Luke Vickery, Jay Idzes and Herdman's Selection Gamble Before Singapore

At the pre-match press conference ahead of the FIFA ASEAN Cup 2026 opener, John Herdman sat in front of the microphone with an expressionless face. After a few questions about fitness and the squad list, he was asked about Luke Vickery. The answer was short, but three phrases made the whole room write them down: “very direct”, “has a goal-scoring instinct”, and “a good chance to be in the starting XI”. A coach who normally keeps selection decisions secret until the last moment chose to say that in front of reporters. Herdman did not accidentally place Vickery in the imagination of Indonesian fans. He was building a stage for a match in which attention would fall on the position that has been this country's weakest link for half a decade: centre-forward. The meeting with Singapore at Gelora Bung Karno Stadium on 25 September 2026 is not merely the opening match of a regional tournament. For Indonesian football, it is the first test of a project built on naturalisation: bringing in players who grew up in Europe, trained in proper academies, to fill positions the domestic development system has failed to produce for years. Vickery belongs to that group. Emil Audero belongs to that group. And the story of the goalkeeper who just made his La Liga debut for Rayo Vallecano cannot be separated from the conversation about Vickery, because both represent the same approach: using individual quality at European club level to close the gap at national-team level. Audero made seven saves against Real Madrid. Seven is a concrete, verifiable figure, and Indonesian media immediately used it as the backdrop for expectations of a solid defence. But that number needs to be read in the right place. Seven saves in a La Liga match is an indicator of individual form, not proof that Indonesia's defensive structure will limit the number of dangerous chances Singapore creates. At Vallecas, Audero faced wave after wave of attacks from one of the strongest teams in Spain. In Jakarta, he will most likely face a Singapore side that sits deep, cedes the initiative and waits for set pieces. That difference in context determines how the entire match should be read. And it places Vickery at the centre of a tactical problem far more specific than the story of “a new striker shining”. Singapore has historically sat among the best-organised defensive sides in Southeast Asian football. They know how to compress the distance between lines, are willing to drop deep to protect the box, and accept conceding possession if it preserves their structure. Such an opponent poses the familiar problem for Indonesia's attack: breaking down a packed defence without falling into a slow, predictable, easily read passing rhythm. This is where Herdman's “very direct” description becomes valuable. A direct striker is not only a player who runs into the space behind the defensive line. He changes how the whole team thinks about the ball: the long pass becomes a legitimate option instead of a last resort, the through ball becomes a choice instead of a risk, and second-ball duels in midfield become a second chance rather than a dead end. For a team forced to attack against a low block, a striker's ability to solve situations alone matters more than his ability to link play. Mitchell Baker is the second option alongside Vickery to support Ole Romeny. But the difference between the two is not scoring output — it is movement profile. Baker leans toward linking, stretching the defence and laying the ball back to the second line. Vickery leans toward finishing the move himself. Against a deep-lying opponent, the second type carries more value. The expected midfield of Ivar Jenner, Joey Pelupessy and Nathan Tjoe-A-on opens two possible layouts. If Kevin Diks and Calvin Verdonk are used as full-backs in a back four, those three midfielders point toward a familiar 4-3-3. If both are pushed up as wing-backs in a back three, Indonesia can shift into a 3-4-3 or 3-5-2. Herdman has not confirmed the shape, and that ambiguity is deliberate: it forces the opponent to prepare for several scenarios at once. That vertical spine always comes with a horizontal one. Jay Idzes' absence forces the defensive unit to rebalance. Justin Hubner and Rizky Ridho are the remaining centre-back options, while Diks and Verdonk play a decisive role in how many players Indonesia commits forward. Every advanced full-back is a gap behind him, and Singapore is a side that knows how to use those gaps with counter-attacks down the flanks. What matters is that this entire system is still being assembled. Vickery joined the camp in May and stayed through June — long enough for the coaching staff to reduce the risk of an unknown quantity, but not long enough to build understanding at the level of a competitive fixture. Herdman also made clear that the final decision depends on form in internal training sessions, a line that both keeps every candidate motivated and protects him from being locked into a lineup before the final session. But the blind spot in this story is not Vickery. It is the way the story is being told. Almost all the attention flows toward the centre-forward position, while Indonesia's more serious structural problem is a defence missing Idzes. If this centre-back is the organiser of the back line — the man who decides when to push up, when to drop, who keeps the players around him in the right positions — then his absence affects Indonesia more than any appearance by a striker. A good striker helps a team win. An organising centre-back helps a team avoid losing. In a home opener, the ability not to lose is the foundation for everything else. The source material does not state why Idzes is absent. That is a significant information gap, because three possibilities — injury, suspension, or load management — lead to three very different scenarios for the rest of the tournament. A suspension carries disciplinary consequences for the next match. An injury raises questions about match load. Load management is a proactive and far less serious decision. The fact that media cameras are fixed on Vickery while this point remains unclear shows the story is being driven by the glamour of the attack rather than the actual structure of the match. Another gap is worth noting: the report calls Vickery a “new naturalised striker” but does not confirm that FIFA eligibility procedures are complete. For a player expected to start in a competitive fixture, that detail needs to be stated, not skipped. Southeast Asian football has precedents of national teams having to reshuffle their squad because paperwork was not finalised, and the cost of such an error is usually paid in points. And there is a final paradox. If Indonesia win comfortably, tomorrow's headlines will read “Vickery solves the No. 9 problem”. If Indonesia struggle, the same squad, the same match, will produce the headline “too dependent on naturalised players”. Collective memory tends to choose its conclusion before the match even begins. Based on the times I have watched Indonesia play in Jakarta, I have found that crowd pressure at Gelora Bung Karno is a genuine tactical variable. Seventy-eight thousand people do not score goals, but they create speed in the opening attacks and hesitation in the opponent's backward passes. For a striker making his first competitive start, that may be enough to make the difference. What is worth watching on the night of 25 September is not whether Vickery scores. It is what people will remember when the match ends — the moment he first touches the ball, or the silence on the right flank when Idzes is no longer there to command it.