Minh Tan – Gia Nghi bring historic bronze medal for Vietnamese Teqball at Asiad 20

At 10:20 a.m. on September 20, on the Teqball court at Asiad 20, a diagonal header by Nguyen Hoang Minh Tan hit the target against the Indian pair. The final whistle of the mixed doubles bronze medal match sounded. Trinh Gia Nghi knelt down and covered her face. Minh Tan ran over, helped her up, and pointed to the stands where a group of Vietnamese fans were waving flags. The first bronze medal for Vietnam at Asiad 20 officially belonged to Teqball. Many people are still unfamiliar with the name Teqball. This sport combines football techniques with table tennis-like rules. Two or four players stand around a curved table and use feet, head, chest, and shoulders to send the ball over the net. Hands are not allowed to touch the ball. The curved table causes unpredictable bounces, forcing athletes to move constantly and react quickly. Teqball made its official debut at Asiad 20. For a country with a strong street football tradition like Vietnam, adapting to this new sport came faster than expected. Minh Tan and Gia Nghi had only a few months of training together, yet they showed rare chemistry. In the semifinal, the Vietnamese pair lost a close match to Thailand. Many worried that defeat would affect their mindset. But Minh Tan said later: 'We just looked at each other without speaking. We both knew we still had the bronze medal match. Losing the semifinal was not the end.' This quietness revealed a very Vietnamese spirit: knowing pain but refusing to fall. Their opponents in the bronze medal match were Dsouza Quimcy Joaquim and Beg Mohamed Anas Imran from India. The Indian athletes had physical strength and endurance. In the first set, they pressured Vietnam with powerful volleys. Minh Tan often had to drop deep to defend. The most important thing in mixed doubles Teqball is not power, but rational spatial distribution. Gia Nghi played deeper, received the ball near the own side, and passed it to Minh Tan to finish. She did not try to score with powerful headers. She chose the role of creator, the one who kept the rhythm. Based on my experience following many Asiad tournaments, I noticed newcomers often rely too much on individual skills. They want to show beautiful plays and difficult spins, forgetting that the curved table creates instability. The winner is the one who controls that instability. Minh Tan and Gia Nghi understood this. They were not greedy. When the ball bounced sharply near the net, Gia Nghi used her chest to soften it. When the opponents pushed forward, Minh Tan played a delicate shot into the far corner. The 2-0 score did not reflect all the tension, but it reflected their maturity in reading the game. The final whistle ended with applause that was small but warm. People remember goals; I remember sighs behind the goal. In Teqball, every lost point carries a sigh. The Indian pair sat down and held their heads. Gia Nghi walked over to shake their hands. The cameras did not record that moment clearly, but it showed sportsmanship. The bronze medal of Minh Tan and Gia Nghi is worth more than a medal. It proves Vietnamese players can turn street football skills into international performance. It also raises questions about investing in new sports. Teqball does not require a stadium or expensive equipment. It needs only a curved table, a ball, and people hungry to contribute. Shortly after the historic bronze, Vietnam Teqball had a chance to win another medal in the men's doubles event. The pair of Ba Truong Giang and Le Anh Khoa entered the bronze medal match against Iraq. Despite their best efforts, they lost. Their faces showed disappointment as they left the court. I stood near the technical fence and saw Ba Truong Giang pat Le Anh Khoa on the shoulder before entering the dressing room. No one said anything loud. Losing a bronze medal match carries a special pain, so close yet still a gap. But in sports, a stumble is the fastest way to learn how to walk. The defeat will become a lesson for future tournaments. The same day, Karate gave Vietnam its second bronze medal. Martial artist Bui Ngoc Nhi won a medal in the women's individual Kata event. Her achievement is even more impressive when looking at her journey. In the opening match, Nhi lost to Ono Maho of Japan, 0-5. It was her hardest match at Asiad 20. Ono Maho had perfect technique, moving like a machine. Instead of collapsing, Nhi showed the spirit of an athlete who competed at SEA Games 33. She faced Choi Haeun of South Korea and won 5-0. Then she defeated Leong Wai Yee Shannon of Singapore 4-1. Two consecutive wins took her to the semifinal and then to the bronze medal match. Kata is a form demonstration, where judges score based on precision, power, and rhythm. Nhi once shared: 'I practice Kata like playing a melody. Miss one beat and the whole performance fails. When I step on the mat, I only hear my own breathing.' Her words remind me of something I often