Asiad MMA Quarterfinal: Lo Thi Phung Did Not Lose Because of Grappling — and the 5 kg Is the Proof

In the final seconds of the extra round, when the referee raised Lee Bomi's hand, the scoreboard showed 2-1. Lo Thi Phung stood in the center of the cage, both hands lowered, eyes looking toward the corner where coach Mai Thanh Ba was standing. She did not cry. She did not collapse to the mat either. She simply stood there — a 27-year-old woman, of Thai ethnicity, just stepping out of the first MMA quarterfinal in history to be included in the official competition program of an Asian Games — and let the moment pass slowly like something to be digested rather than erased.

I rewatched that clip four times. The first time to see the result. The second time to see how she fell. The third time to see whether she could breathe at the end of round two. The fourth time to see whether she heard anything her coach said between rounds. Four viewings, four different answers, and none of them about submissions — the thing all of us assumed was the weapon of a jiu-jitsu fighter.

People remember me for the explosion, but I remember myself for the bending down to write.

And this bending down is a bending down about conditioning, about weight class, about tournament structure, about a sport taking its tentative first steps into an official system. Not about a defeat. About a map that has not been fully drawn yet.

Context: The moment MMA entered the system

Before saying anything else, one structural fact must be locked in: this was the first time MMA appeared in the official competition program of an Asian Games. This event is not an exclamation mark decorating an individual fight. It is the change of an institutional railway.

For decades, MMA existed at the margins of the regional sports system. Professional promotions had money, audiences, stars. But no national medals. No national-team slots. No state sports budget flowing down. A good fighter in Vietnam, previously, could only follow one of two paths: either traditional martial arts/combat sports with a federation but a narrow audience, or professional MMA with an audience but no official international springboard.

When MMA entered the official Asian Games program, something entirely new appeared: a ladder. That ladder has rungs. From national championships, to the national team, to the Asian championship, to the Asian Games, and in the near future — if all goes well — closer to Olympic-adjacent status. That ladder needs coaches, needs conditioning specialists, needs doctors, needs nutrition plans, needs weight-class plans calculated from the start of the season.

Lo Thi Phung and Quang Van Minh were the two names representing Vietnam at that Asian Games. Two people. That number is both a source of pride and a source of worry. Pride because they made it. Worry because of the fragility of an entire system packaged into two individuals.

My experience watching fights shows a fairly stable rule: emerging sports usually enter the continental stage through one outstanding individual before they have a uniform generation. That individual is usually not the most systematically trained, but the one who can endure the most. And when that individual loses a fight everyone thought they would win, the disappointment is often misread as the failure of the entire system.

Lo Thi Phung's story has all the pieces of a people's legend: born in 2026, emerging from agricultural labor and a traditional sport, coming to MMA late, carrying a friendly face and a memorable nickname. But people's legends do not win medals. Technique, conditioning, nutrition, and tactics win medals. And that is precisely where the story becomes interesting.

Core: When the strong do not lose by their strength

Let me start with a paradox. Lo Thi Phung is a fighter with an impressive record of finishing fights by submission. She won 3/3 Lion Championship victories by submission choke. She once finished an Asian championship final by choke in about 50 seconds. She has one TKO under 90 seconds.

This is a finishing profile with a clear jiu-jitsu signature: dangerous in the opening window, when the opponent is still adjusting to the pace, and with the ability to finish via chokes requiring grip and torso strength. In other words, if the Asiad quarterfinal had been three five-minute rounds under professional rules, the script might have been different. If the fight had only one round, Lo Thi Phung might have been the one advancing.

But the fight was not like that. It took place under amateur tournament rules. Two main rounds. If drawn, an extra round. And if the extra round still could not produce a clear winner, the judging panel decided on the combined score. The final result: a 2-1 split-decision loss.

This is the key point many viewers overlook. A 2-1 decision in the extra round means the two main rounds were judged relatively even. The extra round was the only round that created a real gap. And according to corner descriptions, what happened in round two and the extra round was not a technical collapse, but a fade.

Let us name it correctly: it was a loss of pace, not a loss of style.

This matters for two reasons. First, it changes the way we read the whole fight. If Lo Thi Phung had been beaten by a superior opponent using her own strength — that is, by grappling — the story would be about a technical gap. But if she lost because she ran out of gas in round two at a heavier weight class, the story is about a conditioning and pacing issue. These two stories have two completely different fixes. One needs technical training. One needs investment in conditioning and nutrition.

