STEPPING UP TO THE PLATE

BY TRAVIS W. MORAN

STEPPING UP TO THE PLATE

BY TRAVIS W. MORAN

From Xinjiang to Beijing， China’s baseball community covets a home run

在極其簡(jiǎn)陋的訓(xùn)練條件下，一支由維吾爾族和漢族球員組成的新疆棒球隊(duì)登上了大學(xué)生棒球錦標(biāo)賽亞軍的頒獎(jiǎng)臺(tái)。新疆教練帕爾哈提還有更遠(yuǎn)大的夢(mèng)想，那就是讓中國(guó)棒球在世界賽場(chǎng)上擊出全壘打。

At a middle school in China’s capital, a motley crew of 12-to-15-year-old boys are taking batting practice under Parhat Ablat’s encouraging eye. Canopied, fencedin tennis courts have been converted into a baseball diamond.

Han and Uyghur students alike play paired soft-toss into net screens, swinging at dimpled, yellow cage balls with aluminum bats. The facility would be welcome at most American schools and could even be considered common: a couple of soft-grade handbuilt platform mounds, a couple L-screens, a few soft-toss screens, a two-wheel batting machine sitting in the far corner. Two-courts wide, the surface even provides ample space for base paths.

Parhat speaks in a kind of exotic English that defies locality. His name translates to “hero” in his native Uyghur language in Xinjiang—a region defined by its dusty slopes and unique culture. He belongs to the Uyghur ethnic minority, and his visage suggests Guatemala more than Guangdong. Foreigners balk whenever he answers their most common question with, “I’m from China.”

Two Uyghur players—bigger and stronger than their teammates—practice pitching using one of the makeshift mounds. The catcher, whose stocky shape resembles Major League Baseball (MLB) All-Star Russell Martin, fires the ball back to his battery-mate and resumes his crouch. The pitcher, one of those filled-out and taller-than-his-peers teens, seems to model his windup after Masahiro Tanaka as he fires a fastball somewhere in the low-70-mileper-hour range. Their bond is clear.

At the conclusion of their coach’s commands, the players break back into drills, groups determined by skill level. Some players return to soft-toss, others to simple pitch and catch. A few players field ground balls.

Practice ends with a bat-around scrimmage. Parhat, carefully gauging skill disparity, pitches to most of the younger players. A few older boys, mostly Uyghur, face the team’s stud—that aforementioned pitcher. Strikeouts are common, but a few of the stronger players—again mostly Uyghur—make solid contact, driving the ball into a right-field net formerly used to separate the two tennis courts or the uneven left-field wall.

Fielding overall is an issue, but three kids stand out: the battery mates mentioned earlier and one gangly Han boy, whose smooth Japanesestyle swing demonstrates a true take to hitting. The two Uyghur kids, it’s worth mentioning, swing with infectious swagger and connect with far more power. The Han kid ropes pitches to the opposite field with contagious discipline.

Practice closed with a pep talk and a poll: “Who will be able to come to the next practice?” The numbers, strong enough today for any baseball team, would thin. The Qingming Festival was approaching at this spring practice and holidays were inevitable. Some of the Uyghur kids, however, had their hands raised.

In 2009 their coach appeared in the international documentary,Diamond in the Dunes(directed by AmericanChristopher Rufo, creative director of US-based Documentary Foundation), which followed his progress as he led a mixed band of Uyghur and Han teammates from Xinjiang University to work together through a love of baseball. The film depicts the poverty afflicting Parhat’s hometown community in rural Xinjiang, as well as his perseverance through hardships that include his father’s tragic death. Today, Parhat still finds in baseball what he discovered in the experiences illustrated in the film: a spirit of hope.

But his comments aren’t all complimentary. The documentary culminated with a devastating loss to a rival Qinghai team. “I wished that the producers would have stuck with what the baseball team was really about instead of trying to make it political,” Parhat says. “The game shown wasn’t the only game. In fact, we played four games against two teams in Qinghai. And we won three out of those four games. We showed great team spirit. It was a successful trip.”

