BEIJING—Last Saturday something incredible happened in the Bird’s Nest. Usain Bolt, the aptly named Jamaican extraterrestrial, demolished the world’s fastest runners with a swagger, cutting three hundredths of a second off his own world record. I was fortunate enough to be there, and I’ve never seen anything like it. The stadium was on fire.

Two days later, just before noon on Monday, something equally incredible happened at the Nest, only the reaction was polar opposite. In a matter of seconds, the energy and excitement of Bolt’s run was sucked out of the stadium—and the Olympics—into a black hole of national sorrow. As famed hurdler and virtual Chinese god Liu Xiang pulled out of the 110-metre hurdles, the crowd of some 80,000 gasped in disbelief, mouths ajar, as they tried to figure out just what the hell was going on. Many broke into tears, including journalists, and an unsuspecting country went into shock.

It’s difficult to put into context the gravity of Liu Xiang’s exit from the hurdles competition. One of the CBC tech guys said it was akin to Wayne Gretzky, in his prime, gingerly skating out for a Stanley Cup game seven warm up, and then failing to show up for the opening face off. Really, though, that’s not even close. Canadians love their hockey, but I doubt the Great One could bring reporters to tears.

A recent poll asked one million Chinese their wishes for the Beijing Games; watching Liu Xiang win his second gold medal ranked first (holding a successful Olympics was fourth). His face is on billboards everywhere, for Nike, Lenovo, Coca-Cola, Cadillac, cigarette brands and more. In China, he is Tiger Woods, Roger Federer, and David Beckham—combined. According to a People’s Daily story in September, over 18,000 Chinese children had been named Liu Xiang since 2004 in the hurdler’s honour.

Online reaction to Liu’s pullout ranged from sympathy to loathing. “He is a fake.” “He is scared.” “I hate him,” were some of the comments posted on one forum, according to the Sydney Morning Herald. Some cried conspiracy. A Chinese friend told me, “You think it’s his decision to withdraw? You’re crazy. It’s the government’s decision. He can’t decide to withdraw.”

Imagine the pressure on the poor kid: holding the hopes of 1.3 billion on your shoulders; listening as state officials say all your previous accomplishments—gold in Athens (the first Chinese to win a track and field gold), a world record, a world championship—will be meaningless unless you win in Beijing.

Much of the pain caused by the Liu Xiang nightmare could have been averted, and the blame has to be shared by the Chinese media and Liu’s handlers. They withheld the fact that Liu would likely lose; they allowed the myth of his invincibility to swell. In 2008, five hurdlers had run faster times than Liu as of the opening of the Games. (Cuba’s Dayron Robles ran 12.87 seconds in June, breaking Liu’s previous world record of 12.88; Liu’s best time this year was 13.18 in May). He’s also been plagued with injuries. An ankle injury kept him out of competitions in Shanghai in February and Moscow in March, and a hamstring injury forced him to drop a meet in New York in May.

The Chinese are not good at public relations (after a year in the state media, I think I can confidently say this), and the aftermath of Liu’s shocking exit from the Games is the result of a P.R. failure. Liu was kept in isolation for months, with little indication of his progress and training. Nobody knew the extent of his injuries, and expectations rose. At a press conference Monday his coach, Sun Haiping, said Liu’s pullout was caused by an inflamed Achilles tendon, a recurring injury. But the only indication that Liu was injured was a post on his personal website the day before the race saying he was hurting but would still compete. Later, in the post-race press conference, Sun admitted that Liu was in so much pain in the days before the race that he shivered when receiving treatment from doctors.

You’ve got to feel for Liu, but even more so for his legions of fans. The anticipation was so high that tickets to the 110-metre hurdles final were selling online for well over $1,000 apiece. Now, well, crushed might be a good way to describe the prevailing mood of millions of Chinese. While simple honesty from Liu’s people and the media would not have prevented China’s dashed dreams, it might have eased the grief. Instead, they perpetuated the myth of Liu, and this is the result.

A commentary yesterday on the People’s Daily website lambasted web users for comments that speculated Liu might have folded under pressure. “Perhaps a nation of 1.3 billion should not place the burdens of its aspirations on a boy’s shoulders,” the story said.

Good advice, but too little too late.

photo credit: Dolores@YTHT

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Posted on Tuesday, August 19th, 2008 at 6:21 am. Follow comments through the RSS 2.0 feed. Comment or trackback.