The 40-Year-Old Long An Stadium: From Sports Pride to a Crossroads of Fate

That night, standing before Stand B of Long An Stadium, I heard no roar of 20,000 spectators. I only heard the wind threading through cracks in the walls, the drip of water from a broken drainage system, and the sigh of a structure that was once the pride of an entire region. A stadium without song is where I hear the truth most clearly. Football never lies; only the viewers deceive themselves. And the truth here is: a 20,000-seat stadium, situated on approximately 75,000 m² of land in Long An ward, Tay Ninh province (formerly Tan An city, Long An province), has officially entered the final chapter of its professional sports life. The story begins with a seemingly simple proposal: converting the stadium into a green park and square serving the community. But behind this proposal lies a long chain of administrative decisions, dramatic reversals, and a bigger question about the future of Vietnam's sports infrastructure. From the summit to the brink of collapse Long An Stadium was built in 2026, with a capacity of 20,000 seats, once one of the most modern sports facilities in the Mekong Delta region. Together with the auxiliary field, gymnasium, martial arts house, and swimming pool, this sports complex once witnessed the golden pages of Long An football — a team that won the V.League title twice, in 2026 and 2026. But time spares no one. After more than 40 years of operation, the stadium has seriously deteriorated. The wall of Stand B is peeling, with danger warning signs erected long ago. The drainage system is damaged, tanks broken, steel bars exposed. The concrete pitch surface is spalling, revealing the steel structure beneath. The goal area has severely degraded. Moss covers the pitch surface and stands. I have followed many stadiums in decline throughout my career, but rarely have I seen such uniform and comprehensive destruction. This is not the deterioration of a few isolated components, but the collapse of an entire infrastructure system. Every pass is a confession, every conceded goal an unspoken sorrow — and here, every crack in the wall is an admission of prolonged neglect. The death spiral of sports infrastructure The absence of major sporting events in recent years is both a cause and a consequence of this decline. This is a classic death spiral: fewer events lead to less maintenance investment; less investment leads to further deterioration; further deterioration leads to even fewer events. The grass surface is still mowed and maintained fairly flat for small local tournaments, but that is merely an effort to maintain appearances. The surrounding areas have been converted into commercial rentals: food stalls, coffee shops, fashion stores. This covert functional shift occurred long before the formal proposal was submitted. Financially, the story is even more complex. In 2026, Long An province (then still the administrative unit managing the stadium) planned to sell assets and transfer land use rights to fund a new sports center. By August 2026, the stadium was transferred to the Land Development Center with an expected value of 1,822 billion VND, but the auction was never held. On May 20, the Provincial Party Committee suspended the plan. On June 25, the Government Inspector General concluded the auction plan was non-compliant. On August 26, the auction decision was formally revoked. Fourteen seconds can open a life, or bury a legend — and here, three and a half years of reversing decisions buried a financial plan. This decisive reversal raises a big question: why did a seemingly financially sound plan get ruled non-compliant by the Government Inspector General? The answer may lie in the administrative reorganization — from Long An to Tay Ninh — creating ambiguity over jurisdiction and disrupting the chain of management responsibility. The blind spot of collective memory When mentioning Long An Stadium, people often think of the glorious memories of Long An football in the 2000s. But there is a blind spot few see: the silence of local sports clubs. The old look backward to understand how far they have come; the wise look forward to know what they still lack. If local football clubs or sports associations had strong stakes in this stadium, we would see visible opposition. Their silence reveals a harsh reality: this stadium has long ceased to function for professional sports, and everyone knows it. Another blind spot lies with the small traders doing business around the stadium. Mr. Bao, a trader there, said he heard about the conversion but has not received any official notice. He is willing to return the premises and move when required, but the lack of formal notice creates prolonged uncertainty. The singer of collapse: a contrarian view While most see loss, I see liberation. Long An Stadium can no longer serve professional football — that is clear. Continuing to maintain a deteriorating structure with ever-increasing maintenance costs is merely prolonging waste. The proposal to convert it into a green park and square, though still debatable in many aspects, carries a positive message: instead of letting a dead structure sit in the heart of the city, turn it into a living space for the community. A green ring, walking paths, multi-functional spaces — that is a humane way of rebirth. Song does not make victory, but it makes memory. And memory can be preserved in many ways. A green park with trees planted on the old pitch can still tell the story of those Hamburg nights, those peak matches once held here. However, there is a risk this proposal has not addressed: maintenance costs. A 3.2-hectare park (the entire main stadium area) will require a regular budget for tree care, sanitation, security — without generating direct revenue. This places a burden on the ward budget, which is already limited. Lessons from a death spiral Every match is a life: some collapse, some rise, all within a single breath. Long An Stadium has collapsed — not in a single match, but over more than a decade of neglect. And the question extends beyond this single structure to Vietnam's entire sports infrastructure system: how many other stadiums are on the verge of a similar death spiral? A stadium without song is where I hear the truth most clearly. And the truth here is: we need clear criteria to decide which stadiums to keep, which to convert, and which to upgrade. We cannot let each province fend for itself with reversing decisions like the story just told. The fate of Long An Stadium still awaits a final decision from Tay Ninh provincial authorities. But whatever the outcome, this story has exposed a reality: our sports infrastructure is aging, and we do not yet have a comprehensive strategy to face it. Tonight, as I leave the stadium, I see a streetlight still shining on Stand B — where the wall is peeling piece by piece. That light falls on a patch of grass still carefully mowed, like a final promise of what once was. And I ask myself: do we have the courage to face the truth — that some things must go so that new things can flourish?