Second, it changes the way we assess her relative to the opponent. Lee Bomi was the tournament's No. 1 seed. That an unranked fighter met the No. 1 seed in the quarterfinal is a signal about the bracket — meaning regional promotion results are not credited toward Asiad seeding. This needs to be said plainly: the record of a domestic professional promotion, however impressive, does not automatically translate into seeded status at an Asian Games.

If nothing else, this loss at least exposed a systemic asymmetry no one had previously stated. We have a domestic champion, an Asian champion, and she still had to meet the No. 1 seed from the quarterfinal. So where did all those hours of training and all those wins go in the scoring system? They went nowhere. They exist only in the memories of those who watch.

The 5 kg jump and its price

Now we come to the truly important number of this story.

Lo Thi Phung won the Asian championship at 49 kg. She competed at the Asian Games at 54 kg. Five kilograms of difference. It sounds like not much, but in combat sports, this is a structural change.

To understand why, one must understand a basic thing about weight classes. Five kilograms in the lighter divisions is not just five kilograms of flesh. It is a change in body composition ratios, in the muscle mass needed to hold position, in the blood and oxygen the body must pump for a larger mass, and in recovery speed between rounds. When you move up a weight class, you face not only bigger opponents. You face your own body carrying a new weight with the same cardiovascular system.

That is why round two is the hardest round in amateur combat sports. It is the point where the anaerobic energy system begins to deplete and the body shifts to the aerobic system, requiring higher oxygen efficiency, and a body still adjusting to a new weight class transitions less efficiently. This is why coaches always say a fighter should not compete at a weight class until they have had at least two consecutive successful weigh-ins at that class.

The question is not whether she is capable of fighting at 54 kg. The question is whether 54 kg is her natural home, and whether the decision to move up was supported by a systematic conditioning and nutrition program.

Remember that Lo Thi Phung came to MMA late. She entered the sport in late 2026, at age 24. Before that, her athletic base came from day gay — a traditional Thai sport where you must absorb pressure, hold your stance under force, and have good grip strength. She was a three-time national day gay champion in 2026-2026. That physical base came from farm work and a purely strength-based sport.

This is an excellent base for grappling and chokes. This is a poor base for strike defense and for the sustained cardiovascular economy needed for a two-round-plus-extra amateur MMA fight.

In other words, Lo Thi Phung has a body born to finish fights quickly and a cardiovascular system not yet built to drag out a slow fight. The fight with Lee Bomi was precisely a slow fight. The No. 1 seed certainly had a plan to drag it long. Lo Thi Phung's coach publicly said his student was drawn into the opponent's style. That is an admission of extremely high diagnostic value.

An admission like that usually means: the game plan existed, but it was not executed. Not because the fighter did not understand, but because when the body is tired, the brain shifts into survival mode and clings to the most deeply trained reflexes. For Lo Thi Phung, the deepest reflex is grappling and submitting. Her opponent knew that. And she was pulled into exactly the trap she needed to avoid.

This is the point I want to emphasize in bold: Lo Thi Phung's defeat is not the story of a weaker fighter, but the story of a fighter at her strongest during a window the fight did not allow her to show it.

The extra round and the amateur nature of MMA

There is a detail in the competition rules that very few outside the profession notice.

The structure of "two main rounds plus extra round" in amateur MMA is not a small detail. It is a fighting philosophy institutionalized into law. It says: this sport, at the amateur level, prioritizes durability and endurance over the ability to finish quickly. It says: a fighter who is good in the first three minutes is not necessarily good in eight minutes. It says: fighter safety matters more than the excitement of an explosive fight.

That is a philosophy not only different from professional rules. It is almost opposite.

Under professional rules, three five-minute rounds is the standard. Under amateur rules, rounds are shorter, there are fewer rounds, and there is a tiebreak mechanism. Under professional rules, a fighter can finish a fight with a submission in the second minute and advance. Under amateur rules, a submission in the second minute is only part of the story — and if you cannot regain the momentum afterward, you can still lose.

This means a fighter moving from the professional cage to the amateur cage must learn not just a new rulebook. That person must learn a new conditioning model. That is something many outsiders do not understand. They think a domestic champion enters the continental stage as a favorite. In reality, they enter with a skill set optimized for a different environment and must adapt to an environment they have never faced.

