Basket-Brawl?

The girl's basketball teams here in Sanming City, deep along the south east coast of China, play an interesting brand of b-ball. It is rough and tumble, full of mindless violence, like a brawl or riot, without the over turned cars or torn out store fronts. The teams move as packs around the ball, swirling around it like the dirt and horrid smell twirls around Charlie Brown's friend, Pig Pen.



I often see the girls from my ESL Classes practicing. Their coaches, usually some boys from the P.E. Department, try to get the girls to execute basic skill drills. And for the most part the girls do OK with the drills. Well, they do well as long as they are simple lay-ups or fast break drills. Otherwise, it is pandemonium, and the practice becomes an 8* person stampede to capture the ball.



At game time, it breaks down into anarchy, with nary a foul called. Of course, it fouls were called with any consistency, the game would never be played. Well it would never be played in a fun, meaningful, way. Rather the game would consist of the opening tip-off, a foul, free throws, and either a mad scramble for a rebound or an inbound pass, either of which would result in a foul. Repeat these steps-without tip-off-until time runs out or all the players foul out.



Seldom is a girl far from the pack. If a girl is alone, standing away from the violent horde, it is because one team is about to score and she is setting up to either start the fast break, or try to stop it. Just as likely she is taking a respite, gathering a moment of peace, away from the flying elbows, dagger like hand strikes, or the bone crunching slaps; all of which are intended to secure the ball, force the other team to relinquish control, or just as likely to add to the violence of the scrum. She will stand there breathing heavy, eying the riot. Perhaps she is regarding her chance of success if she reenters the swirling madness. Perhaps she waiting for the optimum opportunity to pay back whom ever launched themselves into the pack last. Or maybe she seeks to avenge her inglorious spill on to the concert
floor of the semi-covered outdoor court. And if in the process, she knocks the ball loose or wrestles it away, then all the better.


Often times before the lone girl decides to crash into nucleus of sweating, writhing bodies, a teammate spots her and attempts to launch the pill through flailing limbs and the twisting mass of hands, faces, hair and bodies. The ball is pushed up and over the throbbing mass. Sometimes the rock makes it to the intended destination. Just as likely it is to fall short and be re-consumed by the mob.



If the lone girl does get the ball she makes a mad dash towards the basket while trying to remember to bounce it. Sometimes she is able to enact the lay-up she has spent weeks practicing. Yet, more often than not the mob catches her and the ball before she makes it half way to the basket. It envelops the girl, moving like a swarm of some supernatural menace in a bad horror flick. This madness continues until the game is over.



Through out the game, I am yelling at the refs to call fouls in my bad Chinglish. And after awhile I give up wanting them to call fouls for my team, I find myself begging for any foul to be called. For the love of humanity, for the sake of the girls' health, for all that is good and Holy, call a foul. Yet they seldom do. The girls end up with black eyes, bruised limbs, scraped knees and lips. And I end up horse and thankful I don't have to play against my students. And the students don't mind when I get horse, that means they get to watch movies in class. I don't mind that myself.

Girl's basketball here in my little piece of China is a sight to behold. It is rough and tumble, full of mindless violence, like a brawl. The only difference the brawlers here try to score points; 2 at a time. But after the victory there is no overturning of cars and no tearing down of Starbucks.

They move in a pack around the ball carrier, sort of like the dust and smell around Pig Pen. Their eyes are red with fury; their hands like claws scraping and clamoring at the girl with the ball. Sweat stings their eyes, as they make another sortie into the fray.

Seldom is a girl far from the pack, as the ball is usually some where inside the whirling, twisting mass of blurred hands, faces, hair and bodies. If a girl is alone, standing away from the violent horde, it is usually because she thinks the other team will score and she is trying to set up the 'fast break.' Or just as likely she is tired and needs a moments peace away from the flying elbows, the dagger like hand strikes, or the bone crunching slaps, all intended to either secure the ball for one's team or force the other team to relinquish control. If this happens it invites a scrum which is usually stopped when a ref notices one of the ladies finally has control but is walking with the ball. In all fairness if the ball is 'bounced' in a proper manner most of the girls would believe it is a "loose" ball and therefore open season. Of course a time or two I have seen the lone girl usually suddenly, violently, and mindlessly throw herself into the fray hoping against hope that she will some how hit the person with the ball, thereby causing them to drop the ball(they are the equivalent of hockey enforcers without the stick, ice or penalty minutes. It is hoped that her teammate will recover it and make a mad dash, while trying to remember to bounce the ball, to the basket before the swarm has a chance to recover and overtake her. Of course the swarm usually overtakes the girl and a new scrum ensues. The swarm is suprisingly fast when it has to be. This is where the girl standing outside the enferno comes in.

After the the opposite team scores or her team retrieves or recovers the ball usually her teammate sees her through the myriad of flying bodies, hands, feet and awkwardly launches the ball in her general direction. Fans on the sidelines pray the ball reaches her before the mobile moss pit can react and catch up. If the ball reaches the girl in a timely fashion and isn't thrown too awkwardly there is a 40-60 chance she'll score. More often than not this tactic fails for a plethora of reasons: the ball is blocked, dropped, bounced out of bounds, went over her head, or the scrum surrounds the ball and her with it too quickly. Or rarities of rarities a jump is declared; or even rarer still a foul is called. And then the dog and pony show starts all over again.

Yet despite the rather dismal track record of this strategy it used continuously. Of course the style of play, the level of the players dictate that this must be how things are done. By that I mean the style of play is not "Showtime", the "Triangle Defense"; there is no setting up of the perimeter or going "man-to-man"; they don't even go in to a "zone", unless one is very generous with the definition of zone. Instead it is a rugby game on a basketball court. It becomes a scrum of the first order. The strategy is simple, if not always elegant, get the ball, take the it to the hole and score some points. How this is done is irrelevant and if blood erupts from lips or gashes on the face and arms, so be it. If bone erupts though skin that is another matter; one luckily I have not experienced.

They are like electrons and protons flying violently, aimlessly around the decaying, erupting nucleus of a rare element. An element whose half-life is exactly the amount of time it takes for a half of the game to end.