league governing body powerful enough to set standards.

Fans: The greatest forgotten resource

If there is one untapped resource in Vietnamese football, it is the fans. Attendance figures at big matches, especially in cities with strong football traditions, show enormous market potential. But that potential has not been converted into revenue. Clubs have not built professional ticketing, shirt sales and image-rights systems to turn fans' love into stable income.

An average Vietnamese fan may be willing to spend on tickets, shirts and merchandise, but they need convenient distribution channels and quality products. In many places, you still have to queue for paper tickets, wait at the stadium gate, and struggle to find an authentic shirt. These are operational and commercial shortcomings, not potential ones.

The most loyal fans are those who have stuck with their clubs across generations. They come to the stadium whether the team wins or loses. They bring their children. They pass on their love of football to the next generation. If clubs value and invest in that relationship, they can build a sustainable fan base more stable than any single sponsorship.

The national team and the pressure of the success cycle

In recent years, Vietnam's national team has achieved significant success in regional competitions. Wins in Southeast Asian tournaments and appearances in the final qualifying rounds of continental competitions have brought fans enormous pride. But behind those achievements, the pressure for short-term success creates considerable consequences for long-term development.

When the national team succeeds, public expectations rise rapidly. Any defeat can become a media storm. This pushes football administrators toward safety: calling up established players rather than giving chances to new faces, organizing low-risk friendlies rather than tactically meaningful matches, and rarely investing in long-term youth projects.

The contradiction between the demand for regional success and the ambition to reach continental levels is a challenge many Southeast Asian football nations have faced. The solution is not to sacrifice ambition, but to build a system capable of competing regionally while preparing for higher levels. That requires patience from fans, media and those working in football.

Positive signals are emerging

Not everything is gloomy. In recent seasons, I have noticed some encouraging signs. A few clubs have begun paying more attention to youth development, signing long-term contracts with promising young players and creating clear pathways to the first team. New stadiums and modern training centres are gradually being built. Youth tournaments are more regularly organized, involving multiple age groups.

Some foreign businesses have also begun to take an interest in Vietnamese football, bringing expectations of new professional standards and management practices. Although the process is slow, it shows a possible direction for the future: professionalized governance, diversified revenue and methodical league branding.

The V.League itself is undergoing changes in format, foreign player quotas and scheduling. The debates around these issues show that Vietnam's football community is becoming more aware of its limitations. That is the first step of any reform process.

A progressive conclusion: The question is not "when", but "how"

If you ask me how long it will take Vietnamese football to change, I cannot give an exact answer. But if you ask how it should change, I can imagine a few necessary steps: build a transparent and powerful league governance system, diversify club revenue away from dependence on a single owner, invest seriously in youth development with a long-term roadmap, and convert fans' love into real economic value.

In a season that stands still in terms of results, I find the buried pulse in structural issues. Every revenue figure, every contract, every investment is a match waiting for someone who knows how to listen. I do not prophesy. I merely look at the steps of the chaotic dance Vietnamese football is going through.

When the whole world looks in one direction, I open the door they never thought to knock on. Vietnamese football lacks neither talent, nor passion, and certainly not fans. What it lacks is a system solid enough to retain those who are giving everything for it. The truth is, for Vietnamese football to go further, people must first accept that the problem is not money, but how that money is managed.

I forge opinions on the anvil of data, swinging the hammer bluntly. And the bluntest hammer I can swing right now is a reminder: do not wait for a revolution from above. Start with small but decisive changes at each club — a longer contract, a more professional ticketing system, a youth policy protected from the pressure of results. Those changes, added together, could create what Vietnamese football has long been searching for: sustainability.