“I grew with [the team] along the way, but the team seemed to be falling apart at the end of my second year. That’s when I decided I should do something, and so I really put in the effort to save and develop the team,” Parhat says.

Unseen in the documentary, the Xinjiang University club later went on to make a significant splash. “It was that spirit that led my college team to the Chinese Championship,”P(pán)arhat says.

“I think Uyghurs have a head for sports, but in the end…we don’t get that much success. However, it’s not because of who we are, but because of the civilization level we are at. That same spirit lets us go for whatever we feel like doing or being—sometimes consciously, sometimes [unconsciously].”

“Our culture works well with sports; they’re a way of showing masculinity. Religion may play a part on some level, but …baseball in particular fits our way of living for some reason.”

When asked the main difference between Uyghur and Han players, Parhat scans the room, leans back, then throws an arm over the unoccupied chair next to him: “Spirit.”

A hitter takes a swingat a Major League Baseball (MLB) development camp in China in 2015

SWING AND A MISS

Why hasn’t China embraced baseball? Basketball has exploded here thanks in part to national demigod Yao Ming. But while the Chinese national team has generally controlled Asia, its basketball program still lags behind Europe and can barely see the USA from their current station. Emerging programs such as Iran also threaten China’s hardwood hegemony, and the domestic league’s best player is arguably former NBA All-Star Stephon Marbury, whose success has raised him to celebrity status in Beijing.

Football (soccer) also absorbs a lot of attention. The Chinese Super League (of the Chinese Football Association) has attracted some top-name foreign players albeit in the twilight of their careers (e.g. Didier Drogba), increasing a fervent fan base. Support for Beijing Guoan pars any local patronage in Europe. The truth is, the men’s national team has enjoyed few victories against the more talented South Korean, Japanese, and Iranian sides. Soccer is a size-less game that nevertheless benefits from height at the goalkeeper position and in situational play.

Yet, Lionel Messi, arguably the world’s best player, stands a mere five feet seven inches.

A pitcher throwsthe ball to the catcher during an MLB development camp in 2015

Baseball is a utilitarian game fashioned for all shapes and sizes, where anyone can play any position and players can contribute with just one of the “Five Tools”: speed, fielding, throwing, hitting for contact, and hitting for power. Popular American sports website BleacherReport.com even compiled a list of the greatest MLB players under six feet (1.83 meter); among them: Willie Mays, Mickey Mantle, Harmon Killebrew, Yogi Berra, Rickey Henderson, and Joe Morgan.

Also, in a nation that has openly cited genetic differences as being key determiners in athletic prowess, it should be noted that of the eight former and current MLB players cited thus far, four are white; three black; one biracial; one Latino; only one is East Asian.

But East Asian athletes have enjoyed immense success in baseball, haven’t they?

Japan and South Korea, oft-considered adversaries by the status quo, have found their international niche in baseball. Japan won the 2006 and 2009 World Baseball Classics (the World Cup of baseball, featuring professional players) and placed third in 2013. South Korea finished third in 2006 and second in 2009. The US hasn’t seen the top four since 2006. Japanese players have carved out a lasting legacy in the Major Leagues as well, from Hideo Nomo to Ichiro Suzuki and Hideki Matsui to Yu Darvish. South Korean players have enjoyed success as well, from the inaugural Chan-ho Park to World Series Champion Byung-hyun Kim to former All-Star Shin-SooChoo and current Pittsburgh Pirates phenomenon Jung-Ho Kang.

There are some Chinese success stories from Taiwan, including major League success stories such as former back-to-back-19-gamewinner New York Yankees pitcher Chien-Ming Wang and current Baltimore Orioles southpaw Wei-Yin Chen.

