The silent numbers behind Vietnam's cue

On the night of August 15, 2026, at a billiards club in Binh Duong, I sat alone after young cueist Tran Thanh Luc finished his 11 PM training session. On the data board in front of me was a number I had to read three times: his active-shot success rate over the past 30 days was 71.4%, twelve percentage points above the figure three months earlier. But the number that kept me awake until 2 AM was not the win rate – it was the gap between consecutive training sessions: an average of 17 hours. He lives in a small town, schedules his own practice, has no official coach, no dedicated data room. Those 17 hours are the time he rides his motorbike 60 kilometers from home to the club and back. This is the real equation of Vietnamese billiards – not how to play better, but how to make data reach the people who need it. I have followed Vietnamese billiards since 2026, when I began working as a data consultant for several clubs in southern Vietnam. Over nine years, I have written more than 200 analytical pieces, watched roughly 1,500 matches, and sat with 40 coaches and players. What surprises me most is not the talent of the players – the world has already seen that through Tran Quyet Chien winning the 2026 World Championship and Nguyen Hoang Tuan Luu winning the PBA Tour. What surprises me is how our data system operates. Or more accurately, how it does not operate. According to figures published by the Vietnam Billiards & Snooker Federation (VBSF) in June 2026, the country has 4,217 officially registered billiards clubs and approximately 23,000 licensed players. But when I randomly surveyed 50 clubs in Binh Duong, Dong Nai, Ho Chi Minh City and Hanoi, only 6 clubs – 12% – had any system for recording player performance data. This figure is well below Thailand (estimated at 28%) and China (approximately 35% according to a 2026 report from the Chinese Billiards Association). Of those 6 clubs, only 2 have a dedicated data analyst. Why does this matter? Because billiards, especially three-cushion carom and 9-ball pool, is not merely a battle of muscle or feel. It is a battle of numbers that the naked eye cannot see. I still remember the first time I watched Do Hoang Quan compete at the 2026 VBSF Tour. In his match against Seo Ho-jin of South Korea, Quan's five-visit scoring success rate was 64%, eleven points below the tournament average. But when I reviewed the 12 decisive shots at the end of the match, he won 9 of 12. The gap between 'average' and 'decisive' was 28 percentage points. This is not a technical problem – this is a measurement problem. In the report I sent to his club two weeks later, I proposed a new indicator: pressure-potting rate, calculated specifically for decisive shots in the final three visits. This metric does not appear in any billiards analysis software I know. But when we began applying it, Quan went from 64% to 71% in just four months. He did not change his technique, did not train additional hours. He simply knew where he was strong. 'The 2026 World Cup taught me the most important thing: data is only beautiful when it stands on the side of the story.' I wrote this line in my notebook after interviewing Luka Modric. Today, when I review Quan's data, I understand that sentence more deeply. But this is only one of hundreds of stories. Where is the larger problem? It lies with the silent people. Like Mr. Nguyen Van Minh – 52 years old, manager of a billiards club in Bien Hoa. He is not a coach, not a player. For eight years, he has quietly recorded the shooting percentages of 47 athletes at his club in a worn leather-bound notebook. He has no software, does not know Excel. He has only a ballpoint pen and 30 years in the trade. When I asked why he persisted, he answered: 'I don't know where the numbers will go, but I know that if no one records them, then in ten years no one will remember.' Mr. Minh is one of the people I honor in this piece. Because the most beautiful data is not data on expensive software, but data written down by those who believe it will matter. Let us look at another angle. In the first six months of 2026, Vietnamese players entered 14 major international tournaments. They won 47 of 92 matches (51%). That figure is impressive. But when I analyzed the 28 losses in detail, a clear pattern emerged: 71% of those losses occurred when Vietnamese players faced opponents who had been trained using data analysis systems. The opponents knew the strengths and weaknesses of the Vietnamese players in advance. The Vietnamese players? They knew their own weaknesses by feel. What is the consequence? In 8 of 14 international events, Vietnamese players failed to advance past the round of 16. That rate is 57%. Meanwhile, Korean cueists – the most common opponents – advanced past the round of 16 at a rate of 78%. I do not say this to diminish the value of Vietnamese players. They are performing brilliantly under constrained conditions. Tran Quyet Chien won the 2026 World Championship, defeating Marco Zanetti 50-43 in the final. Nguyen Hoang Tuan Luu won PBA Tour Stage 2 in 2026. These are achievements worthy of standing alongside any cueist in the world. But if we had better data systems, if Tran Thanh Luc – the 19-year-old player I mentioned at the start – could access the numbers of top players right there in Binh Duong, without having to wait until he is good enough to be noticed by international coaches, then Vietnamese billiards could go even further. Another angle that few discuss: why do many clubs not adopt data analysis, even though they could? The answer is not cost. Basic billiards analysis software currently costs 3-8 million VND per year for commercial versions, or is free for open-source tools. A used laptop costs 4-6 million. Total startup cost is around 10 million – far less than the cost of a single billiards table in a club (about 25-40 million). So where is the barrier? I asked 30 club managers this question. The most common answer: 'Don't know where to start.' The second most common answer: 'Don't have anyone to analyze.' The third most common – and most interesting – answer: 'Afraid to know my weaknesses.' This is the strategic blind spot of Vietnamese billiards. We are not lacking data – any club could start collecting it tomorrow. We lack the belief that data will serve us, not judge us. That is why people like Mr. Minh – the man who writes his notebook by hand – are so important. He judges no one. He only records. 'Binh Duong back then had no expensive software, only people who believed each number would find its way.' That is the line I wrote about Becamex Binh Duong Club in 2026, when we began the data revolution with 240 analyzed matches and 25 pages of reports. Today, looking back, I understand that revolution was not about software. It was about belief. And that belief is still being built, page by page, number by number, at clubs that no one knows about. A counter-intuitive point I want to share: data is not always good. I have seen many young players put under pressure when they learn their 'weaknesses.' They begin focusing on their weaknesses and neglect their strengths. Within six months, their win rate drops 8-12%. This is the price of chasing numbers without understanding the story behind them. What is the better approach? Use data to affirm strengths first, then find ways to improve weaknesses. That is why I always begin my reports with 'highlights' before moving to 'areas for improvement.' A player needs to know what they are good at before wanting to be better. A concrete example: Ngo Dinh Nai, one of Vietnam's leading three-cushion carom players. Over the past 18 months, he has 23 wins and 14 losses (62% rate). But in detailed analysis, his win rate under high-pressure conditions is 67%, higher than his overall rate. This is Nai's 'signature' – he is strong under pressure. This is the highlight that must be protected. This story reminds me of the line: 'Before trusting a number, I ask where it was born. Like watching a player before making a judgment.' Numbers do not have meaning on their own. Meaning comes from the story behind them. The question I pose to myself and to you, the reader: in the next five years, will Vietnamese billiards continue to rely on individual talent, or will we build a data system – not expensive, not complicated, simply trustworthy – so that future Tran Thanh Luc and Ngo Dinh Nai players do not have to spend 17 hours finding a data board? The answer, I think, lies in the leather-bound pages of Mr. Minh's notebook. And in the patience of all of us.