From Pakistan's electricity tax list, thoughts on financial transparency in V-League

Today, I received a notice from a colleague in Islamabad. Not about football, but about a new tax list for steel manufacturers. At first glance, it has nothing to do with the pitch, but I read it twice. Why? Because the management structure they applied to a heavy industry is precisely what professional football leagues in Asia – including the V-League – desperately need: a transparent filter based on operational data. The story covered how Pakistan's Federal Board of Revenue expanded a list of steel producers subject to sales tax on each unit of electricity consumed. They didn't randomly pick factories. They relied on criteria: imported scrap volume, electricity used for production, and specific HS codes. Those meeting the threshold were put on the list; those not meeting it also were placed there – for monitoring. 78% – the figure that stuck with me from the notice: '...manufacturers whose imports of scrap during the preceding twelve months exceed 70% of their total purchases...' Suddenly, it reminded me of the equations I often encounter in football. No, not scoring or pressing, but the puzzle of distinguishing a 'real' club from an 'artificial' one. In the V-League, many teams mired in debt still recruit expensive players based on the chairman's reputation – or perhaps just a nice logo. The transfer market is a bubble, and many young players are valued at billions of dong without having played 50 professional matches. Three times I mispronounced a defender's name taught me that every judgment must start with verification. But today's story is about whether governing bodies dare to use utility data as a reliable measuring stick. If a steel plant can be monitored by tax authorities through every kWh, why shouldn't a football club be monitored through its payroll flows? European leagues already have UEFA Financial Fair Play. But for many Southeast Asian clubs, 'financial sustainability' remains a slogan repeated at seminars. I remember 2026, when I wrote about the high pressing of Busan IPark in K-League 2. A data-driven analysis based on touch counts met furious opposition from fans. 500 comments criticized me. They reminded me that midfielder Kim Jin-kyu was just recovering from an ankle injury. I learned that raw data, without human context, is just an empty shell. Since then, I write each piece as a journey from the community's heart to the spreadsheet. That lesson also applies to football governance: figures on electricity, transfer fees, wage bills... only make sense when viewed through the lens of players' experiences and fans' expectations. When a government dares to impose taxes based on electricity consumption, they create a 'self-sorting mechanism'. This reminds me of the luxury tax in MLB or the wage-to-revenue ratio checks used by many leagues worldwide. For instance, if a football club spends more than 60% of revenue on player wages, they face penalties. And if they spend below a minimum floor, they are penalised for not being competitive enough. It's not about morality; it's about survival. A professional league might allow a few 'bosses' to burn money, but it cannot let the entire football ecosystem drown in bad debt. Consider this summer's transfer window: how many contracts were announced with 'undisclosed fees', only to be followed by rumours because the counterparty never received the money? I followed a case in Busan in 2026, when midfielder Park Min-jun moved from Busan IPark to Club Brugge for USD 2.5 million. He had struggled because of the pressure when Leeds United came calling. I organised an online Q&A with 500 fans, letting them send personal video messages of encouragement. He overcame it, and I realised that behind every deal lies a person, not a currency unit. So when I read about the electricity tax list for Pakistani steel mills, it didn't feel alien. I sensed a common aspiration: people need to measure before they manage. In football, we are besieged by countless numbers – xG, expected threat, possession... But possession is the most deceptive metric – a team can hold 60% of the ball with useless sideways passes. Similarly, a club may publish huge paper profits from ticket sales while teetering on the brink of bankruptcy due to bank loans. What I'm saying is: If Vietnamese football authorities want to elevate the V-League, they need to build clear criteria like the FBR Pakistan list: based on objective data, with legal teeth, and adjusted periodically. Nobody wants to punish anyone, but without a 'blacklist' or 'monitoring list', clubs that fail to pay wages for nine months will continue playing, then withdraw mid-season, derailing the whole campaign. Look at the story I once wrote about a Korean club: 92 days away from the pitch during the pandemic, Busan IPark players passed the ball to each other in an empty stadium. The keeper of the rhythm does not need to beat the drum loudly; he just needs to be in the right place, at the right time, and love the job enough to stand long. Would a list of clubs with excessively high debt-to-equity ratios be the answer? Perhaps not. But to build a sustainable football culture, we must start with real numbers, then place them in the light of human understanding. For some lessons come not from victory, but from the jeers in the stands. And three times mispronouncing a defender's name taught me to listen before writing. Today, I listen to Pakistan and think of Vietnam.