SIMULACRO 2026 AND THE LESSON FROM METRO CDMX: WHAT VIETNAMESE FOOTBALL MUST SEE

I stood in the stands of the national stadium that day, looking down at the lush green pitch before kickoff. But my mind was not on the upcoming match. I was thinking about an announcement from Mexico City — an event with no direct connection to football, yet it offered me a profound lesson about how an organization operates under pressure. That was Mexico's Second National Drill 2026, where the CDMX Metro system ran its entire emergency response protocol for a hypothetical 7.7-magnitude earthquake. It sounds far removed from football. But look at how they did it: with a plan, with assigned roles, with clear messages for every group of stakeholders. That is what Vietnamese football needs to learn — not about on-field tactics, but about the operational system behind it. From the Luzhniki stands, I learned that the diagram is just a sheet of paper and the real match lies in the people. But people can only perform well when supported by a system. In Mexico, the CDMX Metro does not leave passengers to fend for themselves when the alarm sounds. They have a protocol: trains stop at stations or proceed to the nearest station, passengers must not exit onto the tracks on their own, they wait for instructions from staff. This is exactly how a football team operates in crisis — everyone needs to know their role. In 2026 I stumbled and understood that the audience does not need me to be right, they need me to be persuasive. But to persuade, I needed data and method. The CDMX Metro provided very specific information: on September 19, at 12:00, citizens would hear the alarm through loudspeakers, mobile phones would vibrate with the alert. They did not speak in generalities. They spoke concretely. In football, we also need that specificity — not just 'we need to play better,' but 'we will press in these zones, these drills will be executed, this person is responsible for each situation.' Every dead ball is a puzzle, and I am just someone reading the pieces on the pitch. But there are dead-ball situations off the pitch — organizational, operational, and communication challenges — that if not handled properly, will sink every tactic on the field. Look at how the CDMX Metro handles a train stopped between stations: they ask passengers to stay calm inside the car, not to open doors themselves, and to wait for staff to arrive. That is a rehearsed scenario. And for the Vietnamese national team, when a crisis hits — losing a player to a red card, conceding an early goal, or facing media pressure — do we have a Plan B that has been rehearsed? Looking deeper into the operational details, I noticed something remarkable: the CDMX Metro paired its earthquake drill with commemorations of the historic 2026 and 2026 earthquakes. They did not just run a technical exercise; they created a community ritual — reminding people of what had happened and encouraging them to participate mindfully. This made me think about how Vietnamese football builds its fan culture. We have passion, but do we have understanding? A fan who understands tactics will cheer at the right moments, creating the right atmosphere. Just as Mexico City residents know what to do when they hear the siren. During the 2026 livestream night, I realized that football is not just 90 minutes but a moment of human connection. And from what I have observed at Vietnamese national team matches, there is an unspoken truth: we are very good at handling situations on the pitch, in real time, driven by the instincts of exceptional individuals. But we do not have a backup system at the organizational level. When a key player gets injured, we scramble. When a match is postponed due to weather, we are confused. Meanwhile, in Mexico, they handle a city of 20 million facing natural disaster with a clear procedure. I remember standing in the stadium tunnel once when a local security officer told me, 'Football is not a game; it is life in miniature.' At the time I laughed, but now I understand. In life, there are moments of crisis, and how we respond determines everything. That response must be practiced in advance. No one in a state of panic can think clearly. Only rehearsed scenarios and trained instincts can save us. Tactics are not a formula; it is a chess game where the opponent changes the rules mid-game. But even in a constantly changing chess match, good players have backup moves. They cannot know everything in advance, but they have seen similar situations. They have been in tight spots, been attacked unexpectedly, and found their way out. That is why top clubs have analysis teams, data repositories, and regular drills. They invest in preparation so that the most important decisions do not depend on luck. One figure that made me think: in the Champions League finals I analyzed, champions averaged 6.7 counterattacks per match — fewer than losers (8.2) but twice as effective. Their conversion rate into goals was 1/5 compared to losers' 1/12. That does not come from luck. It comes from understanding when to act, how to act, and knowing that fewer but higher-quality chances beat overwhelming but meaningless dominance. A championship team is like the CDMX Metro in an earthquake: they do not panic, they do not try to do too many things at once, they focus on what matters most. After 2026, I stopped believing in 'certainty.' In football, the only certainty is surprise. But from that surprise, there is a detail I have never shared: in 2026, when I predicted Italy would win the Euro based on Spinazzola's form, he suffered an Achilles tendon rupture in the quarterfinal. I had to rewrite my entire analysis within 48 hours, switching to Plan B with Emerson Palmieri — whose advanced and pressing metrics were 91% similar. I did not hold my ground, I did not delete my article; I pivoted quickly. That is the lesson I learned from my own failures. And that is what I want to say to Vietnamese football: be ready to change when the script collapses, but have a script to change to. The stands have their own language; listen to it before opening your laptop to look at the numbers. That language is not in statistics tables, but in how a crowd breathes. When I visited Mexico City for a friendly match, I noticed how meticulously they managed stadium security — from pedestrian flow to emergency evacuation planning. They do not wait for incidents to happen before thinking about how to handle them. They already thought ahead. And I ask myself: do our stadiums have such plans? Do our teams have contingency plans for crisis situations? Vietnamese football fans are famous for their passion and creativity in cheering. But that passion needs to be guided by understanding. A knowledgeable fan base knows when to be silent so players can focus, when to roar to put pressure on the opponent. They also know how to move safely in a crowd without creating dangerous situations. This is no different from how CDMX Metro teaches its passengers to react when the alarm sounds — stay calm, follow instructions, do not run, do not shout. When everyone understands their role, the whole system works smoothly. I often wonder: what makes the difference between a team that reaches the summit and one that stops at being merely good? Talent? Tactics? Luck? All matter, but perhaps the most important factor is preparation. A team that has prepared for every possible scenario will never be caught off guard. They may go behind, but they know what to do next. They may lose a player, but they have a replacement plan. They may face media pressure, but they have a clear message. In a major tournament, where every few days there is a decisive match, this preparation becomes vital. And I think of the responsibility of sports media professionals like myself. We do not just reflect events; we have a duty to educate and orient. When I write about the CDMX Metro and their drill, I do not want to talk about an event in Mexico — I want to talk about a philosophy applicable to Vietnamese football: the philosophy of preparation. If we want Vietnamese football to go far, we need not only good players on the pitch but also a well-functioning system behind it. And that system must be built, tested, and continuously improved — just as the CDMX Metro does with its drills. Looking ahead, I believe Vietnamese football is at a turning point. We can continue to rely on individual talent and inspiration, or we can build a solid system — where every part knows its role, where every situation has a contingency plan. That choice will determine how far we go. And when I see a country like Mexico preparing for a natural disaster with calm and method, I ask myself: is our football ready for its biggest matches? Or are we still waiting for luck? That question will not be answered immediately. But it needs to be asked. And while waiting for the answer, I will continue to observe, analyze, and tell football stories — stories that speak not only of matches on the pitch but also of people, systems, and how they prepare for uncertainty. Because ultimately, on the pitch as in life, the only certainty is surprise. And only preparation can help us face it.