Nguyen Tien Minh, 43, Advances at Vietnam Open: The Parking Garage Remains a Training Ground for Dreams

Late on September 8, at Nguyen Du Stadium in Ho Chi Minh City, Vietnam, Nguyen Tien Minh left the court with his racket still intact. He had just won his men's singles qualifying match at the 2026 Vietnam Open (Super 100), defeating his younger compatriot Nguyen Hoang Thai Son — a doubles specialist who had to enter the singles draw because the national team lacked players. Minh, 43, did not celebrate. He simply nodded toward the empty rows at the back of the hall, where no spectators remained to watch a qualifying match at a lower-tier tournament. People look at medals. I look at the hand holding the cracked racket. The 2026 Vietnam Open attracted more than 300 athletes from 27 countries and territories, running from September 8 to 13. The tournament belongs to the Badminton World Federation (BWF) Super 100 system, offering modest ranking points and prize money far below Super 300 events and above. But the tournament's significance for Vietnamese badminton does not lie in prize money or points. It lies in the fact that a 43-year-old former world No. 5, who reached that peak at age 29, can still compete at this level and advance. The stadium closes, but the parking garage lights stay on. That phrase echoed in my mind as I stood in the hallway, listening to Minh's post-match interview. He admitted that his opponent — Nguyen Hoang Thai Son — was not strong in singles. "Thai Son has strength and speed, but he is not as specialized in singles as I am. I just needed to control the rhythm and bring the match back to my own pace," Minh said. From a tactical perspective, Minh's victory did not come from powerful smashes or superior technique. It came from the systematic exploitation of a tactical weakness: a doubles specialist accustomed to fast-paced lateral movements and short serves will struggle when forced to rotate vertically along the full court in a singles match. Minh, with 18 years of international experience, read this before the match even began. This is something that statistical data can never fully reflect. No figures on shuttle speed, rally duration, or deciding-game win rates were released for this match. But those who watched could see clearly: Minh did not chase the shuttle. He pulled Thai Son back to the deep forehand corner, using high, deep clears to break down the movement zone of a player used to the narrower court coverage of doubles. I do not argue back. I watched 14 match tapes and counted 47 pressing situations. Minh's story cannot be separated from the broader context of Vietnamese badminton. Le Duc Phat — currently Vietnam's No. 1 men's singles player — required pain-relief injections before the tournament due to knee and heel injuries. His wife sat in the stands, watching every step her husband took. Phat competed but could not show his best form, a clear consequence of the absence of a professional sports injury management system. Nguyen Hai Dang, another young player, was eliminated early. I have followed Vietnamese badminton since Minh was at his peak, watching his career through many ups and downs. When he first retired and then came back, people called it a comeback. But at 43, every match Minh plays is no longer a comeback — it is a ritual, a challenge to time. He has lowered his ambitions from chasing medals at major tournaments to simply advancing through qualifiers at a Super 100 event on home soil. Fans expect more from him. Yet, this reveals a counterintuitive truth: Minh's presence at this tournament is not merely about competitive results — it is a mirror for the next generation. Meanwhile, Vietnam's sports governing bodies are still struggling with the transition. In the main draw, Minh will face Zhe Ying Wu from Taiwan (Chinese Taipei), a much younger opponent. The big question: can Minh's 18 years of international experience compensate for the physical capacity of a body that has passed 43? What I observed in the qualifying match suggests that Minh manages his stamina wisely. He avoids burning energy in the opening rallies, lets the match settle into a slow rhythm, then accelerates in the second game when his opponent begins to fade. From another angle, Minh's continued participation at age 43 raises serious questions about the depth of Vietnamese men's singles development. Le Duc Phat, in the prime of his career, is plagued by recurring injuries. Nguyen Hai Dang remains inconsistent. Nguyen Hoang Thai Son is a product of the doubles program, entering singles only because of a shortage of players. One large question remains: will Vietnamese players ever gain access to proper sports science and medical support — the kind I have witnessed being underfunded in women's sports across Malaysia and the Philippines — or will they continue to face physical setbacks without adequate systems? Institutionally, this Super 100 event has reported no controversies regarding officiating or competition rules. But that does not diminish its importance: the presence of more than 300 athletes confirms Vietnam's appeal as a regional destination in badminton, attracting young players seeking points and experience at an accessible tier. My concern does not stop at Nguyen Tien Minh. In the women's singles draw, Nguyen Thuy Linh — Vietnam's No. 1 female hope — is seeded and will face 19-year-old Xu Wen Jing in the coming rounds. Few pay attention to the phrase "sports medicine system" in Vietnamese women's sports, but I have witnessed the journeys of female athletes who hide their pain, who cry in changing rooms because no one listens. Eight kilograms, two months, a small room to cry in. I only recorded a part of it. Nguyen Tien Minh says he still plays for passion, but I prefer to look at the truth behind his words: a 43-year-old ranked 254th in the world still enters tournaments because if he stops, the gap he leaves will have no one to fill it. That is not joy. That is devotion to a job only he is patient enough to do. Lost the Olympics because of one postponement. She was 19, and the world turned away. I wrote about this four years ago regarding another young player, and today, watching an athlete at 43 still running on court, I realize the difference between accepting age and surrendering to it. Minh does not surrender. He stays, plays qualifying matches, exploits opponents' weaknesses, and continues to pave the way for younger players to see a model of persistence. The stadium hallway emptied after the match. Cleaning staff began their work. Minh remained in the changing room, holding his old racket, carefully checking each string. He has done this for 20 years. Perhaps, win or lose against Zhe Ying Wu tomorrow, the most significant story of the 2026 Vietnam Open is not about the eventual champion. It is about the people who still walk quietly through the corridors, unlit, uninterviewed, uncounted — and they keep walking, keep playing, keep hoping. Even when the stadium gates close, the parking garage lights stay on.