From Reggaeton to the Court: Lessons on Cultural Legitimacy in Sports

I have spent 25 years observing matches from the VAR room, where every millimeter can change the fate of a team. But today, I want to talk about a different kind of 'match' — the battle for recognition of a music genre once dismissed as 'low-class': reggaeton. Wisin, one of the pioneering artists of this genre, has just announced 'La Universidad del Perreo' — a symbolic 'university' dedicated to reggaeton culture. At first glance, this seems like a mere album promotion campaign. But if you look closely, the way I review every frame in the VAR room, you will see a much bigger story: the journey from contempt to mainstream recognition. Remember the 1990s, when reggaeton was dismissed by critics and mainstream media as music 'lacking artistic value.' Just like early professional tennis — considered a 'less elegant' game by the British aristocracy compared to cricket or golf. But then the Open Era arrived, and tennis transformed into a multi-billion-dollar global industry. Reggaeton followed the same path: from a marginalized genre to a million-dollar industry, with courses now taught at Yale and UNAM. What interests me most in this story is the mechanism of 'legitimization' — how a marginalized community builds recognition from its own internal strength. Wisin did not ask for permission to be recognized; he created a parallel system — his own 'university' — where young artists can learn about 'music business' and 'brand building.' This is exactly what I see in Vietnamese football: youth academies building their own systems, not waiting for handouts from major institutions. But there is a counter-intuitive angle I want to offer: is recognition from mainstream institutions (like the Latin Grammy honoring Daddy Yankee) truly necessary? In tennis, we see smaller tournaments operating independently, still producing major talents, despite being 'ignored' by the ATP. Similarly, reggaeton has proven that a community's vitality does not depend on approval from the elite. I recall 2026, when I spotted a 0.3-meter offside in a Hai Phong FC match at the AFC Cup. No one saw it, but the camera never blinks. Just as reggaeton quietly built a cultural empire for decades without anyone's permission. Recognition only came after they had already proven their own worth. The story of Wisin and 'La Universidad del Perreo' is not a lesson about music — it is about how a community creates space for itself. In sports, we see this through community tournaments, small football academies in provincial towns, where children without resources can still develop their talents. They do not wait for recognition from the Federation; they build their own path. When everyone blames the 19-year-old player for missing a penalty, the person in the VAR room must stand up. Similarly, when the whole world mocked a music genre, artists like Wisin stood up and said: 'We will build our own university.' That is the spirit I believe Vietnamese sports need to learn — not to fight the system, but to build parallel systems with real value. The biggest mistake is not holding the whistle, but not daring to own your call. And in this big game, those who dare to create their own playground — whether in music or sports — are the ones who will ultimately be recognized. A millimeter changes the fate of a team; I have learned to live with that. But I have also learned that sometimes, the biggest change does not come from fixing a small error, but from building an entirely new system. 'La Universidad del Perreo' may just be a promotional campaign, but it has opened a big question: who has the right to decide the value of a culture? And the answer, as I have seen over 25 years, always lies within that community itself.