Kosher Chinese by Michael Levy

Author:Michael Levy [Levy, Michael]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Non-Fiction, Travel, Biography
Goodreads: 10283324
Publisher: Holt Paperbacks
Published: 2011-07-05T00:00:00+00:00

The Taiwan Problem

Our first game was scheduled for a Saturday night against the Guizhou Military Academy. We donned our yellow jerseys and boarded the team bus at 3:30 p.m. It was the first hot day of the early summer so we had all of the windows lowered. Dust and gravel mixed with the cigarette smoke of my teammates. I tried not to breathe too deeply.

An hour later, we arrived at our opponents’ gym. It was by far the nicest court I had seen in China. The floor was made of wood (rather than the usual concrete), the rims had nets, and the baskets seemed actually to be regulation height. The gym had seating for a few hundred spectators, and the stands were about half full. On the wall near the entrance was a life-sized photo of Yao Ming dunking on a player from the Japanese national team.

I scanned the crowd. I had invited Jennifer and Vivian and spotted them at midcourt. They waved to me in unison. To my surprise, I also saw Big Twin, whom I had seen several times on subsequent unannounced visits to her village. As my teammates sat on the bench, I called her over. She scurried down the bleachers and approached the bench, red in the face.

“I’m so happy to see you!” I told her. She was wearing a Houston Rockets T-shirt and had her hair in pigtails. She looked adorable. “How did you know to come to the game?”

“I’m a big NBA fan,” she told me. “And everyone knows you are now on the team. I’m excited to see you play.” Word travelled fast in Guiyang. I gave her a high five, told her I’d stop by the village soon, and returned to my teammates.

We began warming up by running laps, stretching, and shooting free throws. Eventually, Coach Qin called us over. He had been a fairly ruthless taskmaster during practice and had an even more serious look on his face today. He was giving complex commands and speaking rapidly. My Chinese had gaps in basketball terminology but the physical language of the sport was not lost in translation. I was never more than a half step behind his instructions. Or so I thought. Ultimately, I was just nodding and hoping that once on the court I could figure out how to be a part of our offensive and defensive schemes. This strategy had worked when I played basketball while living in Israel. My teammates spoke Hebrew, Arabic, and even Russian, but we never had trouble working as a unit. I hoped the same would hold true in China.

“Take a look at the other team,” Coach told us. “We will not be covering number 11.” Coach Qin looked at me to be sure I understood, and he spelled it out clearly for me: “He is high up in the Communist Youth Party, so he must be allowed to score.”

“I got it,” I said. “Be friendly with number 11.” Coach nodded at this and gave me a thumbs-up.

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