Puffing smoke rings through hoop dreams

By Ben Davey ( China Daily ) Updated: 2007-05-22 14:37:37

I had just finished coughing up a lung on the sideline of a baking indoor Beijing basketball court when the smell of cigarette smoke wafted into my nostrils. With a mouth as barren as the Taklimakan desert I reached for a bottle of water that had gone lukewarm and looked up to see who was disobeying the conspicuous "No Smoking" signs located next to all the exits.

Puffing smoke rings through hoop dreams There they were, the Chinese guys I was playing against, merrily sucking back a few coffin nails as sweat dripped off their chins. They weren't pathetically panting for air like I was, and instead of sucking on water bottles, with the desperation of someone whose car had broken down in the desert, they took casual sips. They even spat some a little out to rub their shoes in for grip.

Grip, on a court like this one, is a pipe dream, especially when the wind from the emergency doors regularly spreads a fresh blanket of dust over the wooden boards. Basketball can be a hazardous game at the best of times, what with all the flailing limbs, awkward contact and time spent in the air. Some players jump higher than others but one thing remains the same: As soon as you leave the ground you become vulnerable. On a slippery surface, even the most disciplined defensive players can involuntarily crash into you while those with less ability are about as in control of their own actions as early morning patrons of Sanlitun bar district.

I had already copped a shoulder to the jaw, a stiff arm to the nose and had my legs taken out from under me several times. Perhaps this lack of traction is the reason why my mostly Chinese opposition chose not to make the game too physical. Members of the team I was playing in, made up mostly of expats, didn't mind getting a little physical but by and large, the other team were content to use their skill to score baskets. Still, this doesn't mean that Chinese players were in any way intimidated by their foreign counterparts. If anything they seemed remarkably composed in contrast to the overseas contingent whose faces were redder than a May Day parade.

I am Australian, a place often referred to as the sunburnt country. It gets hot there and it's part of the national folklore to embrace a tough, pioneering spirit. A popular stereotype of men from Down Under is the rugged bushman that battles the elements while managing to father 18 offspring, build his own house, muster a herd of cattle and drink 24 beers in one sitting while working on a bronze tan. I am lily white, have difficulty nailing picture hooks to walls and am scared of cows. On top of this, I hate the blasted heat.

So perhaps it was fitting then, that my Chinese sporting opponents remind me of just how far removed I am from my countrymen's masculine ideal by gleefully blowing smoke rings courtside as my major organs liquefied. Adding insult to injury, one of them was wearing jeans.

At that temperature, and if the laws of good taste permitted, I would have considered playing in underwear. Who knows, I could have used my fair complexion as a weapon to blind defenders on my way to the hoop. Maybe next weekend.

(China Daily 05/22/2007 page20)