Graphic: the
gold rush
To a British reporter in the Bird's Nest yesterday morning, the significance
of the news was written across the faces of our Chinese colleagues. Down in
the bowels of the stadium, local reporters were weeping and sharing their
sadness in consolatory hugs; in the press conference afterwards, there were
more reporters crying. And that is to say nothing of the scores of fans
tumbling out of the stadium with their painted faces running from the tears
coursing down their cheeks.
Liu Xiang, China's first and only male Olympic track champion, had just gone
out of the Games. He has overcome much, but he could not scale a single
hurdle.
Only minutes earlier, his late arrival on the Olympic stage was being
excitedly celebrated, his appearance for heat six of the 110metres hurdles
applauded like the return of a conquering hero. Liu had not been seen for
days, his absence becoming a talking point. His image here is ubiquitous -
on television, newspapers and advertising hoardings for Coca-Cola and Visa -
but the man himself? He had been heavily tipped to light the Olympic flame
at the opening ceremony, yet he did not even attend. Not even Nike, the
notorious marketeers, had been able to use their hottest property of the
Games for a press conference.
So his injury had become something of an obsession. Since a false start in
early June, he had not competed. Would he run here? Shortly before midday,
we had an answer: there he was, up through the tunnel and on to the track.
“Jiayou!” bellowed the crowd in its now-familiar synchronised chant. And it
was loud. “Go! Go!” Liu had drawn lane two. In the previous heat, that lane
had been occupied by Terrence Trammell, an American who was a medal
contender until he pulled up after the second hurdle.
Liu did not even get past the warm-up. As the other athletes were limbering
up, he did his own practice: two hurdles cleared and then a sudden stop,
crouching down by the third hurdle, grimacing. At this point, the crowd
became extremely quiet.
He then hobbled back to his blocks, the TV cameras panning in on his feet. The
worst now seemed upon us. Liu sat down, clutching his right ankle, pain
sketched across his face. But instead of pulling out, he pulled on his
running vest. This was the confirmation the crowd wanted. He would run.
“Jiayou! Jiayou!” Yet it was still clearly a battle. The TV cameras moved
from his face (grimacing) to his feet and to his face again as he pushed his
feet back on to the blocks, still hurting.
The rest was quick. The gun, a false start, but one stride off Liu's right
foot and he pulled up, bouncing only on his left foot, thus carrying his
right. It was the end, he ripped his race number off each leg and headed for
the tunnel. Again, silence fell upon the stadium.
Heat six, for what it is worth, was won by Konstadinos Douvalidis, of Greece,
with Allan Scott, the Briton, qualifying in third. Scott had been so wrapped
up in his own world that he had been unaware of Liu's withdrawal. For the
rest of the Olympic world, the opposite was probably the case, as the
questions soon became not “Will he compete?”, but “What was the injury?” and
“How much pressure had he been under, as the poster boy of the Games, to
show up, whatever the state of his Achilles?”
We will never really find out. A press conference was soon convened at which
Liu was a no-show and Sun Haiping, his coach, who has effectively fathered
him since he left home aged 15, struggled to finish a sentence because he,
too, could not stop weeping. The security man next to Sun pushed a box of
tissues under his nose, but his sobs were unavoidable.
“I hope our media friends can understand our feelings at the moment,” Feng
Shuyong, the China head coach, said. But you wondered, too, how much
pressure Sun himself had been under to deliver the boy fit and safe to
China's home Games.
The injury, according to Feng, has been managed over a number of years: a
point of stress that has grown into a lump on the spur where the Achilles
tendon attaches to the foot. As the right is his take-off foot, the stress
is clearly extreme.
Until Saturday, when he moved into the Olympic Village, Liu had been
progressing well, we were informed. However, the injury intensified in
training on Saturday and whatever glue and sticky tape had been applied
since, they were insufficient. He would clearly never have tried to run were
it not the Olympics.
Commentators in Beijing were not slow yesterday to suggest that Liu's injury
may have been psychological in response to the pressure. However, Feng was
keen to point out that Liu's withdrawal was no soft option. “When the
doctors were giving him treatment, he was shivering due to the great pain,”
he said. “Let me repeat: Liu Xiang would never withdraw unless the pain was
intolerable He is an athlete of durability. He has never pulled out of a
competition before.”
He also emphasised the hardships that his superstar had faced. “His
psychological powers are great,” he said. “He withstands the kind of
pressure that no other athlete has.”
So still a hero, of sorts. At least that was the message. And who knows when
we will see him again? China's Olympic star glimmered for a moment yesterday
and then fast returned to the darkness.
Pioneer champion
Liu earned a reported 160million yuan (about £12.5million) last year. He is
China's first male Olympic track champion.
He donated 2.5million yuan to the Sichuan earthquake relief fund.
Liu sang live in a concert in Shanghai and filmed a music video with Se7en,
the South Korean pop star.
China Insurance volunteered to donate a policy worth $13.3million (about
£7million) to protect Liu's legs before the 2008 Games. Liu replied that
they were priceless.
