Chros McDougall: Gymnast-mania

Access was opened up considerably for volunteers today.

Thus, Beatlemania. Or in the case of China, Gymnast-mania.

I’ve written a lot about the Chinese infatuation with their athletes. The 12 particular gymnasts representing China in the Olympics won seven medals this year, five of them gold, including both team titles. It’s fair to say that the gymnasts are among the most popular athletes in town.

When the gymnastics gala ended today a throng on volunteers poured onto the field of play — including me. While I was standing on the balance beam I noticed a mob of Chinese volunteers on the floor exercise, and after checking out the situation found that China’s teams were in the middle posing for pictures.

A Chinese girl ducks under an umbrella at a hutong. Photo by Sarah Orscheln.

A few minutes later I was standing near the exit to the dressing rooms when I noticed the mob moving closer. I got my camera out — I was intent on trying to get a picture with the biggest Chinese hero of them all, Cheng Fei — and watched. Something was up, though. Some of the volunteers, ones actually doing their job, were trying to separate the team from the rest of the volunteers, now free to openly worship these idols.

The working volunteers ended up surrounding the 12 Chinese athletes and held hands, creating a barrier between the fans and the gymnasts as they exited the field of play. Once they got to a corridor the circle broke and the athletes scurried away; the volunteers made a human wall to prevent any chasers.

We, Jason Borseth and I, weren’t finished though. He was on a mission to get something signed by all of the Chinese and American women in the competition. I was still hoping for a picture with one of China’s greatest celebrities.

The chase took us outside the National Indoor Stadium where the athletes were loading buses to get back to the Olympic Village. It didn’t take long to identify which bus was carrying the Chinese gymnasts. A crowd of at least 30 volunteers was surrounding the bus trying to get to the athletes. We almost gave up here, the gymnasts were locked in this box just looking out as if to tease us.

There was a crowd mystriously forming at one spot on the other side of the bus though. Upon closer look we could see a Chinese man slipping a piece of paper and pen through a crack in the window. A non-gymnast came up to the window and looked like he was going to scold the man, but instead he carefully pulled the paper and pen inside the bus and brought it back to one of the male gymnasts to sign.

I wish I knew who it was, but as we were running around the bus to this barely-cracked window I made eye contact with one of the Chinese male gymnasts, and he smiled at me. I’m not sure what it meant, whether he was smiling at a blond haired fan who was enthusiastic about the Chinese champions or if he too knew that the situation was kind of ridiculous and was smiling at me to acknowledge that he too, understood what I saw. I won’t forget that, though.

When we got to the window it looked hopeless. The other fans had been cleared away and the bus seemed ready to move. A bit later though we went back to that window and looked inside. It was Cheng Fei! Against his better judgment one of the guys on my trip — the only freshman allowed to come — knocked on the window. Cheng Fei looked up with that meek little smile she showed after taking the bronze in balance beam and vault. When she saw Jason’s pen, Cheng motioned to the front of the bus, where an assistant could bring it to her for an autograph.

Jason tried; he stood at the front door of that bus trying to convince the team assistant from English to Mandarin that Cheng Fei had agreed to an autograph, but it was to no avail. The bus hissed a puff of black soot out and started slowly rolling away.

There was a sense of sadness as the bus was moving away. I didn’t get my picture with Cheng Fei, and Jason didn’t get his bib signed. This was the end of China’s 2008 Olympic gymnastics team, and I found myself waving goodbye to the national heroes.

I guess, for this one, afternoon I was Chinese too.

- Chros McDougall

Alex Monnig: Cheering China

The Chinese are putting their home-court/field/country advantage to good use.

The constant raucous support of Chinese athletes during these Olympics is different from the support we often see at home in the United States. I’ve written before that the US has traveled well at these Games, providing audible support for athletes in several venues. But the Chinese people’s interest in their athletes is a little different. They seem to live and die on the performances of their competitors, no matter what sport they are watching.

I can’t imagine dozens of Americans glued to their TVs to watch shooting or weight lifting back home. But

A small boy on the subway has his forehead painted for the Olympics and his cheeks painted for China.

that’s what I see here in offices, subway stations and restaurants. Of course we give ample attention to the bigger Olympic sports – swimming, track and field, gymnastics, and even basketball – but we tend to forget about many of the others. Not here. So much of the excitement that comes from sports seems, well, foreign, for the Chinese. At the softball game I went to last week, any ball hit in the air, whether it was a pop up to the pitcher or a can of corn to right field, was greeted with a smattering of “ohhs” from much of the crowd, as if they were watching fireworks ascend into the sky. And yesterday, when defending champion Liu Xiang had to pull out of the 110m hurdle event with an injury, citizens were moved to tears. I don’t think many Americans felt their eyes water when Tyson Gay was injured a couple months ago.

