The Sepak Takraw Gold and the Two-Tier Reward: When the Arena Says What the Ledger Cannot

Inside a multi-purpose arena in Nagoya, on the afternoon of September 29, three Vietnamese women stood still as their national flag was raised. There was no thunderous applause in the press area, only the sighs of those who had sat too long on the sidelines. Photographer Bui Luong pressed his shutter continuously, as if afraid the moment would slip away. Hours earlier, they had won the gold medal in the women's doubles sepak takraw event at the 20th Asian Games. Hours later, their names would appear not in a technical analysis page, but in a reward ledger.

For me, someone who has sat on the sidelines of many arenas, large and small, for more than two decades, this duality has never ceased to trouble me. A gold medal is converted into nearly four billion dong in state bonuses, plus several billion more from the Hanoi municipal budget — but the real question for Vietnamese sport is not the number, it is the structure of how we pay those who win. The arena never lies; only our beliefs stay silent. Today, I want to stay silent long enough to hear clearly what the arena itself has said.

I remember the winter of Changzhou in 2026, when I stood in a freezing stadium and, for the first time in my life, heard my heart beat in rhythm with an entire grandstand. Changzhou was bitterly cold, but for the first time I heard my own heart beat in sync with the whole stadium. That feeling — of witnessing something that transcended itself — cannot be converted into money. But my profession has taught me that in Vietnam, every triumph must eventually pass through an administrative door. And that door, this time, was numbered 349/2026/ND-CP.

The truth is that the post-gold story of Vietnamese women's sepak takraw deserves to be told as a lesson in sports policy, not merely as a piece of good news. Behind a gold medal, two reward systems operate in parallel, and between them lies a gap that very few fans notice.

Context: One sport, one culture, one system

Sepak takraw — known in Vietnamese as cau may — is the signature sport of Southeast Asia, in which players use their feet, knees, chest, and shoulders to send a rattan or plastic woven ball over a net. Internationally, it is governed by the International Sepak Takraw Federation and the Asian Sepak Takraw Federation, not by Western sports federations. This is an important detail, because it explains why sepak takraw, despite being a regional source of pride, receives far less global media attention than football or athletics. At the Asian Games, sepak takraw is always one of the events most prized by Southeast Asian nations, because it is an arena where they can compete on equal footing with the continent's sporting powers.

The 20th Asian Games were held in Nagoya, Japan, within the four-year cycle of the Olympic Council of Asia. For Vietnam, this is a stage where gold medals are always considered an important indicator of the nation's sporting development. As a result, every gold medal at this event triggers a series of reward mechanisms — from central to local level.

I have followed the Asian Games for many years as a host and a writer, and what caught my attention this time was not the medal itself — Vietnamese sepak takraw has long had a tradition on the continental stage — but how the administrative system responded to it. Years ago, when I was hosting sports programs in Binh Duong, I often received questions from viewers: "How much do the athletes get?" Back then, I usually answered vaguely, because I did not fully understand the structure myself. Now, with adequate data in hand, I see that the answer is far more complex than a single figure.

In this article, I will not recount the match, because the source I have access to does not provide details on the score, the opponents, or the number of participating athletes. What it provides is the reward structure — and that structure, when read carefully, reveals more about how Vietnamese sport operates than any technical breakdown.

Core Analysis: Two reward tiers and one gap

According to Government Decree No. 349/2026/ND-CP, each athlete winning a gold medal at the Asian Games is entitled to a performance bonus of 280 million dong. In addition, a special preferential regime of 20 million dong per person per month applies, lasting from the date of the result until the next Games. With a four-year cycle — roughly 48 months — this preferential treatment amounts to 960 million dong per athlete.

Combined, each athlete receives about 1.24 billion dong from the state budget. For three athletes in the team, the total from the central budget is about 3.72 billion dong — the figure the media usually calls "nearly four billion."

Notably, this reward structure does not stop at the central level. Parallel to Decree 349/2026/ND-CP, the Hanoi People's Council issued Resolution No. 82/2026/NQ-HDND, establishing an additional reward tier for athletes under its jurisdiction. Specifically, each Hanoi athlete receives an extra 140 million dong, plus a special preferential regime of 33.5 million dong per month over the same 48-month period — equivalent to about 1.608 billion dong.

In total, an athlete on the Hanoi payroll receives about 1.748 billion dong from the municipal budget, on top of the central share. Combining both tiers, each Hanoi athlete could receive nearly 3 billion dong from state budgets at both levels.

This is the point that I believe most fans do not realize when reading brief news reports. Within the three-athlete gold-medal squad, only two are on the Hanoi payroll. The third athlete — unnamed in the source — is not covered by Resolution 82/2026/NQ-HDND. This creates an imbalance within a group that had just stood together on the highest podium.

More concretely, if we calculate: the two Hanoi athletes receive about 2.48 billion dong from the central budget and about 3.496 billion dong from the municipal budget — a combined total of nearly 6 billion dong. Meanwhile, the third athlete receives only about 1.24 billion dong from the central budget. The gap between the two groups is nearly 2.5 times.