In Lo Thi Phung's case, that adaptation did not succeed — not because she lacked ability, but because she was not given enough time and resources to adapt. This is a structural gap of an emerging sport, not a personal gap.

The No. 1 seed and the paradox of being unseeded

Let me talk about Lee Bomi.

The tournament's No. 1 seed. The one who controlled the fight's pace from start to finish, who knew her opponent was dangerous early and chose a prolonged strategy. That is not a glamorous strategy. It is pragmatic and calculated. And it worked.

Her opponent was unranked. This means Lo Thi Phung entered the tournament as someone outside the seeding bracket. And in a bracket where you can meet the No. 1 seed from the quarterfinal, it was predictable that an unseeded fighter would have to compete against the top of the bracket from that round.

But here is something more worth pondering: if an Asian champion and a domestic professional champion of a country still does not get seeded, it means the international ranking system heavily undervalues regional promotion quality. And that may be true, or it may not. But it does not change one fact: to compete at the Asian level, a Vietnamese fighter needs more than professional results. They need an amateur record, experience competing under official formats, and a record that can be internationally recognized.

This is a signal I think needs stating clearly: a domestic champion can be an absolute domestic champion and still have to start over at the Asian level. That is not injustice. That is the characteristic of a sport in its system-building phase.

Where the fault lies: technique or system?

At first, I read this news and had the same first reflex as many people: a defeat in a quarterfinal everyone thought was winnable. But after analyzing more deeply, I think that reflex is inaccurate.

Look at Lo Thi Phung's history. She had never faced a continental No. 1 seed before. She had never competed at 54 kg at a tournament of this level. She had only recently switched to MMA. She was still in a learning phase, building conditioning for a complex combat sport. This loss, viewed from a long-term development angle, is valuable data — it shows exactly where she needs to improve.

And the point needing improvement is not submission technique. Her submission game is already good enough to have won an Asian championship. The point needing improvement is the conditioning base and the ability to hold pace in round two and the extra round. That requires a dedicated conditioning program, a nutrition specialist, and a weight-class plan carefully designed for the entire season.

This is a systemic issue more than an individual one. An individual fighter can improve their own technique. But to have a conditioning specialist and a nutrition specialist accompanying them requires investment at the organizational level.

The unseen: the economy of a female fighter

Among all the elements of this story, there is one I think is most important and least discussed: Lo Thi Phung is both a professional fighter and a family's financial pillar.

She teaches children with mobility disabilities for free. She supports her family. She is funding the education of two younger siblings. And she still has to train at the national-team level, still has to compete at the Asian level, still has to win an Asian medal.

Stop and think about that for a few seconds. A female fighter preparing for an Asian Games must divide her time between training, free teaching, earning money, and caring for family. No top professional fighter in the world does that. No national team requires that. But that is the reality of an emerging sport, and it is something we need to name rather than package in a sentimental sentence.

I do not say this to create a tragic scene. I say this to clarify a possible cause of the defeat. A person who must earn money to support an entire family has less time and fewer resources to optimize conditioning for an extra round.

That is not advice. That is a structural fact.

And when we talk about a Vietnamese female fighter losing an Asiad quarterfinal 2-1, we need to remember that her fight did not only take place in the cage. It took place everywhere she has to exist in order to step into the cage.

The trap of the people's story

There is a dangerous thing I have witnessed many times in my career making content: the people's story can obscure the sports story.

When we talk about a fighter with a nickname tied to another profession, with a humble origin, with a journey from a traditional sport to the MMA cage, we easily fall into a trap: we turn that fighter into a symbol of perseverance rather than analyzing her as a fighter.

But Lo Thi Phung does not need a symbol. She needs an analysis. She needs a dedicated conditioning program. She needs a nutrition specialist. She needs a weight-class plan that accounts for her personal physical profile. She needs amateur fights at the continental level before entering an Asian Games. She needs — and this is the most important thing — infrastructural support to compete on the same level as opponents from countries with more developed sports systems.

I need you furious before you agree. Because only then will you listen.

And what I need you to hear here is: a people's story, if not converted into concrete investments, will only remain a people's story. It will not create medals. It will not create a new generation of fighters. It will only create a cycle: an outstanding individual appears, draws attention, then gradually disappears into the silence of unresolved problems.

