It must have been a hopeful time in 1971, when two superpowers
thought they could actually settle their differences over a
Ping-Pong table. That year the U.S. sent a table tennis team to
China, the first sanctioned visit there by Americans since 1949.
A year later a Chinese squad reciprocated by visiting the U.S.,
and world peace was at hand.
Well, it was nearer anyway. Ping-Pong didn't get the job done
right away, not even the job of opening channels with China;
normal diplomatic relations between the two countries weren't
realized until 1979, and dealings still are fraught with
conflict. But nobody doubts that it was the guys and gals
wearing the short pants and wielding the little paddles who
started the easing of tensions. Ping-Pong diplomacy--it's in all
the history books.
Last Sunday some of those guys and gals had a little reunion at
Stanford's Maples Pavilion 25 years after the Chinese team
stopped off there on the last leg of its nationwide tour. The
atmosphere wasn't so politically charged this time around--this
was just an exhibition of some of China's finer players, who
happen also to be among the world's finer players--but it was
enough to remind us why the 1972 visit was so galvanizing.
The event then had been a true breakthrough, athletes reaching
out to one another in a way that presidents and chairmen could
not have. A player named Liang Geliang charmed everybody at a
luncheon when he painstakingly carved up a hot dog. Told that
Americans eat hot dogs with their hands, Liang joined in the
laughter and, with his fingers, picked up every piece of the
cut-up frankfurter, popping each in his mouth.
August 3, 1997
It was at Stanford, though, that Liang was most endearing. The
tour had pitted the visitors against the best U.S. competition
and, although China handily won each match as expected, the
competition seemed portentous, as if international relations
depended on some kid's fast-twitch fibers. At Stanford, with the
tour winding down, the U.S. didn't even field a team. In fact,
the player who represented the hosts hadn't even known he would
play Liang until minutes beforehand. "I had volunteered to
usher," says Robert Shur, at the time a Stanford junior.
Liang, who would become a world champion, sized Shur up and with
as much mercy as has ever been displayed on a court of play,
beat him 21-6. "I could have played a whole lot better," Shur
says, "and he'd still have beaten me 21-6."
On Sunday, China returned Liang to Maples Pavilion for a match
with Shur, now a 45-year-old software writer who still lives in
the Bay Area. Shur, who had pretty much given up table tennis
after his Stanford years, had heard that Liang had not only
become globally peripatetic--he is now coaching in Germany--but
had also won three 40-and-over world titles in the last five
years. "I'm not expecting too much," Shur said, reflecting on
his prospects against Liang.
Much more nervous than when he was pulled out of the stands all
those years ago, Shur took the court against Liang and was sized
up once more. Liang used his top serve twice, and each
overpowered his opponent. When Shur tried slam after slam,
Liang, standing 15 feet behind the table, patiently lobbed the
ball back. "He was very nice to me," Shur said.
Liang won 21-14, either Shur's level of play or international
relations having improved by eight points in 25 years. Maybe in
another quarter century, it was put to Shur, he'd make Liang
sweat. Shur said he didn't think so.
Anyway, the point was that two countries had come a little
closer because of their friendship match back in '72. That had
been worth something, hadn't it, the improvement of
Chinese-American relations? "You know," says Shur, "I'm afraid
I've never really given it that much thought. At the time, I was
just excited to play Ping-Pong."