A Glass of Beer for Đình Bắc and the Pressure Crushing Vietnam's Football Jewel

That moment came from a short video, filmed on a phone at a family party. Nguyễn Đình Bắc – the one recently dubbed by the media as the 'jewel of Vietnamese football' – holds a glass of beer, smiles brightly, and leans in to clink glasses with men who look a decade older. No one sings, no one dances, there is no indecent act. Just a well-dressed young man, sitting amid a cozy table, raising a glass as a way of thanks and bonding. Yet, within hours, the video had spread across football forums. On social networks, the judgment seats were pulled out. Many accounts commented in one direction: 'The young star has started to let himself go,' 'Chumming with the seniors to get a starting spot,' or even heavier: 'This way, his future is doomed.' At the age of 21, Đình Bắc has just touched an invisible yet deadly line: the line between an ordinary person and a celebrity where every trivial act is scrutinized under a media magnifying glass. I have spent nearly 30 years in sports radio, from Belgrade to Paris, and then returned to watch Vietnamese football with the eyes of an expatriate. I am not surprised by this uproar. But I am surprised at how we react with such a lack of evidence, such a lack of sobriety. On September 2nd, Tuổi Trẻ newspaper had to publish an article titled 'Đình Bắc drank one glass of beer, what's the fuss?' – a question the editorial itself raised to challenge the ecstasy of the crowd. In that same article, many readers left contrasting opinions. Some defended him, some were harsh, others sighed, recalling a painful history: 'Vietnamese football has had so many early-blooming talents that did not make it past age 30.' That phrase – 'age 30' – stopped me. It is not just about drinking beer. It speaks of a systemic anxiety, a cultural fact of football we rarely dare to face. Let's reset the context. At the age of 21, Nguyễn Đình Bắc is not an unknown player. He is one of the most utilized young forwards in a position that is not even his natural one – left wing in his club side, and also as an attacking midfielder for the national team. When I watch Đình Bắc's matches, I see a blend of early striking ability and intelligent movement. He is not the kind of player who uses pace to blow past everything; he reads the game with the calmness of a scout who is used to observing before acting. That is why, from a football economics viewpoint, Đình Bắc is a national asset. His value does not lie in a disclosed transfer fee or contract, but in the legacy he represents for a new generation of Vietnamese players – who play with their heads and not just their feet, who live professionally when the ball rolls. Yet, precisely because he is a 'jewel', Đình Bắc is being crushed under an incomparable wave of expectations. The online crowd seems to demand superhuman omnipotence: play elite football, maintain a flawless image, live like a saint, never have a mere mortal moment. And when he does exactly that – drinking a beer at a party – he is made an example for a living. I remember a rule France Bleu taught me in my first year in Paris: 'If it's not verified, it doesn't air.' That rule applies not only to transfer news, but also to the private stories of players. No one among us has accused Đình Bắc of breaking a contract or a rule. Nor has anyone provided evidence that this glass of beer made him train worse or perform poorly. Yet phrases like 'this way you can't become great' are spreading at meteoric speed, based on a sample size of zero. In a sports psychology study at the Aspetar Institute in Qatar, scientists showed that mild alcohol intake – a small amount, infrequently – generally does not directly affect a player's physical performance if controlled. The first effect is not from alcohol but from the psychological pressure created by the public, which makes a player lose sleep, lose focus in training and matches. Thus, a beer may be harmless, but a wave of criticism on social media is a poison, injected straight into the nervous system of a young player. This is especially true for Đình Bắc, who has just gone through a period of having to adapt to fame, to the expectations of millions. Many mention Ronaldo and Messi as ideal models – never drinking beer, living like ascetic machines. But they forget that Ronaldo and Messi are exceptions among thousands of professional players in the world. They have their own nutrition regime designed by top-notch expert teams, a psychological support system, a family, and an extremely disciplined club environment. Even a superstar like Ronaldo, when young, had tantrums that Portuguese media condemned. But he had a support system, a personal trainer, and the determination to turn criticism into fuel. Does Đình Bắc have that? Does his club have a psychologist? Who trains him in handling press and social media? The answer might be: almost no one. We only have a talented young player, exposed to the public hot seat without any shield. No one notes that one beer at a wedding-like celebration cannot ruin a career, but the way we treat it can push someone into silent rebellion or depression. Imagine if Đình Bắc were internally disciplined because of this video, if he were publicly warned by the head coach, what precedent does that set for other young players? In 2026, when COVID-19 froze global football, I saw stadium cleaners in Paris struggle, and I understood that a player's life is not just training and matches. They too have family bonds, friend circles, and personal joys. We cannot detach them from everyday life and then demand they