Nguyen Tien Minh and the victory of the time-waiter at the Vietnam Open 2026

The men's singles qualifying match at the Vietnam Open 2026 started later than scheduled. When Nguyen Tien Minh entered the court, a group of Vietnamese fans clapped in an uneven rhythm, as if they themselves did not know what to expect from a 43-year-old player. Facing him was Nguyen Hoang Thai Son – a player more than 20 years younger, specialized in doubles, with superior power and speed. The match could be summarized in one detail: Minh did not run faster or smash harder, but every time Thai Son accelerated, the shuttle returned to a position that forced him to slow down. When it ended in the second set, Minh walked to the net to shake hands with a rare smile – the smile of a man who had just won with intelligence rather than physical strength. The Vietnam Open 2026 belongs to the BWF Super 100 series. It is not among the most prestigious events, but it is an ideal place for players to earn ranking points and regain match feel. This year's tournament attracted more than 300 athletes from 27 countries and territories. That number shows the international nature of the event, though it is not a stage gathering the top stars of Asia. Nguyen Tien Minh entered the qualifiers more as a spiritual symbol than a serious title contender. Ranked 254th in the world, his biggest opponent in recent years has been age and the natural wear of his body. At this tournament, alongside Minh, the Vietnamese badminton team also had Le Duc Phat – the most expected player in men's singles. However, knee and heel injuries forced him to take pain-relief injections just to compete. His wife sat in the stands, watching every step he made. Nguyen Hai Dang, another young face, also stopped right at the qualifying round. Vietnam's men's singles picture at this year's event therefore appears in two colors: an old veteran still trying to keep the rhythm, and a younger generation struggling with injuries and pressure. The key to Nguyen Tien Minh's victory over Nguyen Hoang Thai Son lies in the difference in playing frameworks. Minh has played singles for more than two decades and is used to reading the wide space of a singles court. In contrast, Thai Son comes from doubles, where movement range is narrower and skills like net play and half-court coverage are prioritized. When he stepped into singles, those habits became open targets. Minh repeatedly hit deep lifts, pushed the shuttle to the two rear corners, and forced the younger player to turn his body in ways a doubles player never has to. In the first set alone, I saw at least five rallies where Minh aimed exactly at the space where Thai Son lost his step. That was not luck but the result of reading the match with experience. Right after the victory, Nguyen Tien Minh told me: “I met a young opponent with strength and speed, but he is not strong in singles. I took advantage of that.” That simple sentence reveals an important truth: Minh no longer tries to run with youth. He is looking for ways to turn age into an advantage. Based on my experience following matches, older players rarely win by stamina; they usually win by narrowing the opponent's margin of error. Minh did exactly that. He did not need spectacular smashes to score. He only needed to bring the match to situations where his opponent had never been rigorously trained. Still, this victory must be placed in realistic context. Minh's opponent was only a doubles specialist playing in the qualifying round of a Super 100 event. The sample of that match is too small to confirm rising form or a miraculous comeback. If Minh had faced a true singles player with a good ranking in the main draw, the story might have been different. Therefore, this win over Thai Son should be seen as a reminder that experience still has value in a suitable environment, rather than proof that elite sport can defeat age. My bigger concern this year is not the result of a qualifying match. It is the condition of Le Duc Phat. When an athlete needs pain-relief injections just to compete in a Super 100 event, the most important question is not whether he wins or loses, but whether we have given him enough time to recover. In high-performance sport, the pressure to play often comes from many sides: the coaching staff, the fans, and sometimes the athlete's own career. But without proper injury management, Vietnamese badminton may lose far more than the points from one tournament. Away from the court, I noticed a story many might overlook: Nguyen Tien Minh is still playing badminton for joy. When I asked him about his motivation at 43, he talked about the fans, about matches played for dedication, rather than ranking goals. For Minh, the court is now like a place to tell the story of his life through each step. He is no longer Vietnam's number one hope at major international events, but he remains an example of how an athlete faces the end of a career. Elite sport is cruel, yet the way a person ages in sport can inspire more than any victory. Many will look at Nguyen Tien Minh's qualifying win and think Vietnamese badminton still has a strong pillar. But I believe that could be a misunderstanding. One win over a doubles specialist in qualifying cannot reflect the true strength of a badminton nation. What Vietnamese badminton needs now is a new generation strong enough, durable enough, and intelligent enough to inherit what Minh and his contemporaries have built. Until that generation appears, I will still go to the court, still write about them, and listen to the pulse of every match. I often tell young colleagues: “I do not keep the beat with a whistle, I keep it with words – and words beat like a heart.” For Nguyen Tien Minh, his rhythm is kept with the shuttle, with patience, and with love for this sport. As the stands gradually emptied after the first day, I remembered a phrase I have used many times: “When the stadium is empty, I realize I am not writing about a ball, but about the people who love it.” Today the stadium was not empty, but what I wrote remained the same – not about the shuttle, but about a 43-year-old man who loves his sport in the simplest way. He no longer runs fastest or jumps highest. He only knows how to wake up each morning, put on his shoes, go to the court, and play one more match until his body refuses. And when the body can no longer continue, what remains is the story of a person who lived fully with the shuttle. Today, Vietnamese badminton has a missed beat named Le Duc Phat and a waiting beat named Nguyen Hai Dang. But on another court, Nguyen Tien Minh is still carrying his own rhythm – by never stopping, never ceasing to read the match, and never forgetting that he plays for the people who love this sport. A team's rhythm is not only measured by victories, but also by how they hold each other through missed beats, injuries, and failures. Nguyen Tien Minh cannot lift the whole younger generation alone. But he can show them that even when no longer at the top, an athlete can still walk with the beat of his own heart.