Indonesia Calls Up 10 Europe-Based Players: The Diaspora Gamble and the Jay Idzes Void

At Indonesia's first training session in Jakarta, I stood in a corner of the stand where the floodlights had not yet come on fully. Ten players had just landed from Europe. Of the 23-man squad, ten ply their trade in Europe, spanning La Liga, the Bundesliga, the Eredivisie, the Championship and Serie A. A figure that dense has never before appeared in the history of a Southeast Asian national team. Seventeen of the 23 players are of mixed heritage. Thirteen are eligible for Indonesia through Dutch lineage, two through Australian roots, the rest through England and Italy. Strip the national crest off the shirt and it becomes genuinely hard to guess which regional side this is. Head coach John Herdman, who previously led Canada, has been handed the task of lifting Indonesian football onto a new tier with this very generation. The tournament is staged at home, from September 21 to October 1, 2026. The goal set by the Indonesian Football Association is unmistakable: win it. Indonesia sit in Group A alongside Singapore, Malaysia and Bangladesh. On paper this is a group that can be navigated. Singapore and Malaysia are familiar opponents, Bangladesh are a lower tier. The real difficulty lies in the knockout rounds, where Vietnam are waiting. In their most recent meeting, Vietnam beat Indonesia 3-0. That scoreline is still lodged in the memory of Indonesian fans, and it is why this tournament is viewed less as an ordinary title race and more as an act of revenge. The federation retained ten players from the previous call-up, a move showing they are well aware of the cohesion risk in a group assembled from scratch. Experienced names such as Jordi Amat, Thom Haye and Ragnar Oratmangoen serve as the bridge between the Europe-born contingent and the domestic-league core. The most tactically striking detail is a pair of 1.96-metre players: Elkan Baggott and Mitchell Baker. In Southeast Asian football, where knockout ties are so often decided by set pieces, a height differential can be a decisive weapon. Baker, by one account, scored four goals on his debut. I have spent many years taking notes at small grounds across South America and Asia. Beneath the dust of the city streets, I still find gems no one has yet taken the time to see. The lesson is this: a team is not built from big names, but from how those names are fitted together. Indonesia have chosen a physical, transition-based model: high pressing, quick switches of play, an aerial threat. This is the opposite school to Vietnam, a side built on ball control and technique. The clash between these two philosophies will define the tournament. But there is a gap few people are discussing. Captain and centre-back Jay Idzes, the organiser of the back line, is absent through injury. Also injured and out are the midfielder Marselino Ferdinan and the forward Miliano Jonathan. Those three names occupy the most important positions of all: the heart of the defence, the creative engine room, and the spearhead of the attack. People talk endlessly about the ten Europe-based players. I am drawn instead to the three sitting on the treatment table. People see the glory; I see the quiet backs turned away from the spotlight. In football, the strongest side is not the one with the most stars, but the one least dependent on any single individual. Idzes's absence is not merely the loss of a centre-back. It is the loss of the defensive commander, the man who holds the line, who barks at team-mates when they drift out of position. Herdman is known for a high defensive line, which demands the back four step up in unison. Without Idzes, that system leaves space in behind. Then there is Justin Hubner's remark. The defender publicly belittled Vietnam's 3-0 win, arguing that the previous tournament fell outside FIFA days so Indonesia did not field their strongest squad. That argument has a hole in it: this tournament, too, falls outside FIFA days. The window from September 21 to October 1 is not part of the official international calendar. That means European clubs are under no obligation to release players. A single clause in FIFA's regulations on the status and transfer of players could upend the federation's entire plan. If even a handful of clubs refuse, the "strongest squad" Herdman promised may dissolve before the tournament even begins. This is the biggest risk, and also the least discussed. Tactically, Indonesia may shift from an intended 4-3-3 to a 4-2-3-1 or a back three to protect a reshuffled defence. That is the trade-off: a safer back line, but one fewer attacking weapon. The two 1.96-metre strikers will be the primary attacking route, especially at corners and free kicks. In the low-scoring matches typical of Southeast Asian football, one goal from a set piece can be the difference between advancing and going home. Yet Vietnam remain the benchmark. Kim Sang-sik's side play controlled, technical football with organised pressing. The three goals they put past Indonesia last time were the product of a system, not of luck. If Indonesia want revenge, they must avoid being overrun in midfield. But midfield is precisely where they have lost Ferdinan. Zoom out, and Indonesia's model is a case study in talent arbitrage at national-team level. Instead of investing years in domestic academies, the federation recruits players already developed in Europe who carry Indonesian heritage. The acquisition cost is close to zero compared with building a youth pipeline. Transfer figures are the visible part; the submerged part is sweat on the ground, the youth of a neighbourhood corner. But this model carries a paradox. If 17 of 23 players come from abroad, the incentive to invest in domestic youth football weakens. A 17-year-old in Jakarta looks up at the national team and sees only faces born in Rotterdam, Amsterdam, Sydney. He will ask himself where his own path lies. That is a long-term question nobody has answered. Observers are already predicting a naturalisation arms race across the region. If Indonesia succeed, Thailand, Malaysia and Vietnam may accelerate their own search for heritage players abroad. A race in which the winner is not necessarily the nation with the most players, but the one that knits them together best. One historical detail deserves a mention. The thirteen Dutch-eligible players are no accident. They are the product of migration and kinship ties stretching back to the colonial era, a talent pipeline almost no regional rival can match. This is a structural edge, reusable across multiple cycles. I am old now, so I am patient enough to wait for a season to mature. I have waited half a century to see Southeast Asian football stop settling for itself. But patience is not the same as blind faith. Indonesia hold a framework strong enough to reach the final. They have the home crowd, a coach who has managed at a World Cup, and a generation that has played in Europe's top leagues. But they are also missing their captain, missing two important attackers, and depend on the goodwill of European clubs that FIFA does not compel to release anyone. Before the opener against Singapore, I will sit in a corner of the stand where the floodlights have not yet come on. I will take notes, not on the goals, but on how ten players from Europe sync with the thirteen others. The answer to whether Indonesia win lies there, not on the scoreboard, but in the distance between people.