The N/A Report and a Lesson for Vietnamese Swimming

I still remember the afternoons spent by the poolside, waiting for swimmers to climb out of the water. The area smelled strongly of chlorine, the sound of shoes on the tiles echoed evenly, and we often spoke to one another in short sentences. But today, when I received an analysis report on Vietnamese swimming, I could not find the name of any athlete. There was no technical data, no performance history, no competition context. The entire document repeated the phrase N/A. A younger colleague might have discarded it immediately. I, however, believe it is one of the most honest documents I have read in years. A sports news story is usually measured by the drama of a competition. But over time, I have learned that gaps in information can also tell a story, sometimes even a more truthful one than a medal. When an analysis lacks enough data to confirm anything, a writer has two choices: to invent a beautiful story, or to confront the shortage. This report chose the second path. It does not say that Vietnamese swimming is weak. It simply says that we do not yet have enough data to know where we stand. The line between these two statements is vast, and misunderstanding it can push an entire training system in the wrong direction. Imagine a coach standing by the pool. The athlete has just finished a long session and is breathing heavily. Without data about heart rate, stroke frequency, underwater time, stroke length, and technical stability under fatigue, the coach must rely on intuition. Intuition is not wrong, but it cannot be reproduced as precisely as a measurement. Modern swimming analysis is no longer about pressing a stopwatch and comparing medals. A race is divided into several phases: the start, the dive, the underwater kick, the breakout, the pacing, the turns, and the final sprint. Each phase can be measured in seconds and hundredths of a second. A swimmer can win a race thanks to a turn that is 0.3 seconds better than an opponent, even if their average speed is not remarkable. But without separate data, no one will ever know where the real strength lies. The report had none of those numbers. I read the technical section carefully, and every item said N/A. At first, this looked like a refusal to analyze. But it raises a more important question: why is there no data? Is it because of a lack of measuring equipment? Because athletes are not tested regularly? Because coaches have not been trained to ask scientific questions? Or because results are stored only as rankings without deeper analysis? There is no answer, but the gap itself is also a kind of data. In high-performance sport, saying I do not know is harder than making a strong claim. The media loves stories about willpower, overcoming hardship, and magical finish touches. But the foundation of those moments is always systematic sports knowledge. When I was a young reporter, I thought a good journalist was someone who always had an answer. After years of covering sport, I have realized that a credible journalist is someone who knows exactly the limits of their knowledge. An N/A report may not satisfy the demand for stories about records or tactics, but it satisfies another requirement: transparency. It does not try to make a system that lacks data look more scientific. It also does not attempt wild guesses. This is an attitude that Vietnamese sport needs more of, not only in swimming but in the way we talk about every sport. The paradox is that emptiness can be information. Suppose we want to assess the strength of a swimming nation. We need to know the number of standard pools, the number of children learning to swim, the number of coaches with international certificates, and the number of sports scientists working with national teams. Without that data, any judgment about international performance is merely emotional. A single talented athlete can win a medal, but a strong system must be built on data. Many people may argue that sport cannot be reduced to numbers. I agree. Some variables cannot be measured by a watch, such as emotions on the starting blocks, fear of a rival, or the desire to prove something after injury. But if we do not measure what can be measured, we will never understand the role of what cannot be measured. Once again, N/A is not a failure. It is a message. It says that the analyst does not yet have the tools, the data source, or the cooperation required from the sports system. If we read that message seriously, we must ask new questions about investment, training, sports science, and performance management. Swimming does not forgive delay. Races are measured in hundredths of a second, and today's lack of data will become tomorrow's gap in the rankings of SEA Games or ASIAD. But the good news is that the gap is not unbridgeable. Vietnam has young talent, a need for professional sports structures, and people ready to learn. What is missing is not talent, but a culture that treats data as a national asset. If we want Vietnamese swimming to rise, we must start with small steps: recording every training session, standardizing performance measurement, storing data over time, inviting scientists to analyze it, and accepting that some questions will not be answered immediately. That path is not as glamorous as a medal ceremony, but it is the only sustainable way forward. As a sports journalist, I want to say that an N/A report is not an end. It is a starting point. The only question left is whether we have the courage to listen to what emptiness is trying to tell us.