When ‘Insufficient Data’ Becomes a Verdict: Is Vietnamese Martial Arts Self-Deceiving?

Ever since I sat in the commentary chair, I have never faced as much backlash as the night I wrote my analysis of a boxing match held in Hanoi. The analysis had only one conclusion: “Insufficient information to evaluate.” And the wave of mockery crashed onto my personal page like a fighter knocked out in the first round. The crowd wanted to hear the winner’s name, exact punch statistics, and an analysis of the decisive striking angle. They did not want a conclusion like “empty profile.” But the story lies there: that very emptiness is the disease of contemporary Vietnamese sports, where we prefer emotion over data, worship names over understanding how the system operates. Let me be frank: I used to be a child who believed the crowd. At EURO 2026, I publicly predicted Italy would be eliminated in the quarterfinals because they “lacked the star to create a spark.” They won. I was wrong, and I wrote a self-critique, analyzing Jorginho’s role and the aggressive pressing midfield, the football I called “defending from afar.” That mistake taught me that football is not in the spreadsheets; it is in the chest. But not the chest of the star—rather the chest of the analyst when they dare to look straight into their own blind spots. Yet for four years, I have observed how Vietnamese sports media treats data. Every outlet uses Opta, FIFA, or foreign platforms. Numbers are extracted, hastily translated, then stuffed into articles to look “professional.” I do not deny the value of those numbers, but the real question is: are those numbers updated correctly when the subject is martial arts, where data bleeds every second? It was from the 2026 World Cup quarterfinal when Morocco beat Portugal with only 35% possession that I began designing my own statistics. I did not use Opta. I counted the number of times Moroccan forwards pressed within five seconds of losing the ball. I found 212 times in five matches—more than any major team at the tournament. Precisely from those self-made figures, I realized high-pressing is an illusion; selective pressing is the future. And that analysis of mine was shared by a young Vietnamese coach as a reference. Why do I tell those stories? Because they relate directly to the problem of “insufficient information” I just encountered. Last week, I received an email from a martial arts fan containing an automated analysis produced by some software. It gave star ratings, risks, tracking signals, but at the bottom it read: “Original article empty, therefore unable to analyze.” Truly absurd. If we sports journalists continue to operate in an ecosystem lacking data, lacking clear classification of martial arts (professional combat vs. traditional performance), lacking field statisticians, then “insufficient data” will become the common verdict for every breakthrough analysis. The crowd should know that behind an article criticizing Ronaldo for being “tactically dead” is not the anger of a novice writer, but a desire to see the world through a contrarian lens—a lens that asks the opposite of the majority. From the 2026 to 2026 World Cups, I watched many sports analysts get “bullied” by fans. If they said Ronaldo performed poorly, they were stoned. If they said Morocco was strong, they were mocked as “delusional.” So they chose a safe style, catering to the crowd, to avoid rebuttals. But I have always believed that safety leads to intellectual decay. One of my mentors once said: “Ronaldo’s tears that year taught me that legends feel pain.” I feel pain for Vietnamese fighters who have no data about their rest intervals between rounds, oxygen breathing frequency, or reaction speed under neural damage. We cannot continue describing fights with subjective phrases like “beautiful strike” or “smart tactic” without quantitative data. Recently, a Muay Thai arena in Ho Chi Minh City announced a major event but only offered the total number of landed kicks, not pressing actions, active defense counts, or average time to turn at close range. Thus, all of us can only guess. I am not saying I am an expert. I have made mistakes. But those mistakes are assets. The value of an analyst lies not in never having predicted wrong, but in daring to admit and continue dissecting. The “reverse trap” is not to counter players, but to counter prejudice. When facing a chessboard with no pieces, I must create the pieces myself from self-made data. Is it too late to change? Possibly, if Vietnamese sports journalism still prioritizes clicks over information quality. But I see signals. More and more young people watch European football and wonder why small teams like Bodo/Glimt beat Serie A giants. They turn to open data, learn opponent analysis, track Liverpool’s pressing numbers. That signal, to me, is a silent revolution. Morocco proved that if you understand numbers, the biggest investment is not buying stars, but buying understanding. “Morocco’s defensive data is a revolution, and I choose to stand on the side of revolution.” The Vietnamese martial arts world also needs such a revolution. We cannot keep relying on SEA Games results to claim the system is good. We need an internal data platform where coaches can observe through numbers—from striking speed, impact force, reaction time, to whether a fighter can maintain performance in the fifth round. If we do not save ourselves, the future of sports analysis in Vietnam will always depend on foreign data. I call those like me “reverse-flow people.” Because I believe the phrase “insufficient data” is an accusation—not against the opponent, but against ourselves—those who do expert analysis. If an important match is broadcast live and we still exclaim “no data,” that is a failure of the ecosystem, not the failure of a single journalist. Remember the days I followed the 2026 World Cup on a small dormitory TV. I saw Ronaldo’s tears, one of the most ruthless geniuses, and I understood that a legend is merely an extended form of enduring pain. Those tears taught me that even those who seem unbeatable have bleeding points. And the duty of true analysts is to find that bleeding point, not to mock it, but to make the playing field level. If we lack data on a fighter’s bleeding point, what can we say? Let us be silent and admit that. They call me a controversialist. But I do one thing: go against a crowd that is deluding itself. On the night my “insufficient data” analysis was mocked, I slept soundly. Because I know I stood on the side of revolution—the sports data revolution. When the revolution wins, today’s mockers will be the first to search my old articles for answers to questions they cannot yet name. My story is an invitation to you—sports journalists, coaches, managers—to build a more transparent data platform together. Do not let analysts say “insufficient data” as an excuse. Let them say “this is data I collected myself, which makes me understand my fighter better.” Fighters deserve to be understood correctly. The national team deserves a better information system. And journalism deserves to be read by readers who believe that refusing a hasty analysis is the final form of respect. I will end this article with a question, not to provoke you, but to remind myself: If an analysis cannot see its own blind spots, does it have the right to expose a fighter’s weaknesses? Perhaps not. So trust the void, because that is where you will find the true nature of the game.