Long An Stadium: From Sports Icon to Community Park and Lessons in Public Asset Management

There is a moment I will never forget: in 2026, when Long An FC won the V.League championship for the first time, the provincial stadium shook with the roar of 20,000 people. I wasn't there — I was still a child in Germany, knowing Vietnam only through books. But when I watch old footage, I see something that every stadium has at its finest moment: life. Twenty years later, that stadium no longer hears cheers. Walls are peeling, drainage is damaged, concrete on the pitch is cracking, exposing steel reinforcement. And now, a proposal is under review: transform it into a green park. This is not just a story about a stadium. This is a story about how we manage memory, assets, and public responsibility. Built in 2026 in Long An ward, Tan An town, Long An province, the stadium was a modern sports facility for its time, with a capacity of 20,000 seats. Following administrative boundary adjustments, it now belongs to Long An ward, Tan An city, Tay Ninh province. Covering approximately 75,000 m² on a 3.2-hectare site, this sports complex included not only the main stadium but also an auxiliary field, multi-purpose gymnasium, volleyball hall, and swimming pool. It was a complete sports complex — an asset any province would desire. But time spares no one. After more than 40 years of operation, the stadium has severely deteriorated. Stand B has a danger warning sign due to peeling walls. The drainage system is damaged, tanks are broken, steel bars are exposed. The concrete football pitch is peeling, revealing the steel structure beneath. Moss covers the field surface and stands. The goal area has deteriorated. And most sadly: in recent years, the stadium has rarely hosted major sports events. The grass is still mowed, the surface is kept fairly flat — but only for small local tournaments, not professional football. This is the death spiral of sports infrastructure: fewer events → less maintenance investment → further deterioration → even fewer events. Long An Stadium has been in this spiral for years. And when a sports facility can no longer host professional matches, the existential question arises: what to do with it? The first answer came in 2026. Tay Ninh province planned to sell the asset and transfer land use rights to fund a new sports center. By August 2026, the land was transferred to the Land Development Center for auction. Expected value: 1,822 billion VND. But the auction never took place. In May 2026, the Provincial Party Committee suspended the plan. On June 25, the Government Inspector General concluded the auction plan was non-compliant. On August 26, the auction decision was officially revoked. 1,822 billion VND. That's a number I want to pause and think about. In the context of a mid-sized Vietnamese province's budget, revenue from public land sales is typically earmarked for major infrastructure projects. The loss of this revenue creates a significant fiscal gap. But the Government Inspector General ruled: the process was non-compliant. And that is an important signal about public governance — the oversight mechanism is working, even if belatedly. In this context, the Long An ward People's Committee proposed a different direction: convert the stadium into a green park combined with a square. According to the proposal, the park will feature a green ring, walking paths, lawns, trees, and outdoor sports equipment. A green, multi-functional space serving the community. The proposal is currently under review by the Tay Ninh provincial People's Committee. I read this proposal and see a clever narrative reframing. From "losing a stadium" to "gaining a community space." From "demolishing a sports landmark" to "reviving a green space." Politically, this is a smart move. In terms of governance, it reduces legal risk compared to the controversial auction plan. But the question remains: who pays for the park? And who will maintain it? A 7.5-hectare park does not maintain itself. It requires annual budget for grass cutting, tree watering, infrastructure maintenance, security. The Long An ward People's Committee — with its limited ward-level budget — would bear this recurring cost with no direct revenue stream. Currently, the stadium area generates some income from commercial rentals: food stalls, coffee shops, fashion stores. If converted to a park, this revenue disappears. I have spoken with many sports facility managers in Germany and Japan about aging stadiums. In Germany, they have a concept called "Nachnutzung" — reuse after the end of primary function. Some old stadiums become museums, shopping centers, or residential areas. But in Vietnam, converting a public stadium into a park is a new direction — and it raises long-term urban planning questions for which I have not seen clear answers. But there is one group I think about most: the small traders currently doing business at the stadium. A trader named Bao said he heard about the conversion but has received no official notice. He is willing to return the premises when required. His answer — calm, accepting, not resistant — speaks volumes about the position of small traders in urban transformation processes. They have no strong voice. They simply wait. What troubles me most about this story is not the stadium's fate, but the decision-making process. A public asset worth thousands of billions of VND, existing for over 40 years, was neglected to the point of irreparable deterioration. Then a land sale plan was proposed, suspended, found non-compliant, and revoked. Finally, a conversion proposal was submitted — but those directly affected have still not received official notice. This is not a story about individual or institutional failure. This is a story about systemic failure in public asset management. When no one is responsible for maintenance, assets deteriorate. When no one is responsible for process, plans violate regulations. When no one is responsible for informing citizens, people live in uncertainty. I look at Long An Stadium and see a larger lesson for Vietnamese football. Many provincial stadiums built in the 1980s-1990s face similar fates. As the V.League raises stadium licensing requirements, many older facilities fail to meet standards. Clubs must rent stadiums in other provinces, increasing operational costs and reducing home-match revenue. The decline of Long An FC — from V.League champions in 2026-2026 to their current status — cannot be separated from the decline of infrastructure. There is a question I want to ask decision-makers: if we know a stadium will deteriorate after 30-40 years, why don't we have long-term maintenance plans from the beginning? In Japan, stadiums are built with periodic maintenance funds. In Germany, clubs typically manage their own stadiums and treat them as revenue-generating assets. In Vietnam, public stadiums are usually built with state budget, handed over to local authorities, and have no financial mechanism to sustain them after decades of use. The moment I remember most while writing this article is not the numbers or events. It is the image of a 20,000-seat stadium — once a source of pride for local sports — now silent, moss-covered, waiting for a decision about its fate. The peeling walls are not just decaying concrete; they are symbols of systematic neglect. But perhaps, as I learned from Japan's comeback losses, loss is not an end — it is a turning point to see oneself more clearly. Long An Stadium could become a beautiful green park where children play and elders walk. But if we do not learn the lesson of public asset management from this story, other stadiums will fall into the same spiral 20 years from now. And that is the real question: are we building new stadiums with a plan for their future, or are we just creating decaying legacies for the next generation? Long An Stadium is not just a sports facility. It is a mirror reflecting how we manage what belongs to everyone. The ball rolls into anyone's net — but only the storyteller knows whose heart it rolls into. And today, the ball has rolled into my heart, reminding me that there are dribbles not meant for scoring — but to remind us why we love the ball so much.