The old man with no shirt and no fear wound up and crushed the pingpong ball to a fit 40ish guy in a gray sleeveless T-shirt. Gray sleeveless T-shirt returned it with all the casualness of a guy swatting a fly.
Pingpong balls rocketed back and forth on five tables manned by a bunch of middle-aged men in printed shorts and T-shirts, wrinkles and paunches.
A chain-link fence and a forest of elm trees surrounded them. If the game were basketball, the locale would’ve been a park in Bedford-Stuyvesant — except, of course, for the Chinese restaurant with the bright yellow-and-red lanterns right next to it. No, this was table tennis. This little slice of Chinese life is found next to Beijing Workers Stadium, China’s old national soccer stadium, east of the Forbidden City.
But it could’ve been on any block in any neighborhood in Beijing. Or it could be in any city in China, from a frigid ramshackle village in Tibet to a steaming waterfront town in Guangdong Province.
Olympic table tennis begins today, and a country of 1.3 billion people will put down their paddles and balls and park in front of their 400 million TVs.
Here in China, table tennis isn’t a sport where the people hang their hopes on their heroes. It is part of the fabric of life, the one common thread that has held this country together through World War II, the Cultural Revolution and 21st- century economic growth.
“It’s a sport everyone can participate in,” said Sui Lai Yong, a 51-year-old cook with a vicious forehand. “It’s like baseball in the United States. It’s a simple game. Of course, it’s good for your health.”
A few miles away, in the shadows of three high-rises, 40-year-old Zhang Jie politely hit the ball back and forth with his 8-year-old son, Jhi Yao.
They weren’t very good. Jhi Yao happily chased the wind-blown ball with every whiff. But like a father patiently playing catch with his son in an American park, this was the Chinese version of the final scene in “Field of Dreams.”
4 million tournament players
In China, an estimated 1 billion play table tennis, or, as they refer to it here, pingpong. Even if the number is an exaggeration, it’s not much. More than 4 million Chinese are tournament players. In the U.S., there are 4,000 tournament players.
The court rats near Workers Stadium flock to the frequent rec tournaments that the city promotes. Every province has intense tournaments in which the national federation sends scouts to find talent for a team that is only slightly less exclusive than the emperors’ list of China’s 15 dynasties.
Top players make about $150,000 a year, and an Olympic gold medal will earn a reputed $125,000 bonus. Average salaries in China’s cutthroat pro league range from $80,000 to $100,000. The average salary in urban China is $1,000 a year.
But the backbone of Chinese table tennis is at its grassroots level. Still, do 1 billion Chinese really play table tennis? That’s 77 percent.
“That’s about right,” Zhang Jie said through an interpreter. “But just because they play doesn’t mean they’re good.”
The Chinese don’t care. It’s a country where the countryside is decaying and 100 million have moved to urban centers where parks and money are limited. However, a table tennis paddle starts at about 15 yuan ($2.20) and a ball is 5 (about 75 cents).
BYON: Bring your own net
Locals don’t even need a table. They’re scattered all over the country, made of wood and stone, sometimes with plastic nets. Often, players just bring their own net.
“The thing is, it’s easy to carry equipment around,” said Chao Yang, a 40-year-old cabdriver who joins colleagues at tables near the airport while they wait for fares. “You train your body. You stay fit. It’s not like running, but you can do it in a limited area.”
Contrary to popular belief, the Chinese did not invent table tennis. The English did in the 1880s as a way for upper-class Victorians to entertain themselves after stodgy dinner parties. It spread through Europe and came to China during World War II when British servicemen stationed here introduced it to the locals.
By the 1960s, as China barricaded itself from most of the world under Mao Tse-tung, it quietly produced immense table tennis talent. When China finally opened its doors by inviting an American table tennis team in 1971, the world saw a glimpse of the domination that was to come.
“Especially my generation was even more competitive because at that time the kids didn’t have that many choices,” said David Zhuang, a member of the four-person U.S. Olympic team, all of whom were raised in China. “Every kid had a racket behind their back.”
Zhuang, 44, grew up in Guangzhou and is just part of the mass migration of Chinese table tennis players who figure if you can’t beat ’em, leave ’em.
Since the Olympics included table tennis in 1988, China has won 16 of a potential 20 gold medals. Thus, Chinese players are scattered around Olympic teams from Singapore to Holland.
It was an even longer haul for U.S. player Wang Chen. Chinese sports officials chose her as a table tennis specialist in the first grade when she and her classmates were told to throw pingpong balls into a tiny basket. One of the few who made three, she turned pro at the ripe old age of 11.
However, she moved to the U.S. in 1999 after twice being passed over for China’s Olympic team.
“It’s very hard,” she said. “They only pick five on the team. You’ve got to be a genius.”
To a billion Chinese, however, table tennis isn’t hard. It’s exercising with friends and bonding with your child. It’s a small ball on a small table in a small park. And it has united a very big country.
John Henderson: 303-954-1299 or jhenderson@denverpost.com
