When Data Is Empty: How Martial Arts Journalists Deal with 'Silent Analysis'

Hundreds of reporters were present at Phu Tho Stadium on a Saturday night. They came to write about a major martial arts bout between the reigning champion from Khanh Hoa and a young fighter from Binh Duong. The stands were packed, drums beat, and people expected a detailed report on technique, tactics, and strikes of both fighters. However, when I opened the document from the organizers, the page was blank. Not without content, but an entire tactical analysis system had been left empty. I have followed the Vietnamese martial arts scene for more than ten years. Since my days as a sports reporter in Binh Duong, I have witnessed hundreds of fights. But I have never seen such a major event so lacking in data. This is not a technical error of a website, but a story about how we treat information in sport. There are applause that no one hears, but the fight still needs to be told. Without numbers, how can I tell the story truthfully? I decided to dig deeper. Initially, I thought the organizers forgot to send the attachment. But when I called, the media officer sighed: 'Our analysis team said there was not enough information from the fight. They only watched videos shot by phones, no professional cameras, no accurate strike statistics. They sent us a long article explaining that analysis is impossible.' I went to the training center to meet the analyst. A young man, a former fighter now working with data. He opened his laptop and showed me an empty spreadsheet. 'Every analysis needs input. If the organizers do not collect data from the fight according to international standards, I can only write about emotions, about efforts, but that is not in-depth analysis.' He gave an example: In an international combat sport bout, experts use precise strike counting systems, hit percentage, attack efficiency, even strike speed. In Vietnam, many tournaments still score based on referees' subjective feelings. This story reminds me of a study on Vietnamese Muay Thai. It found that domestic fighters often underestimate themselves because of the lack of official fight data. Without numbers, investors are reluctant to invest, and fighters cannot sign major contracts. That night, I called a friend who works as a scout for an international MMA promotion. He said: 'Abroad, they look at the data sheet before watching the video. If a Vietnamese fighter has no numbers, he is almost invisible.' He also told me that when scouting in a province in the Mekong Delta, he wanted to study a local fighter with ten wins. But no one had recorded details of each match, just a few phone-quality clips. The scout eventually ignored him. Back to the empty analysis, I wondered if we are losing the chance to put Vietnamese martial arts on the world map because of laziness in recording. I remember a conversation with martial arts master Nguyen Van Hung, who has been involved for 40 years. He said: 'In the old days, my master taught me to remember every move. Now kids don't want to write anything, just stare at their phones.' I began to search for numbers, any numbers. I met the main referee of the fight. He was respected and had officiated many national tournaments. He admitted: 'We still score the old way: who strikes more beautifully, who presses more. But beauty is subjective.' He recalled an incident where a foreign referee suggested an electronic scoring system, but the organizers refused due to cost. After a week of investigation, I realized that the root cause was not just the organizers' unprofessionalism, but an entire system that devalues data. While other sports like football have VAR and statistical software, martial arts remains blind. But there is good news. In Ho Chi Minh City, a group of young people are building an open data platform for martial arts tournaments. They install software on their phones to count strikes and record fighters' heart rates. I visited them at a club in Go Vap district. A young man named Pham Minh Chinh, a former fighter, founded the app 'VoThuatData'. He said: 'If there is no data, your story is only emotion. Emotion cannot be invested.' He showed me a trial training session. Every strike was recorded by sensors, displayed on screen. The numbers danced like music. A fighter could know his hit percentage. That made me think: I did not come here to score a goal, but to record those who score. These silent “goal scorers” bring hope to martial arts. Yet there is a paradox: many young fighters still compete without injury insurance or professional contracts. They train with passion but lack the data foundation to prove value. A fighter once confided: 'I am willing to sacrifice sweat, but no one measures that sweat.' Returning to the initial blank analysis, should we blame the analyst? No, he is only a victim. The issue is that martial arts event organizers in Vietnam often skip data collection. They focus on ticket sales, shoot some footage, and post on social media. The entire scientific information system is left blank. There is a principle in journalism: If you don't have facts, you make them up. I don't want to make things up. But how can I have facts when nobody records? One rainy afternoon in Thu Dau Mot, I sat with a friend who is a communications director of a martial arts federation. He said: 'We know, but investing in a data system requires money. Sponsors only want scores and medals, no one asks about the database.' I asked: If a Vietnamese fighter wants to fight in Thailand one day, what would you introduce? He stayed silent. When I write this article, i know many will say: It is not new news. True, but the point is to recognize that lacking data not only hampers analysts, but also closes the door of international opportunities. The day I fell down, the grass told me I belonged elsewhere. As for Vietnamese martial arts, its place will remain a mystery unless we record its own numbers. Last evening, I accidentally met a group of students from the sports university. They are working on a research project about the circadian rhythm of fighters. They wore smartwatches on fighters for a month. They had thousands of data points. I suddenly realized: Young people are doing what we fail to do. The story of the blank analysis may be a minor incident. But it reflects a major reality. Vietnam has extraordinary talented martial artists, but the data system is abandoning them. How many Vietnamese martial arts stars have been forgotten simply because nobody counted their strikes? This question keeps me awake. This morning, I received an email from that analyst. He wrote: 'Thank you for your article, even though you have not written it. Your question asking me why I could not analyze made me realize my truth. I have just volunteered to help a martial arts club build a free statistics system.' There are applause that no one hears, but the fight still needs to be told. There are numbers no one records, but the future of a sport is built upon them. When the stand is empty, I hear the heartbeat of a whole city. That heartbeat is the sound of keyboards typing to fill empty spaces in data sheets. One afternoon, I sat at my familiar coffee shop in Binh Duong, writing my memories. I remembered an old martial arts master from my hometown. He once said: 'People can measure the length of a road, but no one measures the length of belief.' Perhaps we must change: we must measure belief with reliable numbers. I write this not to mock anyone, but to awaken myself. Because I understand that facing an empty analysis is not the failure of the analyst, but the failure of an entire ecosystem. The ball rolls over everyone, only the storyteller remains. And the storyteller must know: without facts, without data, they will write false stories. Fighters can dodge punches, but they cannot escape oblivion if no one records their journey. It is time to standardize national martial arts data. We need to move beyond amateur thinking. We need to attach sensors to fighters instead of just gloves. Finally, I went back to the analysis I had thrown in the trash. I picked it up, dusted it off, and changed the title: 'No data, no story.' And I began to collect data from the fight that night myself, interviewing each spectator and referee. Each gave me a puzzle piece. I jotted it down into a notebook. A reporter's life is perhaps like that: filling endless blanks. As I write these final lines, it is dark. I look out the window and see the bright lights of Go Dau Stadium. A match is underway. And I know there, a young fighter is dreaming. His dream will grow thanks to the numbers we record right now.