As a Vietnamese American kid growing up in the United States, I did not see many soccer players who looked like me. I also never played. My Vietnamese refugee parents expected my brother and me to focus on school instead of playing sports, which they considered a distraction, a luxury our family could not afford. This is not an uncommon thought among new immigrants, especially as soccer in this country is still largely considered an elite youth sport that favors mostly White affluent kids in the suburbs, those who have the resources to succeed.
Yet, my father loved watching sports events on television, especially the World Cup and the Olympics, and he would marvel at the skills and accomplishments of elite athletes. But finding an Asian or Asian American athlete competing at the international level was rare, so when they did appear, I felt nervous. I knew that, whether they liked it or not, these athletes representing their countries carried more than the hopes of their people; they also embodied their anxieties. With so few opportunities available for mainstream success, we realized they’d be judged not only for their individual performance, but also (and quite unfairly) for their country’s potential in the sport.
I experience these “rep sweats”to this day. As more Asian athletes rise to international levels, they carry the power to break down barriers, motivate their countries’ sports federations to provide more resources and encourage generations of future players.
These concerns are much on my mind as the 2023 FIFA Women’s World Cup is wrapping up the group stage, with an exciting mix of both predictable favorites and unexpected underdogs advancing to the knockout rounds. Despite the time difference of matches played in Australia and New Zealand, our family has been following the tournament closely, tracking our favorite superstars — such as the US’s Megan Rapinoe and Brazil’s Marta — playing in their last World Cups, and watching other international players like Japan’s Hinata Miyazawa, Jamaica’s Khadija “Bunny” Shaw and Colombia’s Linda Caicedo take the pitch by storm.
During the last FIFA Women’s World Cup in 2019, the Americans pummeled Thailand 13-0, a game that currently holds the record for the most lopsided World Cup match, men or women, in history. My initial joy had soured into disgust as the American players relentlessly celebrated over an exhausted and painfully overmatched team. Although I understood the teams’ experiences and resources were vastly different, it was difficult to witness such a beating. Predictably, given the surprising outcomes on the field this time around (including early exits from Olympic champion Canada and top-ranked Germany), my reactions have been all over the map. But it’s also been the so-called “debutante” teams that have my loyalties switching every match, especially while watching players from Asian nations triumph and falter on the international stage.
This year marked the first time Vietnam has ever qualified, one of eight first-time nations, including Morocco, the first North African or Arab nation to qualify for the competition — and now, along with Nigeria and South Africa — one of three African nations to make it out of the group stage, the first time that’s happened in this tournament. It’s been wonderful to watch how my own children are experiencing this tournament. It’s opening their eyes to how this game can shape — and be shaped by — global concerns. My husband has been a fan of the Premier League’s Tottenham Hotspur for years and passed down this devotion to our children.
Their favorite Spurs player is Korean international superstar Son Heung-Min, idolized by my son since he started watching the Premier League with his dad on weekend mornings as a toddler. I admit I took no notice of this team (whose nickname is the Lilywhites), until the immensely popular Asian player joined the club in 2015.
