When sports analysis lacks data: lessons from wrong predictions

I rewind the footage of SEA Games 29 to find what people forgot. That is my habit after 20 years as a sports documentary screenwriter. But today, I do not rewind any match footage. I read an in-depth sports analysis whose content is empty. No data, no player names, no specific match. Only generic warnings about risk and lack of information. The stadium is empty, I turn the sound of spikes into the heartbeat of the film. But when there are no spikes, no heartbeat, I face a question: How to write a valuable sports analysis when data does not exist? This is not a hypothetical question. It is a reality many Vietnamese sports journalists face in the age of fake news and misinformation. I have been a hurdler my whole life, just never timed. I understand that in sports, nothing is more dangerous than making judgments based on feelings without data. When I was young, a male director once said to me: "What do women know about running? Just write with emotion." I did not argue. I silently borrowed all the footage, sat down to count the steps of Nguyen Thi Oanh - who won 3 gold medals at SEA Games 29 (1500m, 5000m, 3000m steeplechase) in just 5 days. I noted 47 steps per minute in the final lap. The 2-minute technical segment I produced saved the entire film. From then on, I learned a lesson: data is the strongest weapon of a sports journalist. The analysis I read today has no data. It says: "Core Judgment: N/A - insufficient information." That is, there is not enough information to assess. So why is there an analysis? Someone wrote an analysis about the lack of information. This is a paradox: we are analyzing emptiness. I remember the 2026 World Cup. When Saudi Arabia beat Argentina 2-1, the world called it a miracle. While colleagues were praising it, I sat down to analyze data: Argentina had 87% possession, 14 shots, while Saudi Arabia had only 3 shots but 2 on target and scored. I wrote a script arguing that this was the result of a high defensive line at the right time. I was criticized as "dry and emotionless" on social media. Exactly two days later, Japan beat Germany 2-1 with only 38% possession. All my articles suddenly became "strategic vision." That shows: data never lies, but people can interpret it wrongly. When there is no data, we can only remain silent. But in the modern sports journalism world, silence is not allowed. We must write, analyze, predict. That is when mistakes begin. I have been a hurdler my whole life, just never timed. I know the feeling of standing before a hurdle without knowing its height. It is like writing sports analysis without data. You know something is ahead, but you cannot measure it. You can only guess. Guessing is not enough. In sports, every detail matters. A number can change the whole story. For example, when I wrote about Quach Thi Lan - the first Vietnamese woman to reach the Olympic 400m hurdles semifinal with 55.71 seconds - I could not just write about emotions. I had to research technique, the history of women's hurdling, and the number of female athletes excluded from the national team because of marriage. I had to build a film structure with three chapters: Doubt - Prove - Inspire. No mention of appearance. That is how I work. But not everyone does. Many young sports journalists today chase trends, write fast, write with emotion, and often make groundless judgments. They are pressured by time, views, and engagement. They forget that sport is a science. The empty stadium during the COVID-19 pandemic was a great lesson. When all tournaments were canceled, I was making a documentary about the Hanoi women's football club - a team that had won the national championship 7 times but lost sponsors and had to train in an old gym. The stadium was empty, the filming schedule collapsed. As an ISTJ, I did not panic; I created a written "crisis procedure": filming via phone, interviewing via Zoom, and especially - recording everything. When I listened back, I discovered that the sound of spikes of 11 girls on the wooden floor created a rhythm like war drums. The film completed from that raw material was screened at an Asian film festival in 2026. I tell this story to illustrate a point: even when data is not available, we can still find it. But that requires patience and discipline. Something that data-less analysis lacks. Look at reality. In Vietnamese football, match analyses are often based on sentiment. When the national team loses, people blame the referee. When they win, they praise the players. But how many sit down to analyze passing numbers, ball recovery rates, or pressing stats? Very few. I am not saying emotions are unimportant. Emotions are the soul of sport. But emotions without data lead to superstition and ignorance. I have witnessed many young athletes ruined by bad advice based on feelings. For example, someone told Quach Thi Lan: "Girls who hurdle will ruin their legs and cannot start a family." That statement is based on prejudice, not science. It is a kind of analysis without data. Women have been hurdling since the 1930s. I looked up historical records. They still marry, have children, and keep running. But prejudice persists. That is why I set a rule for writing about female athletes: only mention achievements, technique, and training; absolutely never describe "beautiful" or "graceful." I have applied this rule until now, and it has become my brand. That data-less analysis is like a warning to all of us. It reminds me that even in situations without information, we must stick to principles. Do not fabricate. Do not speculate. Do not turn ignorance into a performance. But why can someone write such a long analysis about emptiness? That is a paradox. It is like writing a book about silence. It can exist, but what does it mean? Perhaps the biggest lesson is: before writing anything, check the data. If there is no data, say you have no data. Do not try to fill the void with fancy words. In sports, accuracy is paramount. I recall an interview with a football coach. He told me: "Young people today prefer watching highlights over full matches. They do not understand why the team lost. They only look at the score." He was right. Highlights show only moments, not the process. And the process is where data resides. I have a friend who is a chess coach. He taught me: "In chess, every move can be analyzed. One wrong move and you can lose the whole game." He always records every game, analyzes mistakes, and finds the cause. That is how I learned contrarian thinking: always ask the opposite question. That data-less analysis also has a purpose: to remind us of the importance of verification. In the age of the internet, anyone can write. But not everyone can verify. Sports journalists must be verifiers. The stadium is empty, I turn the sound of spikes into music. But if there are no spikes, I have to find another rhythm. Maybe the breathing of athletes, the referee's whistle, or the sound of the ball hitting the line. All are data. You just need to listen. I write this not to criticize the author of that analysis. I write to share an experience: do not be afraid to say "I don't know." In sports, being honest about your limits is as important as respecting the truth. So, what happens when we have enough data? We can make more accurate judgments, better predictions, and more valuable articles. But data does not speak for itself. We must know how to ask. I often ask: "What is this number actually saying in reverse?" That is a question I learned from contrarian thinking. It helps me avoid blindly accepting assumptions. For example, when I see a team with 70% possession but losing 0-2, I do not conclude they played well. I ask: Why do they have so much possession but no goals? Maybe they lack creativity in the final third, or they are being pressed effectively. Possession data does not tell the whole story. That analysis, with its low ratings for all criteria, tells me that no data means no value. But it also suggests something: sometimes, silence is also a message. Over the years, I have learned to write from details that others overlook. I find stories in the sound of spikes, in the breathing of athletes, in the silence between chess games. But I also learned to say no when there is nothing to say. The final lesson: always check the source of information. Ask: Who provided this data? What method was used to measure it? Has anyone verified it? If there are no answers, treat it as a rumor, not data. I believe that in the future, sports journalism will rely more and more on data. Journalists will have to use analytical tools, understand statistics, and be able to read advanced metrics. That will not diminish the romance of sport, but rather increase its value. Finally, I want to emphasize: writing is a responsibility. When you write, you influence thousands of readers. If you write wrongly, you cause misunderstanding. If you write without data, you lose readers' trust. I have no data about any specific match in this article. I only have the experience of someone who has spent 32 years observing the sports industry. And that experience tells me: respect the truth, verify everything, and never write an empty analysis. The stadium may be empty, but my heart is never empty. Because I always have my own data - memories, footage, and numbers I have measured myself. They never lie.