fly high forever on the pitch. But I also understand the anxiety of fans. They have seen many Vietnamese football 'jewels' like Công Phượng, Văn Toàn, and Xuân Trường – who were hailed from a very young age but later stalled at a modest level. They are afraid that Đình Bắc will repeat the pattern. They want to remind him that talent without discipline is like a shooting star, shining briefly then fading. That thought is not wrong, but it is wrapped in an uncivilized act, lacking respect for someone else's privacy. They turn a simple social moment into an online court, divided into two sides: one accusing, one defending, but none truly listening to Đình Bắc's voice. The biggest blind spot in this story is the role of clubs and the Vietnam Football Federation. In major European leagues, when a similar incident happens, the club immediately deploys media officers to guide the young player's response. They also hold regular education sessions on managing their online image, on the traps of a celebrity life. In Vietnamese football, it seems everything depends on each player's personal awareness. If a player comes from a family with a good educational background and an altruistic nature, they will avoid trouble. If not, they will quickly be swallowed by the 'environment'. Đình Bắc – perhaps used to being praised since childhood – now faces a much harsher reality: media scrutiny is a double-edged sword, it can make you famous, but it can also kill you ruthlessly. I am not making excuses for Đình Bắc. On the contrary, I think he should see this incident as an initiation lesson about the burden of fame. If he truly wants to reach the level expected of him, he must understand that even harmless ordinary behaviors can attract attention. His management team should proactively arrange intimate press meet-and-greets, showing the public a disciplined Đình Bắc, a Đình Bắc who volunteers, so the public has no room for negative stories. In the sports world, there's a saying: 'Better to let people suspect you of doing bad things than to let them see you enjoying yourself while everyone is working.' It sounds unfair, but that's the game in the arena of fame. The insider is not the one who knows the most, but the one who stays calm when everything collapses. That sentence I learned in my years of anchoring high-stakes Champions League broadcasts. Đình Bắc now might be panicking or feeling offended. But if he knows how to turn this noise into motivation, into a push to train even harder, then this stumble – if any – will only be the stumble of someone running fast. However, what worries me most is the attitude of those around him. His family, agent, coaches, and especially the national team staff: are they ready to protect him from this baseless wave of judgment? Or will they remain silent, letting him 'drown on social media' before calling a meeting? I have seen in Europe, many small clubs, because of limited finances, are willing to sacrifice a young player before public opinion to protect the club's image. That emptiness is more devastating than any criticism. Let's look at the numbers. In 2026, Đình Bắc played 26 V.League matches, scored 7 goals, and created 20 clear-cut chances. This season, despite not playing regularly, he still ranks among the top 10 U23 players with the best dribble success rate in V.League. A player like him, with such youth and rapid development, is a symbol of a Vietnamese football generation asserting itself regionally. If you look at what's happening in Thailand or Malaysia, the fact that a young star drinks beer at a family dinner wouldn't even make a line in a tabloid. So why in Vietnam does it become a national issue? Perhaps because we – the fans – have never caught up with the modern lives of players. We still imagine them as fairy-tale heroes, who must lead saintly lives beyond the pitch. And when a stain like a beer appears, we subconsciously feel betrayed. At 46, I no longer chase breaking news; I chase verified truth. And the truth here is: Đình Bắc is being treated unfairly, but he also has a rare opportunity to mature. We have seen young players who were fiercely criticized, then became pillars of the national team by overcoming the noise. Conversely, some have crumbled under the pressure. What makes the difference is not whether one drinks beer, but whether there is a support system behind. Đình Bắc is at a crossroads: either he treats this as a wake-up call and moves forward, or he sees everything as jealousy and withdraws. Both are the choices of a man. But as a veteran football broadcaster, I want to tell him: drink when you want, but remember that whenever you raise a glass, there might be a camera pointed at you. And moreover, live up to the expectation – not of the frenzied online fans, but of those who genuinely work in football, who understand the value of a young Vietnamese talent. The story of the glass of beer will likely calm down soon if no new development arises. But what it exposes – how we treat celebrities, how we project our own fears and dreams onto players – remains. Vietnamese football cannot grow solely through the victories of the U23 team or the national squad. It needs cultural maturity, where we know the difference between criticism and worship, between information and defamation. Whether Đình Bắc drinks beer or not matters less than whether we give him an environment to live, contribute, and correct his mistakes. A contract is the minutes of greed, but it is also a diary of hope. The hope of millions of Vietnamese is placed on the shoulders of a young player. Don't let a glass of beer shatter it all.