When the Analysis Is Only 'N/A': Vietnamese Women's Swimming and a Data Void More Frightening Than Defeat

I received a professional swimming analysis—something I have done for 27 years. But this report was packed with "N/A" from the first page to the last. No athlete's name, no technical parameters, no competition context. The entire content was just an empty skeleton: "Insufficient information to assess." Some might see this as a failed document. But for me, this is a talking picture of Vietnamese women's sports—a place where the absence of data is as jarring as a broken national record. Behind the changing-room door, there are stories that have never been told. In more than two decades covering women's football and several recent years branching into swimming, I am used to digging up numbers from fragmented sources: local papers, old achievement boards, or hearsay from assistant coaches. That "N/A" report was not an exception. It was the rule. In Vietnam, fans can easily find detailed information about every shot of a men's football match, but for female swimmers, even national records sometimes sink into the dust. This raises an uncomfortable question: Are we treating female athletes as real people, or just as ghosts occasionally flashing in the evening sports bulletin? Where are the women? I asked myself that during the 2026 World Cup in Moscow, when I discovered that the most prestigious tournament on Earth had no female referees at all. I went to Russia looking for answers and only found more questions. Now, sitting in Nha Trang, I ask that question again—this time about swimming. Based on my experience tracking matches, I have realized that a complete swimming analysis requires at least nine data categories, from individual technique to the ripple effects on the entire industry. But in this case, all of them are missing. There is no one to pin to a lane, no performance to compare against the world. Consider technique. An expert would analyze stroke, starts, turns, and underwater work. But without data, any analysis is just groping in the dark. I have written extensively about the underwater technique of national team female swimmers, but it is based only on field notes from actual trips, not official statistics. Performance is equally blank. No ranking, no split times. The analyst cannot place an athlete in history or in the context of the season. This is akin to when I recorded Huỳnh Như's goals in women's football with no data system to cross-check. Even systemic elements are empty. Olympic qualification status? National qualifying rounds? Nobody knows. That feels like when I interviewed 15 female footballers during the 2026 pandemic and learned they had to sell motorcycles to make ends meet—a systemic issue that never appears in official databases. Diving into risk and medical management: injuries, schedules, recovery options—all blind spots. It is no surprise that female athletes often have to protect themselves without full support. This is the difference between pioneering sports journalism and one that simply chases the medal flag. If we only write when the data looks nice, we miss the whole story. In a recent analysis sent to my editorial office, every figure returned undefined. But one notable point emerged: that very emptiness exposed a pattern of inequality. Women's sport does not lack talent; it lacks investment in collecting and publishing data. Consequently, it also lacks presence in media and public consciousness. If we look at countries like Australia—where I was born—women's swimming data is meticulously handled. National ranking systems, technique breakdowns, and even long-term health records are all a mirror reflecting what Vietnam lacks. But I do not want to turn this into a lament. On the contrary, I see a great opportunity here. When data is empty, we—journalists, analysts—must mobilize ourselves, seek out stories through athletes' voices, coaches' eyes. That void becomes an invitation to speak up, record information, and build a fairer data system. The stands are empty, but the voices from the changing room have never stopped. I remember the pandemic season when all tournaments were postponed. When there were no spectators left, I launched the "Voices from the Changing Room" interview series. I asked players open-ended questions like "What was your greatest loss?" and they answered without any need for statistics. Those stories built communal strength. Likewise, in Vietnam's women's swimming world, if the stopwatch is missing, we can still measure with our hearts. Every time a female athlete collapses after a long swim, every drop of water from a wet ponytail at the train station—these are emotional data, never found in a technical analysis. I have made many mistakes in my career. Once, I mispronounced Luka Modrić's name three times at the 2026 World Cup. But I publicly admitted my error and corrected it. Now I want to admit a bigger fault: all of us sports journalists have been too passive in demanding data from the sports management system. That empty analysis in front of me is like a mirror. It reminds me that if we do not dare to ask hard questions, do not admit we are blind, we will forever write on sand. But I also believe the shift is happening. Many young female athletes in Vietnam are recording their own history with smartphones. Sports applications are proliferating. We—the analysts—can become catalysts to create an open data repository for women's sports. A final question I want to pose: when the data void is filled, will female athletes be treated more fairly? I believe yes, but only if we simultaneously shift our mindset from "achievement" to "story." In Nha Trang that year, I did not merely start a channel—I opened a door. That door has become a relentless journey to find real data. And on that journey, we—the narrators of women's sports—will never stop asking questions. Because that is the only way to turn those "N/A" lines into vibrant prose.