Shin Tae-yong and the Squad Depth Equation: Is Persija Jakarta Playing a Long Game or Setting Itself Up for Pressure?

5 wins, 1 draw, 2 losses in 8 pre-season friendlies. That number, standing alone, says nothing. But when paired with a statement from a coach who once led a national team at the World Cup saying "player development is more important than results," it suddenly becomes a signal worth dissecting. Persija Jakarta, one of Indonesia's most traditional and passionately supported clubs, is entering the 2026/27 season with a philosophy distinctly different from the rest of the BRI Super League. The question is not whether Shin Tae-yong is right or wrong, but whether a big club under pressure from tens of thousands of Jakmania supporters has the patience to wait for a long-term process. Context must be established immediately: Persija is not an average Southeast Asian club. They are a sleeping giant, a brand whose appeal extends far beyond the pitch. The appointment of Shin Tae-yong, who led Indonesia at the 2026 Asian Cup and nearly guided them to the 2026 World Cup, is a statement of ambition. But that ambition is built on an unconventional foundation: instead of lavish spending, Shin focuses on building a squad with depth in almost every position. The original article asserts that "almost every position has more than one capable player," and that is the crux of the entire strategy. Look at how Shin operates. He publicly declares that no player is untouchable, that every starting spot must be earned through training and match performance. This is not a media gimmick. It is a proven squad management method at the national team level, where Shin had to rotate dozens of players across multiple competitions. The four evaluation criteria he outlined—instruction execution, intensity, attack building, and physical condition—directly reflect the high-pressing, fast-transition philosophy he applied to Indonesia. The 5W-1D-2L record in 8 friendlies, including a two-week training camp in Thailand and an international friendly against Brisbane Roar (A-League), suggests the system is functional but not yet complete. Importantly, Shin does not hide this. He states plainly: "Results are only one indicator, not the sole measure." But here I want to offer a contrarian view against the optimistic narrative Persija's communications team is trying to build. A deep squad is a tactical asset, but it is also a potential financial burden. Maintaining two quality players per position typically inflates the wage bill by 30 to 50 percent compared to a lean squad. The question no Indonesian article addresses is: what revenue stream will offset this cost? Persija has a massive fan base, but broadcasting and sponsorship revenue in the BRI Super League remains very limited compared to top Southeast Asian leagues like Thailand or Vietnam. If the financial model is not sustainable, the pressure to sell players mid-season becomes real, and the entire depth strategy collapses. Interestingly, Shin seems to have anticipated this. By publicly lowering expectations about results, he is creating a protective shield against criticism from media and fans. This is a classic expectation-management tactic, but it is also a double-edged sword. If Persija loses 5-6 matches early in the season, the "development over results" narrative will quickly be twisted into "a big club declining with a strong squad." Jakmania is not known for patience. They have exerted intense pressure on many previous coaches. Shin Tae-yong may be an excellent strategist, but even the best strategists need time to prove the process is on track. And in modern football, time is the most luxurious commodity. Another blind spot I noticed from data analysis: the original article never mentions the result of the Brisbane Roar match—the highest-caliber opponent in the friendly series. This absence of information makes me wonder: could that match have ended in defeat? If so, it is a worrying signal about Persija's competitiveness against better-organized and more physical teams. Numbers don't lie, but the people who clean them do. And deliberately omitting a crucial data point is also a way of distorting the full picture. I have followed Southeast Asian football for nearly four decades, from sitting in the stands at Senayan stadium to sitting in broadcast rights executive rooms. I have seen too many big clubs fail because of impatience with a long-term vision coach. But I have also seen development philosophies collapse because they failed to account for the harsh realities of payroll and transfer windows. Persija is betting that Shin Tae-yong can turn a deep squad into a sustainable winning machine. That is a worthy gamble, but it will only succeed if all parties—management, players, and most importantly, fans—truly believe in the process. Football never forgives impatience, but it also never rewards stubbornness. The open question is: does Persija have the courage to walk a path few Southeast Asian clubs dare to take? In a stadium without singing, I hear the future of media. But in a stadium full of singing, I hear the pressure of the present. Shin Tae-yong is trying to build something bigger than a football team—he is building an ecosystem. And that ecosystem will only survive if it is nurtured with genuine patience and belief, not with unreasonable expectations from those who only look at the scoreboard.