A Game of War

The only thing most Americans know about Ping-Pong is that it is played with wooden paddles and a light little ball that is forever getting lost under the TV set. In Red China, where there are 3,000,000 registered players, it is the national sport. Every commune, factory and office has its Ping-Pong league: in one Shanghai plant alone, there are 140 teams. So it was no surprise when last week's world table-tennis championships got under way in Ljubljana, Yugoslavia, that the Red Chinese were head and shoulders above the players from 46 other nations. "With them," said a veteran European competitor, "table tennis is not a game. It is war."

Protected by bodyguards who brushed off newsmen and autograph hunters, the Chinese arrived in Ljubljana four days before the tournament began, set up camp in a schoolhouse twelve miles outside town. They brought their own food, their own cook, even their own sparring partners, trained in the styles of individual opponents--including the "tennis" grip favored by Western players over the older "penholder" grip still used with devastating effect by the Chinese.

On the Head. From dawn till dusk, Red China's 38-player squad hammered away at the ball, pausing for tea and calisthenics every half-hour or so. "These Chinese," marveled Japan's former World Champion Ichiro Ogimura, "play basketball and volleyball and do special exercises. They practice gymnastics to develop agility, lift weights to build up certain muscles." They also keyed themselves to fever pitch emotionally. China's Hsu Yin-sheng explained that his forehand was so powerful because he looked on a Ping-Pong ball "as though it were the head of Chiang Kai-shek."

For ten days, the leaping, pirouetting Chinese ground down their opponents with savage smashes and infuriating chops that sent the ball spinning crazily off the table. The frustrated Russians complained bitterly--and futilely--that their comrades were serving illegally, rolling the ball against the racket instead of hitting it in the air. At times, it seemed more like an exhibition than a competition, as the Chinese took the men's and women's team championships, plus five of seven individual titles.

On the Poster. In the men's singles, the last surviving non-Chinese, Germany's Eberhard Schoeler, was eliminated in the semifinals. The finalists: bowlegged, two-time Champion Chuang Tse-tung, 23, a student at Peking's University of Physical Culture (one of few schools in the world that gives a degree in Ping-Pong), and Challenger Li Fu-jung, 22, who resembles a pint-sized Gregory Peck. Li was the crowd favorite. Often laying back as far as 20 ft. from the table, he brought gasps of astonishment from the crowd of 8,000 as he casually returned smash after smash, biding his time until he uncoiled to slam a blur of white past Chuang for a point. After four games, the score was tied; in the final game, Li leaped into a 10-6 lead before Chuang rallied to tie it up again at 15-all. Then, possibly by prearrangement, Li's game fell apart. Abandoning his entire offense, he went on the defensive and lost six straight points.

"It seems to have been a bit fixed," commented British Captain Ron Crayden as Chuang stepped up to the awards platform--world champion for the third time in a row. Rumor had it that a poster of Chuang shaking hands with Mao Tse-tung was already up in Peking.

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