Fukuoka opens the race for the 2028 Olympic berth: Japan and the puzzle of the dominant

I still remember the feeling of standing in the stadium corridor after the lights had gone out, leaving only silent plastic chairs and the faint smell of artificial turf. It was an evening at some regional tournament, I no longer remember the team's name, but I will never forget the image of a boy wearing old sports shoes sitting alone and crying after a defeat. People light up the stadium to watch football; I light up to see the hidden corners. And today, as the race for the 2028 Los Angeles Olympic berth in Asian men's volleyball officially begins in Fukuoka, Japan, I think again about those hidden corners. Because behind the statistics, rankings, and titles, there are always destinies, lives, and stories that television never captures. The 2026 Asian Men's Volleyball Championship is not just an ordinary tournament. It is a World Cup qualifier, and more importantly, it is the starting point for the journey to secure a spot at the 2028 Summer Olympics in Los Angeles. From the very beginning, the landscape has been clearly defined as Japan, the highest-ranked Asian team on the FIVB World Ranking at number six, plays on home soil and is placed in Pool A alongside Bahrain, Oman, and Australia. All matches will be streamed live on the VBTV platform, opening up broad access for fans across the continent. Looking at the historical depth, one can easily recognize Japan's position. They are the most decorated team in the history of the tournament with 10 gold medals, 4 silver medals, and 4 bronze medals. They are the defending champions, having medaled at all three most recent editions of the continental championship. And they are the only Asian team to have ever triumphed as men's volleyball Olympic champions, with the historic gold medal at Munich 2026. This season, they have also asserted their position by finishing fourth at the Volleyball Nations League (VNL) 2026. These numbers, if only glanced at, would make one think this is a predictable tournament, a walk in the park for the king. But sports, as I have witnessed over the past 48 years, is never that simple. Japan's dominance raises a big question, not only for themselves but for the entire Asian volleyball community: is their superiority in class inadvertently stifling the development of the tournament itself? When one team is too strong compared to the rest, the competitiveness of the group decreases. Bahrain, Oman, and Australia, despite their progress, are still rated far below the hosts. Australia, the 2026 champions, might be the most interesting wildcard, but the gap in ranking and squad depth is too large. Is a tournament where the outcome is almost predetermined truly a good environment for young teams and new talents to be tested and developed? Or is it merely a formality to hand out World Cup and Olympic tickets to the strongest teams? I remember the white night in Moscow in 2026, when I was confused by Luka Modric's tactical setup and was ridiculed by the online community. I rented a small room, watched the replays for four consecutive nights, and realized that tactics are not just numbers, but a reflection of human destiny. Modric was not just a midfielder; he was a war refugee, carrying the pain of a broken homeland onto the pitch. Similarly, when I look at Japanese volleyball, I see not just a strong team, but a well-structured youth development system, a disciplined sports culture, and a deep national pride. Their strength does not come from luck, but from decades of serious investment and a sustainable development philosophy. The interesting thing is that this tournament is not just Japan's story. For other teams, this is a chance to write their own story. Bahrain and Oman, developing teams, can see this as an opportunity to gain experience, learn, and assert their position on the continental stage. Every match against Japan, regardless of the result, is a valuable lesson. As for Australia, a team with tradition and a constant desire to prove itself, facing the number one team in Asia on their home turf is an inspiring challenge. They may not be favored, but in sports, miracles can always happen. The My Dinh shock is not about who speaks louder, but who silences the stands. The presence of VBTV as the broadcasting unit is also a notable signal. It shows the growing interest of media and audiences in Asian men's volleyball. Widespread coverage not only brings commercial value but also gives young players and smaller teams the opportunity to be seen more. This is an important part of the ecosystem for the development of the sport. When a match is broadcast, not only passionate fans are watching, but also dreaming children, talent scouts looking for prospects, and investors weighing their options. However, we must also look at this realistically. Japan's superiority can create an invisible pressure on themselves. When you are expected to win, every match becomes a final. The pressure from the home crowd, the media, and their own expectations can become a burden. Will the Land of the Rising Sun have enough mental strength to overcome these challenges, or will they crumble under the weight of their own fame? This is a question that only time and matches can answer. A winter without spectators, but football is still hot — only the heart is frozen. The same goes for volleyball; the court may be full of spectators, but if the players' hearts are not warm enough, they cannot shine. From a tactical perspective, this tournament will be an important test for Japan's style of play. Will they continue to stay true to the fast, varied style characteristic of Asian volleyball, or will they learn and adopt new trends from world volleyball such as the power game with high sets? Tactical flexibility will be key for them to maintain their dominant position. But no matter which style they choose, the most important thing remains the fighting spirit, cohesion, and desire to win. Because in the end, sports is not just a battle of tactics and techniques, but a battle of will and heart. The tournament in Fukuoka is not only where the Asian champion is determined, but also where Olympic dreams are nurtured. For young players, this is a chance to prove themselves on the international stage, to be seen and recognized. For smaller teams, this is an opportunity to learn and grow. And for volleyball people like me, this is a chance to witness beautiful stories being written, destinies being changed, and dreams taking flight. The match ends, but the stands still echo within me as a private space. As I stand in the stands of Fukuoka Stadium, among the passionate fans, I cannot help but think about what is happening outside the spotlight. I think about the bench players, those who may never get to play but still train hard every day. I think about the coaches, who stand behind the team's success but rarely receive due recognition. I think about the janitors cleaning the court after each match, people no one notices but who are an indispensable part of the sports picture. To me, the stadium when the lights come on is to see the submerged part of the match, not just to honor the famous. The start of the Asian Championship in Fukuoka is a reminder that sports always have the power to connect people, transcending all boundaries of nation, language, and culture. Whatever the final result, whether Japan continues to dominate or another team creates an upset, the most important thing is the values that sports bring: fair play, respect, dedication, and passion. And that is why I am still here, after nearly half a century, still writing about sports, still searching for the stories behind the numbers. Because the white night in Moscow taught me that football never turns off the lights, and I believe volleyball is the same. The stadium lights may go out, but the flame of passion never dies.