write: every season has its own pulse; you just need to listen. For Nhi, that pulse comes from concentration. She does not need to look at her opponent; she needs to look at herself. This bronze medal is a continuation of Nhi's achievements at SEA Games 33 and Asian youth tournaments. At 21, she has plenty of room to grow. More importantly, she proved Vietnamese martial artists can shine in demonstration events, not only in combat. Vietnam Karate still has a chance to win more medals when the women's team Kata enters the quarterfinal against Nepal on September 22. With current form, the team can dream of a semifinal. Team Kata requires absolute synchronization. Three athletes must strike at the same time, in the same direction, with the same breath. It is the strictest test of team spirit. After almost half a day of competition, the medal table began to take shape. China led with 2 golds, 4 silvers, and 1 bronze. Lin Xinyu, women's triathlete, won China's first gold of this Asiad. Japan was second with 2 golds and 3 bronzes. Macao, South Korea, and Kazakhstan each had 1 gold and ranked third to fifth. Vietnam was ninth with 2 bronzes. This position does not tell the whole story, because Asiad is long and Vietnam's key sports such as shooting, fencing, and weightlifting have not yet entered medal contention. What I appreciated most today was the appearance of young faces in new sports. Teqball does not yet have an official training system in Vietnam. Most athletes come from grassroots football or futsal. Yet they still stood on the podium of an Asiad. That is not a miracle; it is the result of persistence and love for the ball. I remember a small detail during the Teqball team's practice days before the tournament. In Nagoya, the heat was nearly 35 degrees Celsius. Minh Tan practiced a header into the T-angle nearly 50 times. Every time he missed, he stepped away, drank water, and returned. People do not see this on television. But I saw it, and I know medals do not come from luck. The silent star of Nha Trang never fades. I write that not only about the football players I have followed, but also about Teqball athletes like Minh Tan and Gia Nghi. They did not come from elite academies. They started on cement courts, in spontaneous matches, playing in the rain. That unglamorous environment created their agility and adaptability. Beyond the joy of medals, we must face the challenge of development. Teqball is new to Asiad, and investment from sports federations remains modest. To raise the next generation, we need domestic competitions, youth tournaments, and foreign experts. One bronze is a beginning, but the road is long. For Karate, Nhi's result shows Vietnamese women's Kata is approaching the top level in Asia. To compete with Japan, where Kata is a national art, Vietnam needs to invest in specialized coaching and motion analysis technology. Sweat alone is not enough; we need sports science. After today's events, I slowly left the sports complex. The sun had set behind the stands, and the floodlights were on. The Vietnamese athletes in red uniforms still walked toward the buses. They carried two bronze medals, one regret, and a lot of hope. The stadium had no spectators, but I heard the applause of those who never give up. That is what I tell myself every time I see a young team. They did not have rich history, but they came to Asiad with passion. Today, Teqball and Karate taught us a lesson: do not compare Vietnamese people with others in infrastructure, compare them in heart. The women's Kata quarterfinal against Nepal on September 22 will be the next milestone. If the team keeps its synchronization and spirit, a medal is within reach. Watching a young woman like Nhi walk past a 0-5 loss to a Japanese athlete and stand on the podium is the most beautiful part of Asiad. Let us not forget that Minh Tan and Gia Nghi's bronze came from a sport not yet in the national elite training system. That shows the potential of Vietnamese people is limitless. When given the chance, they can create things previous generations did not dare to dream. I will keep following Vietnam Teqball in the remaining days. I want to see Giang and Khoa grow after the loss to Iraq. I want to see Gia Nghi lead young teammates in practice. Those small things are the pulse of a sports nation. Asiad 20 is still long. Today's table is just a short scene in a long film. With two bronzes on the opening day, Vietnam has built momentum. Hopefully shooting, fencing, swimming, and other strong sports will bring more good news. Fans at home may remember only the final medal table. But I believe stories like Minh Tan, Gia Nghi, Nhi, Giang and Khoa will stay longer than numbers. Medals are moments; stories are journeys. I write slowly because I want to remember longer, like someone who keeps the rhythm for the whole field. Today, the pulse of Vietnamese sports was on the curved Teqball table and the Karate mat. Two places, one melody: belief in endless effort.