National mourning began as Liu Xiang rubbed his right leg, signaling the source of his pain, telling 1.3 billion Chinese citizens that he would not be crossing even one hurdle this day.
The sadness radiated outward to fans and officials and journalists, who immediately wept at the downfall of their national hero. All over China, people felt the collective sting of failure, concentrated in one athlete, which is always a risky business.
The spectators wanted no more of the morning heats Monday at the National Stadium. They staggered out of the stadium as if in shock after witnessing a car crash.
Liu’s body had failed, which, in the eyes of many Chinese people, meant they had failed, too.
Feng Gang, 33, who came with four friends from the city of Chongqing to see Liu compete, called the injury “a pity,” but added: “In the end, it really matters only to himself. We are just the audience. I am sure he is the one that regrets this the most, not anyone else. We feel disappointed, of course, but we still like him as a person.”
It is always dangerous to put faith in one person, be it dictator or elected official, singer or actor. Everybody is flawed, particularly athletes, whose Achilles’ tendons or hamstrings can go at any time.
China had personified its hopes for the 2008 Summer Games in Liu, a 25-year-old hurdler, who by definition was fragile. All athletes are fragile. Witness the way Yao Ming hobbled off the court while playing for the faraway Houston Rockets last winter. Witness the way Mickey Mantle, the great Yankees hitter, blew a hamstring running to first base one night in the early ‘60s — like a deer being shot in midstride, somebody wrote.
But Liu is different. He is even more central to the Chinese person than Yao, who at 7 feet 6 inches is beyond imagination. Liu was the outer possibility of the Chinese psyche, the chance that a 6-2 hurdler could compete with athletes from around the world.
That prospect intrigued Liu. Chinese athletes are trained to keep a low profile and not become grandiose, but Liu once speculated on the impact of his 110-meter hurdles world record of 12.91 seconds in the Athens Games in 2004.
“Please pay attention to Chinese track and field,” he said. “I think we Chinese can unleash a yellow tornado on the world.”
This was not some foolish boast of racial superiority, just an assertion of standing tall against the world. Liu was suggesting that a Chinese man could reach the level of Rafael Nadal of tennis or Kobe Bryant of basketball or Ronaldinho of soccer or Catherine Ndereba of the marathon, who sprang from other continents.
Liu touched a nerve in the Chinese people. Huge corporations that are lighting up the Beijing night with their neon advertisements put their money on him. Not allowed to have a driver’s license, Liu endorses Cadillac. He was the new Chinese man, their Tiger, their Federer, their Jordan, their Beckham.
It happens that fast in sports. China was caught with its gigantic investment in Liu. Tickets for Thursday’s hurdles final were going at 10 or 20 times the original price.
That final will take place as scheduled, but the market price has fallen a trifle. Welcome to the capitalism of scalping. More important, China is left without the athlete who was expected to take on the world.
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