But for a mainland success story, one must look back over a century; only one mainland player has made it to the Major Leagues—Harry Kingman, a first baseman born in Tianjin to two American missionaries (though his mother was also born in China). He enjoyed a very brief cup of coffee—just four at-bats—in 1914.

Blaming size or genetic differences doesn’t hold water. The current demographics of the MLB—the world’s top league—boasts an Asian contingent of less than three percent, but according to the 2014 MLB census , that contingent has the highest average salary of any MLB player by race. In other words, Asian talent is highly coveted—it’s just that the Chinese mainland has yet to produce any of these millionaires. One would think that China, with its gold-medal-or-apologize mentality would pursue any avenue to best its most competitive Eastern neighbors. Is the answer located on a deeper cultural level, perhaps oddly in one of the most remote parts of the country?

OUT OF THE BUSH LEAGUES

“When I was coaching the college team [at Xinjiang University], one of the biggest challenges was keeping the team together—to get them to stick together as a unit and work together on the field,”P(pán)arhat says.

“Back then, we didn’t have enough players, so baseball skills weren’t as important as team unity between Han and Uyghur players. Everyone had their own struggles for fitting into such a group, so I had to work with each player to understand him well,”P(pán)arhat points out. “You had to treat each player in a way which they felt comfortable while leading them to where I wanted them to be. In finding and highlighting the similarities between them whilediminishing their differences, I was able to help them feel comfortable around each other so they could work together.”

“There were guys with great physical coordination who were sharp but also lazy alongside guys with strong bodies who were clumsy but hardworking—all of whom were struggling but making progress, Uyghur or Han”, Parhat says.

“I don’t know if it’s right for me to generalize because I only coached about 60 to 70 students over four years, but Uyghurs seemed to have better athleticism; they could learn fast but they were also a bit lazy. Hans were more hardworking and generally had a better attitude, but they lacked coordination. These differences were probably due to household and educational backgrounds and/or cultural backgrounds. However, when it comes to the individual, of course there are clumsy Uyghur players and Han with excellent coordination. There’s no real way to say whether Uyghurs are better than Hans [at baseball] or the other way around.”

Coaching much younger kids in Beijing has brought up an entirely different set of challenges.

“Kids in Beijing have limited time to practice. Since they were young, it was relatively easier to lead them. When they failed, my first move would be encouraging them. That worked with most kids, but some kids’ blood would boil if you brought up anything they could possibly feel ashamed of…The Uyghur kids seemed to respond to the drilling, the Han kids to encouragement. The individual differences were much more important with the younger players in Beijing.”

Parhat hopes the Beijing players will progress, pointing out that in October of 2015 some scouts from the Los Angeles Dodgers and Boston Red Sox will watch them play. But he also has high hopes for the sport in China as a whole. “The biggest challenge, in my opinion, would be winning some title on the international stage,” he says. “I think—and there is some actual evidence to prove my point—oftentimes Chinese people love to win rather than the actual sport itself,” Parhat adds. “Another challenge would be creating a business model for baseball. If people can make winning on an international stage happen or find a way to make money from the sport, then I would say it’d be a done deal. It would become a national sport overnight.”

MLB certainly hopes this will be the case. Leon Xie is Managing Director of MLB’s Beijing office. Although he has attended just one MLB game—a Houston Astros home game—Xie’s father played baseball in China in the 1960s, and he recalls the moment his father gave him his bat as a watershed moment in his acquaintance with baseball. Since coming on board with MLB China in 2009, he has witnessed baseball’s gradual growth on the mainland as a result of the time and energy the organization has invested since the 2008 Olympics.