This is not a system error. It is a design feature: Vietnam operates a two-tier reward model, in which local authorities have both the right and the obligation to top up for athletes they train or manage. But precisely because it is a design feature, it raises questions about internal fairness within national teams.

One more detail worth noting: coach Hoang Thi Thai Xuan, who led the team, is entitled to 50 percent of an athlete's entitlement, equivalent to about 620 million dong from the central budget. This is a mechanism linking coach welfare to athlete results — a design rarely itemized in the media, yet reflecting the system's rigor.

Beyond the above, the team also received a 200-million-dong "hot bonus" from the delegation, and according to the source, any additional rewards from federations and sponsors — if any — would be added, but remain unquantified.

Altogether, the total value this squad receives from state and municipal budgets (excluding hot bonuses and sponsorships) is roughly over 8 billion dong for three athletes and one coach. This is a significant figure, and it reflects the priority the state gives to international sporting achievements.

But what I want to emphasize is not the number, but the time structure of the reward. Most of the value lies in the preferential regime lasting "until the next Games" — that is, about 48 months. This is income dependent on the competition calendar and the budget cycle, not an immediate cash payment. If, for whatever reason, the Games cycle changes or the budget is adjusted, the real value of the reward may differ from the figure on paper.

As someone who has hosted sports programs and witnessed many athletes struggling with life after retirement, I see this as a point that needs to be stated clearly. Because a 25-year-old athlete receiving a notice of "1.748 billion dong" will plan their life around that figure. If the money is disbursed monthly, and if the cycle lasts as expected, it is a stable income. But if anything changes — and in sports, change is constant — those plans can be disrupted.

I recall my conversation with athlete Doan Van Hau in 2026, when I sat listening to him speak about the pain of a body not allowed to tire. In those moments, I understood that behind every medal is a person with very ordinary calculations about rent, medicine, and the future. Sport is not only glory; it is also livelihood.

Contrarian Angle: The "nearly four billion" figure is not wrong, but what does it hide?

Before going further, I want to be clear: the "nearly four billion dong" figure reported by the media is accurate — but it applies only to the central budget share for three athletes, and it sits between two other truths.

The first truth is that this figure may be too high compared to other sports with more brutal international competition. A gold medal at the Asian Games in an Olympic sport may require decades of investment, hundreds of potential rivals, and a complex sports-science system. Does the reward level truly reflect that difficulty?

The second truth is that this figure may be too low if we consider the full economic value a gold medal generates — from advertising, from prestige, from later career opportunities. But those are unquantifiable, and do not always materialize.

What I consider most important, and the contrarian angle of this article, is this: Vietnam's reward system operates on a "cycle-based and locality-based" model, and this model creates three hidden risks.

First, income sustainability risk. When most of the value lies in a preferential regime lasting 48 months, athletes depend on the stability of the Games cycle and the budget. If the cycle or policy changes, real value may decline.

Second, internal inequality risk. When two athletes in the same team receive nearly double the third, it is a psychological issue any collective must face. I am not saying the system is wrong — I am saying it needs to be seen more fully, rather than only through the medal moment.

Third, locality dependency risk. When an athlete is not on the payroll of a major city, they may be left behind in rewards. This can affect young athletes' decisions about where to train and compete — a sports-geography issue for which we still lack much research.

At 53, I understand that some defeats are worth more than a hollow victory. And in this case, I think "losing" the race for media attention may be an opportunity to look squarely at the system's structure. Because if we stop at the medal moment, we miss the most important thing: how the system prepares for the next medals.

One more point I want to be candid about: I cannot verify certain facts such as the exact competition date or the number of participating delegations, because my source does not provide them fully. In my profession, it is important to state clearly when I do not know, rather than filling gaps with speculation. Therefore, the reward figures I present above are based on the policy documents cited, and should be cross-checked with official sources before being used for any other purpose.

Takeaway: Sport as a common language, and an unanswered question

The story of the gold medal in sepak takraw in Nagoya is a beautiful story — no one can deny that. But it is also an unfinished story, because after the moment of glory there are athletes reassembling their life journeys, coaches calculating welfare, and officials weighing budgets for the next cycle.

I have learned one thing over many years on the sidelines: that glory is not a destination, but a moment. And that moment only has meaning if it is nourished by what comes after — by policy, by fairness, and by understanding.

Vietnamese sport is at an interesting stage, when athletes across different disciplines — from football to sepak takraw, from athletics to swimming — are rising to new heights. But for those heights to be sustainable, we need a reward system that is fair not only on paper, but in practice.

The question I leave for readers today is not "how much do those three women deserve?" — because the answer is: they deserve everything. The question is: are we building a system in which every medal is priced at its true value — not only for the winner, but for those who planted the seeds?

I met a golden girl growing from the red earth, and I understood that sport is a miracle with someone who sows it. And that sower, sometimes, only needs a system that pays fair dues so they can continue their work.