Duong Quoc Hoang in Phu Tho: When Call-Shot Rules Turn 10-Ball into a Sport of Steel Nerves

At Phu Tho Arena on the evening of September 19, there was a moment that, if you were not familiar with American pool rules, would have made you think the referee was mistaken. A player sank ball number 7 cleanly into the corner pocket, the crack of ball against pocket base unmistakable, yet the referee still shook his head. No point. The reason: the player had not called the pocket before shooting. This is the call-shot rule — the rule that shapes the entire 10-ball world championship the WPA is staging in Ho Chi Minh City, where Duong Quoc Hoang — "Hoang Sao" — enters as Vietnam's number one cueist. I once sat in a British sports broadcaster's analysis room in 2026, using tracking data to explain a Liverpool pressing passage in their 1-1 draw with Manchester City. Some called my comparison far-fetched. But when I watch how the call-shot rule operates on a pool table, I recognize the same principle: eliminating luck to force the athlete to take absolute responsibility for every action. In football, that is the high press — you cannot blame the referee when you leave a gap. In 10-ball, that is calling the correct pocket before the cue touches the ball. The difference between 9-ball and 10-ball is not just one ball Most Vietnamese fans, when they hear "billiards", think immediately of snooker or carom. But the tournament running at Phu Tho Arena belongs to the American pool system — specifically 10-ball — and this is an entirely different discipline. The table has no pockets like snooker, no cumulative scoring. Each rack is a race: the player must send the lowest-numbered ball into a pocket first, and the 10-ball must be the last one sunk. What makes 10-ball harsher than 9-ball lies in the call-shot rule itself. In 9-ball, an accidental pot may still count. In 10-ball, that does not happen. The player must nominate which ball goes into which pocket, and if the ball rolls into a different pocket, the turn is penalized. In sport, this is the "anti-slop" rule — against random luck. A ball that drops "by accident" has no value. Tactically, the consequences are enormous. When luck is removed from the equation, the value of cue-ball control, shot selection, and safety play skyrockets. Safety in pool is a defensive shot pushing the opponent into a difficult position — similar to a smart kick-out in basketball, forcing the other side to shoot from a disadvantageous spot while the 24-second clock runs. Viewers see the beautiful pots. But those who understand the craft see points being created from well-timed safeties. Hoang Sao and a three-year journey on home soil I have followed Duong Quoc Hoang's trajectory at this tournament across three consecutive editions. The first year, he exited early. The second, he reached the last 32. Last year — also in Ho Chi Minh City — he reached the last 16. It is a steady, consistent progression. No giant leap, but no regression either. In elite sport, an upward trend within the same tournament is a more important signal than a single title. It shows adaptation to a specific competitive format, not just transient form. At the age when a pool cueist peaks — usually between 28 and 35 — Hoang Sao is at exactly the stage where experience meets physical capacity. He is competing at this event for the third time, meaning he is used to the pressure of the TV table, used to packed Vietnamese stands, and used to the harsh call-shot rule itself. What is interesting is that this year marks the second consecutive staging of the 10-ball world championship in Ho Chi Minh City. With nearly 200 cueists from 40 countries and territories and a total fund of 500,000 USD — of which the champion takes 80,000 USD, roughly two billion VND — the figure is more than prize money. It is a measure of the maturity of Vietnam's billiards market. Five Vietnamese cueists and a story that spills over national borders Beyond Duong Quoc Hoang, the event also features Luong Duc Thien, Pham Phuong Nam, Nguyen Anh Tuan, and Chu Viet Hoang. Five Vietnamese cueists on home soil is no longer an isolated phenomenon — it is the signal of a generation in succession. In football, when a nation has five players all capable of playing in Europe at once, people call that a turning point for a football culture. Vietnamese billiards is at a similar stage. But it must be said plainly: the label "Vietnam's number 1 cueist" is a national ranking, not a world ranking. The strongest international rivals are not named in the source article, and no world ranking accompanies it to establish Hoang Sao's real standing against opponents from the USA, the Philippines, Chinese Taipei, or Europe. This is a blind spot of local media — we tend to focus on the home flag and forget that this playing field is global. The home-pressure trap and the value of preparation There is one detail in the source article I consider more important than the two-billion-VND figure: Hoang Sao said he had prepared carefully for the tournament. In sports psychology, this kind of statement belongs to the "process-focused" group — focusing on the process rather than the result. Athletes with less nerve tend to talk about goals (champion, trophy), while athletes with nerve talk about preparation. It is a positive signal but also a double-edged sword. Home soil at Phu Tho Arena will add energy while placing an entire nation's expectations on his shoulders. I have witnessed something similar in basketball. A player returns to play in his home city, gets his name chanted by the whole arena. But in the final minute, he misses two decisive free throws. Home court does not guarantee victory. It only guarantees greater pressure in both directions. The real weapon of 10-ball lies in the safeties nobody calls by name This is the angle I believe is least discussed when talking about elite pool. Recreational viewers remember run-outs — clearing the table in one visit. But analysts remember the safeties that put opponents in impossible positions, forcing them to foul or leave an opening. In 10-ball with the call-shot rule, those safeties are pure gold because we cannot rely on luck to pot balls. Compared with basketball: people remember a dunk, but coaches analyze zone defense. Michael Jordan is famous for his scoring, but he was also one of the best defenders in NBA history with nine All-Defensive First Team selections. The same applies to pool. A 10-ball champion is not the player with the prettiest shots, but the one who makes the fewest mistakes when there is no scoring opportunity. A major event does not end when the cue stops striking There is a detail on the fringes of the tournament that I find more fascinating than the competition itself. Alongside the men's 10-ball, the organizers also have a Women's 9-Ball Open with a 90,000 USD fund and a Box Billiards mixed-doubles event with 111,000 USD. Three tournaments in a single week, with a combined prize fund of around 701,000 USD. This is not the model of a single isolated event. This is the festival model that modern pool tournaments are shifting toward. The presence of a women's event alongside a mixed-doubles event shows the organizers are not only targeting the traditional male audience. They are broadening the fan base, drawing in other spectator groups. This is a lesson many Vietnamese sports federations should remember: do not just stage one tournament, stage a sports week. A major event does not end when the whistle blows; it begins when the lights go out. With pool, the moment the cue stops striking is when the market story starts being told: whether sponsors will return, whether some young cueist will be inspired to take the professional path after watching five Vietnamese stand on home soil, whether Ho Chi Minh City will keep its hosting slot for a third year. What to watch next As a sports reporter working out of the UK, what interests me most is not whether Hoang Sao wins. It is whether he can pass his own benchmark — the last 16 — to prove that his three-year upward journey is not his peak. If he reaches the quarter-finals, the "Vietnam's number 1 cueist" story will have firmer ground than a figure. If he exits early, the home-crowd pressure and media expectations will have to be re-examined. Before choosing a team, read what people call them. Duong Quoc Hoang is called "Hoang Sao" — not by chance. That nickname has already stated the tactics ahead: an attacking player, a player with a star's mindset, a man carrying a weight nobody names. Elite sport is not a place for us to cheer. It is a place for us to observe, analyze, and let the results answer. The numbers have not told the whole story, but they know where the story begins. And the Duong Quoc Hoang story at this year's 10-ball world championship at Phu Tho Arena will answer a question few analysts in Vietnam dare to pose: are five Vietnamese cueists enough depth to turn a home venue into a pool hub of Asia over the next decade?