“Our long-time strategy of course is to increase the popularity of the game,” Xie explains. “Success has been tremendous in terms of grassroots programs and our focus on developing the game in China’s biggest cities: Beijing, Shanghai, Guangzhou, and Chengdu. We have 76 college clubs competing for the same championship now as well. But overall, our MLB Development Centers in Wuxi, Chengdu, and Beijing are the jewels of our crown.”Despite MLB’s overall progress, Xie acknowledges the unavoidable issues that saddle their efforts on the mainland.“Emerging sports need to figure out a link between the sport and the local market. We need to create a brand that families recognize. We need to give time and reasons to kids to develop and choose baseball over other sports. We also have to give parents a reason to let their kids play the sport. They worry a lot about their kids getting hurt. Even though sports in general benefit kids, it’s hard to convince the parents that baseball is safe, even though there is actually very little contact [compared to other sports]. When people understand the nature of the sport, they’ll be more connected. That’s why we need to start kids earlier, in school, so the kids and parents both understand that the sport is quite safe. We have to figure out a way to get people connected to the game.”

A player at the MLB 20th Baseball League Opening game in 2015

Squeezed into tight corners of American cities, baseball diamonds are the rarest of sights in Chinese metro areas. Coming up with places for kids to learn, practice, and play the game remains another obstacle. However, MLB China prepares to leap that hurdle with its “Baseball in the Box” initiative, which converts soccer pitches into working baseball fields. So far, the results are pleasing Xie.

“[Parents] are getting used to it,”Xie beams. “They are participating much more and taking a more direct interest in team support. Sometimes they even get involved with the games themselves when numbers are low so that the kids have a chance to play.”

TOUCHING BASE

Baseball, by default, includes an individual ineptitude in one area that can be outshone by that same person’s prowess in another area (e.g. the lighthitting, sleek-fielding shortstop). Still, the game’s overwhelming abundance of failure feels ominous. Baseball requires a player to come to grips with the idea of “l(fā)osing face” at the plate and “saving face” in the field—or vice versa. At the highest levels, respect for one’s “face” is a delicate matter for pitchers, especially following those mistakes that end up in the outfield seats. Chinese culture has a wellknown and complex relationship with“face” as a concept, not to mention an inherent aversion to risk. Mindful of this condition, Xie feels MLB China sees an opportunity here instead of an omen.

“Chinese focus more on team or group success more than the individual,” Xie says. “[Baseball] is a team sport that allows the individual to show off their character and skills. Failure is a normal thing. Not just on the field but in life. You have to learn how to deal with failure. Baseball teaches kids how to deal with failure; it helps parents learn how to deal with failure. Other sports focus on success, but we use failure as a tool to help kids and parents to see life from a different angle. It’s real life. We have to convince parents that this is a form of character building.”

Still, to stoke the same fire that exists in its eastern neighbors, baseball needs to offer Chinese players a future. Character building comes in many forms, and Chinese parents habitually push their kids toward careers that offer security rather than potential stardom—especially since baseball has been fallen out of Olympic orbit.

“The main question we have to answer is, ‘Where does [my kid] go from here?’” Xie explains. “If you look at Chinese society it’s all about our deficit at the very outset. Kids and parents are far more concerned with getting into Harvard than hitting a ball. That’s why we have created some baseball scholarships for development centers and linked those scholarships with a special nationwide program in Jiangsu. Families all over China recognize Jiangsu Province as the top region for education, so for [MLB] it was a no-brainer to set things up there. We incorporate baseball into P.E. classes so that it’s part of the education for one. Then we involve parents with the teams and the tournaments—such as asking them to be volunteer reporters or to travel with their kid’s team to the final tournament—to get them even more drawn in to the sport.”

In the end, however, baseball in China still requires a star to hitch its wagon to—a face that inspires others toward a love of the game, its character, its skills. One could assume that face would have to be of the Han ethnicity for China to embrace such a person, but Xie feels that player could come from anywhere on the mainland.

“Someone from Tibet or Xinjiang could definitely become the face of baseball here,” Xie asserts. “That person could come from anywhere—so long as they are from China.”

BASEBALL IN CHINA STILL REQUIRES A STAR TO HITCH ITS WAGON TO-A FACE THAT INSPIRES OTHERS