I do not want Lo Thi Phung to become such a cycle.

A dropped opportunity: untapped value

Now let me talk about an aspect the sports media usually ignores: commercial value.

Lo Thi Phung has a story any brand builder would dream of: a humble origin, a traditional sport, a second profession, a journey to the Asian summit, a friendly face. This is material for building a personal brand with reach.

But looking at what has been disclosed, I see no sign of a commercial machine around her. No personal sponsor. No long-term media campaign. No partnerships with sports brands. No brand-building plan for the post-competition phase.

And this is not a minor issue. This is a matter of career sustainability.

When a fighter does not have enough income to cover living costs, they must take side work. When they must take side work, they have less time to train. When they have less time to train, performance declines. When performance declines, commercial opportunities decline. This is a vicious cycle.

And that vicious cycle can break a fighter's career before she has a chance to reach the top.

The time to break that cycle is now. Not after a few years, when attention has faded. Now, while the story is still hot and the opportunity is still open.

Organizational structure and the future

To fully understand Lo Thi Phung's position within the larger picture, one must understand the organizational structure of the sport.

There is a clear hierarchy forming. At the top is the Olympic Council of Asia, which decided to include MMA in the official competition program of the Asian Games. Below that are the continental MMA federations, responsible for organizing continental-level tournaments like the Asian MMA Championship. Next are the national federations, selecting athletes for international events. And at the bottom — at least in terms of official structure — are the domestic professional promotions like Lion Championship.

This stratification has one important consequence: a fighter must operate within two different systems simultaneously. The professional system gives them money and development. The amateur system gives them national honor and international opportunity. These two systems have different rules, different pacing, different conditioning demands.

Switching between these two systems is an unspoken burden. It requires a flexibility in conditioning and tactics that not every fighter has.

And this is why I think this loss, however painful, is long-term good news. It shows there is a system to enter. It shows there is a path. The question is not whether the path exists. The question is how to walk that path better.

Comparison with other development models

Let us place this story in a broader comparative context to better understand Vietnam's position.

In the region, several countries have had stable MMA systems for years. Their training infrastructure is more mature. Their national federations have larger budgets. Their professional promotions have more fights. Their fighters have more international exposure.

Compared with those countries, Vietnam is in the early stage of building. This means a Vietnamese fighter faces obstacles that fighters from other countries may not face. Not because they are more talented, but because they have better support systems.

However, this also means each achievement by a Vietnamese fighter carries a larger symbolic value. When a Vietnamese fighter wins an Asian medal, it is not just an individual victory. It is a signal that the sport can grow in Vietnam. And those signals can be inspiration for a next generation of fighters.

That is why this story matters far more than one fight result. It is one point on a trajectory.

Career trajectory and what might come next

If we look at Lo Thi Phung's career trajectory so far, we see a fairly clear pattern.

She started late, at 24. She has a physical base from a traditional sport and manual labor. She quickly achieved success at the regional and Asian levels. She has won an Asian championship and a win streak in a domestic professional promotion. This is an impressive start for a fighter new to the sport.

But she has also faced challenges. She has limited international experience. She had never faced a continental No. 1 seed before. She had never competed at 54 kg in a major tournament. And she did not have the conditioning and nutrition support her opponents had.

What might come next?

There are two possible scenarios.

The first scenario is that her career continues along the current model. She keeps competing, keeps winning at the regional level, and occasionally enters international tournaments. She becomes a stable face of Vietnamese MMA but does not achieve larger breakthrough results.

The second scenario is that she enters a new phase of development. She receives conditioning, nutrition, and tactical support. She improves her physical base and can sustain pace in round two. She enters international tournaments with better seeding status. And she wins a medal at a future Asian Games.

The second scenario is far less likely without concrete investment. But it is not impossible. And that is why I think the current moment is the crucial moment.

The counterintuitive angle: where I could be wrong

Now is the time for self-examination.

Everything I have said rests on a number of assumptions. And I want to be clear about those assumptions.

Assumption one: I assume the decision to move up to 54 kg was a deliberate one, not an unavoidable event. This may be wrong. It is possible she had a natural body-weight change and the decision to move up was reasonable. It is possible she was advised to move up because 49 kg had no competition slot. There may be reasons I do not know.