I think these differences stem from the fact that we get to watch world-class athletes in multiple sports on an almost daily basis. Some Americans might find this rampant Chinese nationalism to be pompous or juvenile, and that is understandable. But maybe they are just deprived of some of the wonders of sports that we take for granted. Pompous and/or proud, the Chinese are showering all of their athletes with support during these Olympics.

- Alex Monnig

Askren’s day at the Olympics

Former Missouri wrestler Ben Askren parades into the Olympic wrestling venue. Notice the Askren fans in the stands, wearing fright wigs that mimick Askren's usually wild hairdo. Askren sported a tamer haircut for his first Olympic appearance. Photos by Doug Meigs

I was attending a Chinese acrobat show Tuesday night when I got a text message from Doug Meigs.
“I have two tickets for tomorrow’s wrestling at face value, 100 RMB. You interested?”
I was very interested.

The story Larry Powell doesn’t want you to read

Larry explained his situation to the Chinese volunteer.
The volunteer smiled. Was it one of those, “Yeah, whatever pal” smiles or was it an “Everything’s going to be

The basketball statue outside. the venue. Was this where Larry's ticket went missing? Photo by Larry Powell.

all right” smile?

Turns out, it was just a smile.

“Please, wait one moment,” the volunteer said, then spoke Chinese into his headset.

So, we waited.

But that’s getting ahead of the story.

Monday in Beijing, Larry Powell and I headed down to the Basketball arena, clutching the two tickets we’d bought at face-value from Steve, our chance encounter from the states. The bus ride was uneventful. Actually, it was notable for it’s lack of crowds. We had seats the entire way and were even able to chat across the aisle.
We got to the venue, went through security and were wanded, something we’ve grown accustomed to by now.
Then, as we walked toward the arena, we stopped to take some photographs of a basketball statue outside.
We walked the remaining distance to the arena and prepared to go inside. And that’s when Larry realized he didn’t have his ticket.

Laura Petersen: Row your boat

Olympic Rowing. Photos by Laura Petersen

Hiding from the sun.

Lyndsey Nielsen: A day in the life…

A meal in the life. Photo by Lyndsey Nielsen.

The bus turns the corner and I can see that it is going to be a long day.

On a bus with barely 20 seats and a maximum capacity that cannot be more than 75, there are probably close to 90 people riding this morning. Since I don’t have a choice, I squeeze myself onto the crowded vehicle and it takes off for the next stop, only to pick up ten more people. For 45 minutes I endure the sardine-like experience because, as it turns out, everyone on the bus wants to get off at my stop—Lincui lu, right outside the Olympic Athlete Village. We all stumble out of the sauna that was bus line 7 and go our separate ways.

Furqaan Sadiq: Not just a hockey match

Amid the political mess from the War on Terror, Pakistanis find solace in two things: cricket and field hockey. Given that cricket is not part of the Olympic repertoire of athletic events, hockey steps in once every four years and Pakistan reawakens its love affair with the sport.

Pakistan’s heads of state – even the democratically elected ones – are quite often at odds with the people. During the Olympics, however, government figures and citizens alike join in honoring the hockey players as national heroes, decorating their hometowns, wearing their jerseys, and dawning their favorite player’s numbers on their cars. Regardless of class and location, merchant to mechanic, urbanite to villager, everyone lives and breathes Pakistan’s hockey matches.

So, when my road cycling gig ended last week, I naturally jumped on the opportunity to cover field hockey

Outside the Bird's Nest. Photo by Jashin Lin.

for ONS. Pakistan at that point had already defeated Canada, but a seriously bad thrashing from Great Britain left a national bruise, and so Pakistan was desperate for a win against No. 1-ranked Australia last Friday (August 15.)

Once I reached the press tribune, I had a great view of the pitch and stadium. It was easy to spot the Pakistanis in the stands, since all the women were wearing their traditionally bright colored dresses or shalwar – kamiz.

Of course, the Aussies had their cheering sections nicely grouped in pods around the stadium, and they were quite good in bursting out in orchestra-like precision, “Aussie! Aussie! Aussie! Oye, Oye, Oye!”

The Pakistanis didn’t have as much of a chant as they did a battle cry. An anonymous person from amidst the crowd would yell, “Pakistan!” Then, a silence would settle for a split second when suddenly, from around the stadium, you could hear the answer to the call, “Pakistan, Zindabad!” Or, “Long live Pakistan!” It was pretty funny, but probably appropriate, considering Pakistan’s independence day was just one day earlier on the 14th of August.