A dirty win is still a win: Lessons from Incheon United and how Vietnamese football mirrors South Korea

I stood in the stands of Incheon Munhak Stadium on a March afternoon in 2026, a cheap microphone trembling in my hand, calling myself a commentator for the first time in my life. That day, Incheon United beat Jeonbuk Hyundai Motors 2-1. Everyone around me was celebrating like they had just won a championship. But I, a 17-year-old kid just starting out, wrote a controversial post: "This is the most garbage victory I have ever seen." Incheon fans buried me mercilessly. They said I didn't understand football, that I didn't know what it felt like for a small team to fight to survive. But I didn't back down. I just presented the numbers: Incheon had only 31% possession, managed just 2 shots on target while Jeonbuk had 14 attempts. I asked back: if this is a great victory, then why do the numbers say otherwise? Now, eight years later, with a master's degree in exercise science, sitting in Incheon writing for Vietnamese readers, I realize I was wrong that day — but not in the way people think. I was wrong because I overvalued cold statistics and ignored the story behind them. Incheon didn't win because of luck. They won because of a well-drilled defensive game plan, because of a collective willing to endure in order to wait for counter-attacking moments. THE THOUGHT I HAVE CHANGED When I was young, I thought beautiful football was possession football, high pressing, and small combinations. I was one of the biggest fans of tiki-taka, I admired Pep Guardiola and despised defensive teams. But when I started rewatching 30 K League matches from the 2026 season during the pandemic when stadiums were empty, I realized something: teams with good reading centre-backs, like Kim Min-jae of Jeonbuk, had a clean-sheet rate 40% higher than teams with instinctive centre-backs. This number stopped me in my tracks. It turned out that what makes a team win is not how much possession they have, but how well they control space and the timing of counter-attacks. Incheon didn't need the ball that day. They just needed to wait for the right moment when Jeonbuk pushed forward and left gaps. THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN A DIRTY WIN AND A SMART WIN Many people still call wins like Incheon's "dirty wins" — ugly, lucky, undeserved. But after analyzing data from over a hundred matches, I realized the difference lies here: a lucky team cannot win consistently, but a good defensive team can. Counter-attacking teams usually convert fewer chances, but the chances they create on the break are of much higher quality. Look at Ulsan Hyundai in the 2026 season — a high-pressing team that still scored consistently even when stadiums were empty. They didn't need fans to create inspiration. They needed a system driven by discipline. When I rewatched Ulsan's match footage, I noticed they had no player particularly outstanding at dribbling, but every player knew exactly where to stand and how to move whenever they lost the ball. It's not the kind of football that makes fans gasp. It's the kind of football that makes opponents suffocate. THE GERMANY-JAPAN SHOCK AND THE LESSON FOR ASIAN FOOTBALL The 2026 World Cup was a major turning point for me. When Japan beat Germany 2-1, the world called it the biggest shock in tournament history. But I had a different view: it wasn't a shock, it was a broken mirror. In that match, Germany had 74% possession and 26 shots, but Japan scored from two sharp counter-attacks. The numbers were similar to Incheon versus Jeonbuk, but at a higher level. Asian football has changed. Japan is no longer a physically weaker team. They won because they learned how to suffer, how to accept letting the opponent have the ball but not control the game. Germans said Japan didn't deserve it, but the Japanese just smiled and said: "Thank you for teaching us this lesson." It reminded me of a line I often write in my analyses: "Believing in the name before the match is a fan's habit; believing in the people after the match is my profession." WHICH MIRROR ARE VIETNAMESE PEOPLE LOOKING INTO? If you follow Vietnamese football in recent years, you will see an interesting similarity. When Vietnam U23 shocked everyone at Changzhou 2026, many said it was a miracle. But when the national team consistently achieved results under coach Park Hang-seo, we began to realize it was a system. Park didn't create miracles; he created discipline — a defensive counter-attacking system built on maximizing the stamina and speed of Vietnamese players while minimizing the weakness in physique. That is smart winning by a small team that knows who they are. But the question is: when opponents understand our playstyle, when they no longer push high for us to counter, can we still win? In one interview, I asked a Korean coach about this. He said: "Small teams can only win if they know when to accept being dominated. But if they get used to being dominated, they will never learn how to dominate." That is the thin line between a garbage win and a smart win: a team must know how to defend to survive, but also must learn how to attack to develop. Korea went through this phase when they built their modern football foundation in the early 2000s, with players like Park Ji-sung and Lee Young-pyo playing in Europe. THE FORGOTTEN SPACE IN ANALYSIS I had a long period during the pandemic when I couldn't watch live football. As stadiums emptied, I started noticing things that fans usually miss because of the noise: players' breathing, how they communicate with eye contact, those seemingly random pointings that are actually signals of a system. In an empty stadium, my heartbeat was louder than the referee's whistle. Empty stadiums gave me something that ten years in media never did: seeing a team without the emotional fog. Without cheering, without pressure from the stands, you see the truth about a team's level. A good team still moves well even without support. A bad team remains chaotic even with a full crowd. Applying this to Vietnamese football, I want to raise a question: when the stadium is empty, when media pressure is gone, does the Vietnam national team still play at their true level or not? This is not a criticism; it is an invitation for us to look in the mirror together. LESSONS FOR MEDIA PROFESSIONALS I started my career with a cheap microphone and a belief that beautiful football means attacking football. I was wrong. Beautiful football is smart football, no matter what it looks like. When I look back at my first article about Incheon United, I realize the problem was not whether Incheon deserved to win, but that I lacked the knowledge to explain why they won. I didn't understand defensive tactics, I didn't understand pressing traps, I didn't understand xG (Expected Goals). All I had was the confidence of a 17-year-old and a cheap microphone. When I pursued my master's degree, I began to realize that everything can be explained by data — but only when you put that data in the right context. A victory with 31% possession can be a garbage win, but it can also be a brilliant tactical triumph. The difference is whether you have enough information to understand why the team chose that approach. CONCLUSION: NO VICTORY IS GARBAGE After eight years of following Korean and Vietnamese football, I have learned a lesson: there is no such thing as a garbage victory. There are beautiful wins and ugly wins, but all are the result of a process. When a small team beats a big team, they are not just celebrating; they are proving that football is not only about stars and money, but also about tactics, patience, and team spirit. Silence reveals the truth. When you are quiet enough to look at the numbers and at every single moment instead of just the scoreline, you will see the real story of the match. And in that story, no team is garbage — only impatient analysts are.