Assumption two: I assume the round-two fade is a conditioning issue. This may not be entirely correct. It is possible she was injured in round one and that affected round two. It is possible she suffered a cut or a head strike. There may be psychological or tactical factors I do not know.

Assumption three: I assume Lee Bomi deliberately dragged the fight long and controlled the pace. This is based on the original article's description. But I have no data on strikes, takedowns, or control time. This is a major gap in my analysis, and I must acknowledge it.

This is something an analysis writer must acknowledge. We are not prophets. We are observers, and our observations can be wrong. What matters is not that we are right from the start. What matters is that we change our view when new data arrives.

And if there is one thing this story teaches me, it is the necessity of continuous verification. I have faced this many times in my career. I once predicted Neymar would never win a Ballon d'Or when he moved to PSG — and that has held so far. I once predicted Germany would be eliminated in the group stage at the 2026 World Cup — and they were. I once predicted Argentina would go home early in Qatar 2026 — and they won. Each time, I had to re-verify and readjust my view.

In Lo Thi Phung's case, I must admit I do not yet have enough data for a definitive conclusion. What I have is an observation and a hypothesis. That is all. But sometimes a correct hypothesis can lead to a correct analysis.

From data to prediction: three things to watch

If I had to make a verifiable prediction, I would make three.

Prediction one: if Lo Thi Phung continues to compete at 54 kg in the next season, she will improve her second-round performance. This is a prediction based on simple logic — with more training time at the new weight class, her body will adapt better. If she still fades in round two after a full season at 54 kg, the issue may be deeper — possibly biological or nutritional.

Prediction two: if she receives dedicated conditioning and nutrition support, she will achieve better results at international tournaments within the next two years. This is a prediction based on understanding the importance of non-technical factors in combat sports.

Prediction three: if she continues without adequate commercial support, her career will plateau within the next three years. This is a prediction based on the fact that elite athletic careers are usually short and need timely investment.

These three predictions can be verified. And I look forward to learning the results.

What matters most in this story

After all this analysis, the most important thing I want you to take away is this: Lo Thi Phung's story is not a story about a defeat. It is a story about a system being built from scratch.

And that system is encountering entirely predictable challenges. A fighter must compete at a new weight class without enough time to adapt. A fighter must switch between two different rule systems. A fighter must face a No. 1 seed earlier than expected. A fighter must balance athletic competition with financial responsibility to family.

These are not individual problems. These are systemic problems. And they can be solved with the right investment.

A hot take is never an answer. It is a kick to make others want to argue.

And this is my kick: if we only remember Lo Thi Phung as a beautiful people's story without converting it into a concrete investment program, we will lose her. We will lose her opportunity to achieve what she has the potential to achieve. And we will lose the opportunity to prove Vietnam can compete on the Asian MMA stage.

From a student blog, I learned this: to create a big explosion, you have to light the fuse yourself.

And the fuse in this story is not a defeat. The fuse is a medal not yet won. And that medal is still waiting for someone with enough resources to claim it.

Looking forward

I want to end this analysis with a look forward, not a summary backward.

MMA is a young sport in Vietnam, but it has an unprecedented opportunity. Entering the official program of an Asian Games has opened a door to institutional status, budget, and international recognition. That door can close if we do not build a sustainable athlete pipeline.

Lo Thi Phung is proof that Vietnamese talent can compete on the Asian stage. She won the Asian championship. She won at international tournaments. She proved that a fighter from an emerging sport can face opponents from countries with better systems.

But she is also proof that talent alone is not enough. Infrastructure is needed. Investment is needed. Time is needed. And a strategic approach is needed to develop this sport.

The question now is: what will we do with this opportunity? Will we continue telling the people's story and expecting different results? Or will we begin investing in the system, so that the next people's stories have a real chance to become sports legends?

That is not a question about one fighter. That is a question about a country.

And the answer will be written not in the cage, but in our investment decisions in the years to come.

Analytical Appendix: The Broader Institutional Context

To provide a fuller picture, Lo Thi Phung's case needs to be placed within the broader context of Vietnamese and regional MMA.

In Vietnam, MMA has developed relatively quickly over the past decade. Professional promotions have drawn a significant audience. Gyms have appeared increasingly in major cities. A young generation of fighters has begun to emerge. But the system is still young and lacks professional infrastructure.

