If 22 golds in six days were not ample proof of a home court advantage, you should have been at Centre Court in Beijing on Thursday night (as Bill Gates was). Up till now, Chinese fan etiquette is one department where Beijing has by and large held up its end of the bargain. Beginning some two years ahead of the Games, wary Chinese officials resorted to propaganda to school spectators in codes of protocol and partisanship. Whatever its effects, the home crowds have gotten credit for keeping their Sinophilia from turning negative and/or disruptive. They’ve deservedly relished Olympic victory (lots of it) and—aside from some time-honored angst over the sorry state of the nation’s soccer—have been gracious in defeat (what little of it there has been). But Thursday was a close call. The tennis crowd crossed the line once or twice, I’d say, but mostly stayed in-bounds. This post represents a computer review that of that call. One thing I should note, to start, is that Beijingers aren’t accustomed to waiting out a four-hour rain delay to watch the once-bourgeois sport of tennis. So passions were stoked from the minute the action got under way. The night began with the bulk of the fans pulling for Roger Federer to the bitter end. He is the world’s biggest tennis star and a well-known figure in Rolex-conscious Chinese circles. But you’d think a few more spectators might have rallied behind underdog American James Blake, who beat Federer for the first time in ten tries to advance to the semis. In the interest of anthropology for idiots, I asked a couple of Chinese fans if they thought anything should be made of their lack of enthusiasm for the African-American Blake. They didn’t, so I’ll let it rest there.
It probably wouldn’t have made much too difference where Venus Williams was from: her foe was China’s Li Na. Li pulled off a rousing upset, 7-5, 7-5, and the crowd set the tone for the trajectory of the match early. They crackled with excitement at nearly every ball off Li’s racket, and every service fault or unforced error off Venus’s. Venus did her best to take them out of the match. She dominated Li early on, smoking serves at 120 mph and searing groundstrokes Li couldn’t track down. But the crowd was an inexhaustible reserve of encouragement, pressing Li to fight back, and not always in the most Olympic of cadences. As Li was about go down 4-1, one spectator blurted in English: “Beat USA”. Then, in staccato, came another: “Beat USA”. And another: “Beat USA”.
Li Na proved as feisty as her multitude of backers, and Venus’s game unraveled quickly. Up a break, she double faulted. That’s when I heard a middle-aged couple nearby calling for her to do it again. Zai lai yi ge. “Another!” Every fault off Venus’s serve, “another.” When Li broke, the stands exploded. People waved tiny paper Chinese flags and waggled full-sized nylon ones. They roared “Li Na, Jia you”, or “Go Li Na”. Which to Western ears might have sounded like “Go Venus.” Not that Venus was under any illusions.
The Portuguese umpire was tested in the art of diplomacy. To shush the crowd before points, he initially took to uttering a singular courtesy phrase, Xie Xie: “Thank you.” His pronounced it fine, too, but the foreigner’s local touch set off a giggly buzz.
By now we were coming up on midnight, and this crowd could not contain themselves. Venus served the crucial ninth game of the first set, knotted at 4-4, and it went to deuce several times. Fault One from Venus prompted more calls for “Another!” On Li’s returns, hoots of hao qiu—“good ball!”—reverberated around the stadium. The umpire had to break in: “Ladies and gentlemen, please do not cry out during play. Thank you.” Venus won the game without ever complaining, but she didn’t seem to be a happy camper either. (Neither, perhaps, was her sister Serena, who was getting bounced of the Games by Elena Dementieva on another court).
As the players switched sides, a pre-recorded message played in Chinese, French, and English: “Ladies and gentlemen, in the spirit of the Olympics please do applaud errors made by the athletes. And as a courtesy to the athletes, please maintain silence [during the action].” Spectators were also requested to remain seated except during the changeover. Which proved an awful lot to ask of the pumped-up Chinese fans. But the organizers did what they could to entertain. In the next game Li broke serve again, which set her up to serve out the set. A Chinese R&B track played, people clapped to the beat, then Li closed out the set. Later they would play a ska rendition of “You Are My Sunshine”, cut by the seminal Beijing punk band Reflector.
On a few occasions my ears picked up individual Chinese fans hollering “Kill It” as Li wound up for a smash. At 4-4 in the second set, shouts of “Go Li Na” rang out just as Venus was about to serve. But the catcalling and mean-spiritedness only occurred in isolated in patches. When the reigning Wimbledon champ walloped a running volley for a winner, people applauded appreciatively. Afterward, Li commended the crowd. “Wow, I don’t think you could see that in another country.” The mad zeal for Li didn’t really translate into anti-American hostility—more like a patent disregard for tennis P.C. The only time the crowd did shut up was when Li was serving at match point. Even then the stands vibrated.
