Yao in the Tunnel

Before I alienate anyone whose appreciation for basketball falls somewhere along the line of my interests in professional fishing or a woman's right to choose, I want to give the following videos some context.

In the first playoff game between my beloved Houston Rockets and the Los Angeles Lakers (perennially dominant, number one ranked, widespread favorite to win the championship), the Rockets stunned the Lakers on the road in Los Angeles last night, winning 100-92. The focal point of the Rockets offense is Yao Ming, the seven-foot, six-inch-tall center who is a combination of vastly underrated, notorious for being injured, and (rightfully) never bestowed the status of NBA elite player because his team has never been a serious contender for the championship.

In the past few years, Yao's injuries have haunted the Rockets franchise. In two of the previous three years, Yao hasn't finished the season because of injury and surgery. The image of him falling down and staying down has often meant the end of a season for Yao, whose length gives him a bulky frailty.

The following is all subterfuge: Yao Ming is actually the face of China. When most people think of the world's most populous country, if they have a face to ascribe to its body at all, it's that of Yao Ming. In his own country, he is a celebrity beyond all imaginings. People in China wake up in the middle of the night to watch him play in America. And no one has ever found out how good he actually is.

In last night's game, Yao was leading his team to a small and surprising lead late into the fourth quarter of the game when he bumped knees with Kobe Bryant while defending the (actual) superstar on a play. Yao hit the floor in agony, holding the knee he had surgery on a few years before, could not get up on his own, and had to be helped off of the court. The Rockets had already lost both its other star player (the also oft-injured/once the cusp of elite Tracy McGrady) and Yao's back-up (Dikembe Mutombo) for the year.

More subterfuge: Until this point in the game, the Rockets were symbolic of that supreme-effort-overcoming-actual-ability dictum deconstructed by Malcolm Gladwell in an article in this week's New Yorker. The Rockets were playing gritty basketball, inspired and characteristically ugly basketball to disrupt the essentially flawless Lakers.

Shane Battier left the game with four stitches and came back to hold Kobe Bryant to a subpar shooting performance. They were up by six when Yao left. And there was no way they would win this game without him.

When Yao hit the deck, it was after 1 AM and I got four text messages in a minute span: 1. nooooooo 2. FUCK 3. No fucking way. 4. jeebus god why?

My friends and I were all too afraid to call each other. We thought it was over.
Here's what happened next.

I love this video because it's actually someone videotaping their computer monitor. This could be anywhere in the world (probably China). The quality is so bad it's almost supernatural and otherworldly, it looks like a highlight that happened twelve years ago instead of twelve hours ago.

It starts with Yao hobbling into the tunnel toward the locker room with the trainers holding him up. He stops them. They implore him to keep going back to the locker room. He listens, he relents at first, then he argues with them. Then he refuses. The trainer makes Yao demonstrate that he can put any pressure on his knees. On the court, the Rockets are listless without him, their anchor is gone and their offenses runs unnaturally like the jerkiness of the video versus its intent. Lumps in throats. Drinks in hands. Then Yao walks back to the sideline to check back in. The person filming the scene calls him a soldier.

The video looked like shit, but it felt a championship. Yao comes back into the game, hits a big shot and a number of important free throws. The Rockets win. They may not win another game this series. They are overmatched. The world may not ever find out how good Yao is. But tonight he was a soldier.