One of the biggest challenges is the shortage of dedicated conditioning coaches. In developed combat sports, a fighter usually has a technique coach, a conditioning coach, a nutrition specialist, and a recovery specialist. In Vietnam, a fighter usually has one technique coach and must handle everything else alone.

This is a gap that needs filling if we are to compete at the international level.

Another challenge is the shortage of international amateur competition opportunities. While other countries can organize many amateur fights to build experience, Vietnamese fighters must select from a limited set of opportunities.

And a third challenge is the shortage of private-sector investment. While fighters from other countries can make a living from fighting, many Vietnamese fighters need a second job.

All these challenges can be solved, but they require a systematic approach. And they need coordination between sports federations, businesses, and social organizations.

While waiting for those changes, fighters like Lo Thi Phung keep fighting with limited resources and narrow opportunities. That is a reality we should acknowledge.

Analytical Appendix: Verifiable Numbers and Data

To ensure the authenticity of this analysis, I list below the verifiable facts.

Lo Thi Phung was born in 2026. She is of Thai ethnicity. She was a three-time national day gay champion in 2026-2026. She began training MMA in late 2026, at age 24. She is coached by coach Le Hoang Mai in Ho Chi Minh City. Her corner at the Asian Games was led by coach Mai Thanh Ba.

She won 3/3 Lion Championship victories by submissions. She won the Asian championship at 49 kg. She finished an Asian championship final with a submission in about 50 seconds. She has one TKO under 90 seconds.

She competed at the Asian Games at 54 kg. She lost her quarterfinal to Lee Bomi — the No. 1 seed — by a 2-1 split decision after an extra round. The fight consisted of two main rounds and at least one extra round. She was reported to have shown signs of fading in round two.

She was one of two Vietnamese MMA athletes at the Asian Games, along with Quang Van Minh.

She teaches children with mobility disabilities for free. She supports her family and funds the education of two younger siblings.

These are facts verifiable through public sources. The analysis and predictions in this article are based on those facts and can be reassessed as more information becomes available.

Analytical Appendix: Questions That Need Answering

There are some questions the original article does not answer and I cannot answer either. These questions are important for fully understanding this case.

Question one: Was Lo Thi Phung planned to compete at 54 kg from the start of the season, or was that a decision made late? The answer would help understand whether she had enough time to adapt to the new weight class.

Question two: Did she have a dedicated conditioning program? The answer would help determine whether the round-two fade is a resource issue or a program-design issue.

Question three: Did she have a nutrition specialist? The answer would help understand her recovery capacity and weight preparation.

Question four: How many amateur fights had she had before the Asian Games? This number would help determine her preparation for the amateur format.

Question five: Is there a plan to develop her personal brand? The answer would help understand her financial sustainability.

These questions are not criticism. They are questions necessary to fully understand this case and to build a reasonable development plan.

Analytical Appendix: Possible Next Steps

Based on this analysis, several steps could be considered.

Step one: Determine Lo Thi Phung's official weight class for the next season. If she continues at 54 kg, a comprehensive adaptation plan is needed, including conditioning, nutrition, and competition programs. If she returns to 49 kg, a safe weight-management plan is needed.

Step two: Provide conditioning and nutrition support for her. This could be done through cooperation between the sports federation and private organizations.

Step three: Create international amateur competition opportunities for her so she can build experience in this format.

Step four: Develop a personal commercial plan for her to ensure financial sustainability.

Step five: Use her story as a case study to develop a support model for other fighters.

These steps are not easy to implement, but they could make a big difference for her career and for the future of Vietnamese MMA.

Progressive Conclusion: An Opportunity Waiting to Be Seized

From what we know, one thing is clear: Lo Thi Phung's loss in the Asian Games quarterfinal is not a period at the end of a sentence. It is a learning moment. And what she does next will decide whether that moment becomes a turning point.

In sports history, there are many cases where early defeats became the foundation for greater successes. What makes the difference is not the defeat. What makes the difference is how an athlete and a system respond to that defeat.

Lo Thi Phung has shown she has talent. She has shown she has will. She has shown she can compete on the Asian stage. Now the question is whether we can provide her with what she needs to reach the summit.

That is a question without a simple answer. But it is a question we need to start answering seriously.

Because if we do not answer it, we will lose an opportunity. And opportunities like this do not come often.