The Likhatskyi Brothers and the Lesson from Budapest: When Ukrainian Beach Volleyball Doesn't Need Glory

In the 34-degree heat of a June afternoon in Budapest, I sat in the third row of the center court, where there was no large scoreboard, no slow-motion replay screen, only the sound of the ball bouncing on sand and the sighs of those who work in the profession. That was where I saw Ivan and Richard Likhatskyi walk into the final with the gait of men who had lost a match in the pool stage, and neither of them looked up at the stands to find anyone. They won 2-0, but the story was not in the score.

The World Beach Pro Tour Futures is the lowest tier of the FIVB professional system — where young pairs come to earn ranking points, and where people in the profession come to see who can actually survive at the upper levels. This Budapest Futures tournament had no Brazil, no USA, none of the names that define world beach volleyball. But it had Ukraine, Bulgaria, Austria — countries without strong beach volleyball traditions, but quietly building a new generation. I have followed Futures events since 2026, and what I have learned over 33 years in the profession is this: at the lowest tier of a system, people cannot hide their nature.

The first thing I noticed was not the spikes. It was how the Likhatskyi brothers stood waiting for serve. Ivan, the younger, stood slightly angled to the left, while Richard, the elder, stood straighter and always placed his right hand on his left hip — a posture I have seen in athletes who have been through wrist injuries. There are no official statistics on their digs in Budapest, but I counted 9 successful digs in the second set of the final, including 3 in situations where both had already fallen onto the sand. That is the kind of behavior that does not appear in any data table, yet it says more than any number about the physical foundation and chemistry of a pair.

The Bulgarian pair, Mehandzhiyski and Kalchev, came to Budapest as higher-rated seeds after their bronze medal at Sveti Vlas. They won four consecutive matches to reach the final, and I noticed a small detail: in the semifinal against the Austrian pair Klemen-Holzinger, Kalchev repeatedly served toward Holzinger — the shorter player with a tendency to receive with his left hand. That was a deliberate tactical decision, not coincidence. But in the final against Likhatskyi, they could no longer do that, because both Ukrainian brothers had virtually equal two-handed receiving ability. In beach volleyball, the difference between a good pair and a championship pair lies in this: the opponent cannot find a weaker player to attack.

I watched the final recording three times. The 2-0 score (21-18, 21-16) does not fully reflect the match. In the first set, Bulgaria led 14-12 after a block by Mehandzhiyski. But from point 15 onward, Likhatskyi switched to spin serves toward Kalchev, forcing him to retreat deep to receive, reducing Mehandzhiyski's ability to participate in attack. It was a small but systematic adjustment: they did not try to beat the opponent with power, but by separating the opposing pair from each other. I remember a quote from Coach Mai Đức Chung that I once heard in the SEA Games 2026 press room: "To beat a collective, you must first make them no longer a collective." That quote is true for football, and it is also true for beach volleyball.

There would be nothing worth saying if this were just an ordinary Futures event. But three things made this Budapest Futures different. First, this was the first gold medal for the Likhatskyi brothers at the Beach Pro Tour level — a personal milestone that may not attract international media attention, but for a pair from a country at war, it carries different meaning. Second, this was the best result in the history of the Bulgarian pair at the Beach Pro Tour, surpassing the bronze at Sveti Vlas. Third, Illia Tiurin — a name I had to look up twice to remember — won bronze in his first appearance at this level, alongside Popov. One country with two pairs on the podium at an international tournament, while that country faces difficulties no press room can fully describe — that is what I wanted to write about.

But I must be careful. I have written too much about the pain of female athletes, to the point where I ask myself whether I am exploiting emotion rather than analyzing. With this story, I do not want to do the same with Ukrainian athletes. They do not need my pity. They need to be recognized as real beach volleyball players, with specific tactical decisions, specific adjustments, and specific weaknesses.

Their specific weakness, from my observation, lies in blocking. Throughout the tournament, I recorded 12 situations where the Likhatskyi brothers allowed opponents to score directly from an attack through Ivan's position. That is not a serious number at the Futures level, but if they want to go further — to the Challenger or Elite tier — it is a point to improve. What is notable is that they compensate with anticipation and movement, not height. Richard is 1.92m, Ivan 1.88m — not too short by beach volleyball standards, but not enough to dominate pairs from Brazil or the USA at higher tiers. They win with intelligence rather than physique, and that is why I believe their story deserves to be told.

I wonder what will happen to them after Budapest. A gold medal at Futures does not guarantee a spot at the next Challenger events. The FIVB ranking system is harsh: Futures points are only a small fraction of Elite points. But it opens a door. And for a country that has to organize training sessions on sand courts that do not always meet standards, every door that opens has value.

What I cannot verify, and will not pretend to know: whether the Likhatskyi brothers receive support from the national federation, whether they have a private coach or train in a group, whether they will have more competition opportunities this year. Those questions require time and direct contact, not remote analysis. But I know one thing for certain: in a sport where each team has only two players, dependence on a single pair is the greatest risk. Ukraine had two pairs on the podium in Budapest. That is a good signal, but not enough to speak of a sustainable beach volleyball foundation.

I left Budapest the next morning on an early flight. On the plane, I reread my notes and realized something: the female beach volleyball players I follow in Vietnam also frequently compete in tournaments with conditions similar to Budapest Futures — substandard courts, sparse stands, and almost no one recording what they do. The similarity between the women playing beach volleyball in Lâm Đồng and the men playing beach volleyball in Ukraine is not in gender or nationality, but in the fact that they are all fighting within systems not designed for them.

I do not know whether the Likhatskyi brothers will read this article. Perhaps they will never know of the existence of a Vietnamese journalist sitting in the third row at their final. But if there is one thing I want them to know, it is this: a pair's first gold medal is never just a pair's first gold medal. It is evidence that a system is working correctly, or failing correctly. And in beach volleyball, where there is no bench, no substitutions, no collective tactics — every failure and success belongs to two specific people, standing on sand, responsible for every ball.

As I write this, the Budapest Futures ended two weeks ago. The athletes have moved on to other tournaments in other countries. The FIVB rankings have updated. And in some sense, everything I write here has become history. But there is one question I still cannot answer: can a gold medal at the Futures tier change how a national federation allocates resources? The answer, like every question about equality in sports, is not in Budapest, but in the decisions made in windowless rooms where no one sees the sand and no one hears the ball.

I write this article for the athletes who have never appeared on the front page of any sports newspaper. And I write for those who have sat in the third row, looking down at a sand court, wondering whether what they are seeing really matters. Because in sports, as in life, the most important things often happen in places where no one is recording. And sometimes, the only person who sees it is a 49-year-old woman, sitting alone, with a notebook and a pen.