Honda Center, the Olympic 2028 Rehearsal: World Volleyball Listening to Anaheim's Rhythm

Last night, I opened the satellite map of Anaheim, California. Between the familiar domes of Disneyland and the highway maze heading to the southern coast, the Honda Center looked like a giant black box. For over three decades, it has heard the applause of ice hockey games, rock concerts, and NBA games. But it has never been handed to a sport with as much rhythm, as much silence, and as many surprises as volleyball. Information from the Olympic 2028 organizing committee confirms that this arena will host indoor volleyball matches. What caught my attention even more: an international rehearsal tournament has been scheduled one year before the Olympics, as a way for the world to listen to the arena's breath before stepping into the summer of 2028.

In less than three years, Los Angeles will become the third American city to host the Olympics, after St. Louis in 2026 and Atlanta in 2026. With a Games held in one of the most complex metropolitan areas in the United States, the choice of venues is never random. Indoor volleyball, a sport that is rather picky about venues because of strict requirements for ceiling height, lighting, flooring, and broadcast space, is placed in the Anaheim area instead of downtown Los Angeles. This creates a separate competition cluster, about 45 minutes by bus from the Olympic Village. That may be a logistical drawback, but it is also a chance for teams to enjoy a detached atmosphere, less affected by the frenzy of a Games. Therefore, the organizers decided to turn the Honda Center into a rehearsal room – where every process, from athlete shuttles to lounge operations, will be tested one year ahead.

Volleyball holds a special place in the hearts of Californians. Beach volleyball was born on Santa Monica beach in the 1920s, and California is the cradle of that sport. But indoor volleyball, played in big arenas, is a different story. Americans still view top-level volleyball as a sport of the world, not their own. Thus, the choice of a venue like the Honda Center is not merely an administrative decision. It is a statement that the United States is ready to embrace international volleyball's rhythm, right in the area known as the entertainment capital of the planet.

The rehearsal model is not new. Before the 2026 London Olympics, the British organizers ran a series called London Prepares, stress-testing the transport system and venues from 2026. Rio de Janeiro did something similar before the 2026 Olympics, though on a smaller scale. But for volleyball, organizing a real international tournament at the actual Olympic arena one year before the opening ceremony is a different level of investment. It allows referees to get used to the ceiling height, teams to learn the trajectory of the overhead lighting, and broadcast technicians to measure the exact camera positions so that no one stands in the shot. These seemingly trivial details determine the quality of hundreds of matches later.

Speaking of infrastructure, the Honda Center is no stranger to international events. Opened in 2026, it has hosted hundreds of major sports events, from NHL hockey games to collegiate sports championships. With a capacity of more than 17,000 seats in its sports configuration, it is large enough to meet the demands of elite volleyball – a sport where the atmosphere from the stands can change the service ace percentage by dozens of percentage points. But what interests me is not the number of seats, but the internal operations: how quickly the lighting can dim between sets, whether the modular floor can handle sweat and long slides in defensive plays, and whether the distance from the warm-up area to the court is enough for athletes to keep their body feeling during the waiting time. The operating rhythm of a tournament never lies; only people listen to it wrong.

One of the aspects that makes me – a sports journalist living in Vietnam – excited about this rehearsal tournament is the time zone issue. Anaheim is on Pacific Time, 14 hours behind Vietnam. If the organizers schedule important matches in the American prime-time window – 7 or 9 p.m. local time – then Vietnamese volleyball fans will wake up at 8-10 a.m. the next day to watch live. Unlike Olympics held in Brazil or Russia, where Asian fans often have to stay up all night, Anaheim opens a surprisingly favorable window. I have spent long nights watching international men's volleyball from a small coffee shop in Da Nang, and I have always realized that the rhythm of watching affects how fans remember a match. A Sunday morning, a cup of coffee, an Olympic semifinal – that is a scenario any sports broadcaster dreams of.

For Asian teams, playing in California is far from simple. A 14-hour time difference does not only affect sleep; it disrupts eating habits, training routines, and even the athletes' sense of hunger. In previous Olympics, Asian teams usually arrived 10-14 days early to adapt. But the cost of such a long trip is enormous. The Honda Center rehearsal tournament, one year before the Olympics, is a chance for teams like Japan, South Korea, China – and if they manage to qualify, Vietnam – to test this process at a lower cost. Interestingly, the way teams react to a new environment is often most visible in unofficial friendly matches. I call this the rehearsal effect. A team can practice ball control perfectly in a training hall, but it is different when they travel from a hotel through a crowded area, pass two security checkpoints, and step into a cold arena with 17,000 empty seats.

But I want to pause at a different angle – something most news reports ignore. This rehearsal tournament has value not simply in testing technology or procedures. I believe it is also a psychological test for the very people who run it. I have witnessed many international sporting events, and I have always realized that volleyball is a sport of forgotten silences – the waiting minutes between sets, the players' glances at an empty stand, the bus rides from hotel to arena. In those silences, all psychological issues, chemistry, and hidden anxieties surface. At 58, I have learned that the truest match happens off the court. And for an Asian team approaching an American Olympic environment for the first time, learning to survive those silences is more important than building court tactics.

There is another detail that makes me think about how Americans operate top-level sport. They do not view placing volleyball in Anaheim as an exile; they see it as a way to bring the Games closer to the community. Anaheim is a tourist city, with huge hotel capacity, and John Wayne Airport is only a few minutes' drive from downtown. Teams do not have to navigate Los Angeles traffic every day. For an Asian team, the time from the changing room to the bus can be shortened to the maximum. When I followed SHB Da Nang in the V.League, I used to record the team's travel time from hotel to Hoa Xuan Stadium – an average of 40 minutes. Those 40 minutes sometimes changed an entire warm-up state. For national teams, the equivalent travel time between a hotel in Anaheim and the Honda Center will be measured in minutes, not hours. That is a privilege few Olympics have ever offered. I have spent years following teams – but in fact, I follow their rhythms. The Anaheim tournament is a new rhythm.

Sitting in Da Nang, looking at the screen, I cannot help thinking about how long Vietnamese volleyball has stood outside this game. The Olympic dream remains a long distance away, but the signals from Anaheim – where people organize an entire tournament just to test the echo of 17,000 empty seats – show that in elite volleyball, early preparation is part of victory. So who will win the rehearsal tournament in the summer of 2027? For me, that question is far less interesting than whether Asian volleyball federations, including Vietnam, will see this as a chance to learn how to read America's rhythm. I still hold the belief that a name can be tarnished, but its rhythm cannot. And Anaheim's rhythm is very clear.