by Jim Plautz
We visited The Great Wall, The Forbidden City and Tiananmen Square, but nothing compared to this. It was the largest crowd for a basketball game in China’s long and glorious history. 91,000 people packed the “Burkes Nest”, home of the 2008 summer Olympics opening and closing ceremonies. The game had been originally scheduled for the new Wukesong Indoor Stadium which hosted the Olympic basketball games, but the 18,000 seat stadium was far too small. This was a culmination of a five-city tour through China that included competitions against the Chinese team in Hong Kong, Chengdu, Shanghai and Taiwan plus clinics for junior basketball players in twenty small cities. The four games were split evenly, but the real winner was China’s rapidly growing junior basketball program which was the primary beneficiary of the $33 million raised by Matthew’s exhibition tour.
Matthew led his all star team out of the tunnel and was greeted with polite applause from appreciative Chinese fans that were well aware of the financial contributions that this group was making to their children’s future. Moments later, the polite applause became a thunderous ovation as Yao Ming proudly led the Chinese National Team into the stadium.
Yao Ming, at 7’6”, 310 pounds, is a dominant force in the NBA, and throughout China. One of the first Chinese players to play in the NBA, Yao Ming was the first to be drafted #1 in 2002 and the first to be considered an all-star. It would be easy to define Yao Ming as simply just another tall basketball player, but he is much more. Second only to Michael Jordan as a world sports celebrity, Yao Ming is one of the top 100 most influential people in the world. He is a living symbol for a country of 1.3 billion people.
Born in the modern city of Shanghai in 1980, Yao grew up in an era when 80% of China was agriculture and still aspired to the teachings of Confucius, a 5th century B.C. scholar who taught the proper way to act, whom you should respect and how you should approach everyday life. There was little freedom of choice and room for alternative philosophies such as Taoism and Buddhism. Yao learned the principles of Confucianism, but also studied the teachings of others such as Zhuge Liang; a military advisory who lived from 181-234 A.D. Liang advocated providing people with beliefs that could be applied to the problem at hand. This sounds simple, but it is a radical departure for traditional Chinese thinking. Yao Ming is competitive on the court and has never been afraid to state his goals, in a time when most Chinese avoid making claims of victory and make excuses why they might not win.
There is a Chinese saying that ‘the first is always the best,” and Wang Zhi Zhi was the first Chinese basketball ambassador. China’s flag bearer in the 2000 summer Olympics in Sydney Australia, Wang was the first Asian player to be drafted into the NBA as the 36th pick in the 1999 draft. He dominated the younger Yao Ming in early match-ups and rarely spoke to the new pretender. Wang was more popular in China than Yao Ming, but his popularity fell when he refused to play for the national team after his first year with the Dallas Mavericks. Conversely, Yao Ming has made it clear that, forced to choose, he would choose the honor of playing for the Chinese National Team over the NBA. Today Wang languishes on the bench for the Mavericks and his popularity has declined. In China, and with Yao Ming, there is no bigger honor or responsibility than playing for your country. Yao Ming was honored with carrying China’s flag in the 2004 Olympics in Athens, Greece and in 2008 was the most photographed Olympian during the games opening ceremony.
In his autobiography Yao cites two quotes that influenced his development; “The successful are the kings and royalty; those who have failed are bandits and villains.” Every Chinese person knows this expression and many people live by it. The second adage was applicable to today’s contest. “Winners always write the history books.” There would be no losers this evening, but Yao wanted to write the history of this historic competition. These thoughts were in Yao’s mind as he led his team onto the floor. It was time to step up and be a winner.
Outdoor basketball games on temporary platforms, with a 15 mph wind swirling around the arena, often blowing shot attempts off course, do not lend themselves to perfect basketball. The conditions favor the big man and China had three; Yao Ming, Yi JianLian, a 7’, 230 pound forward who played for the Guangdong Tigers, and Chang Zhi Zhi from the Dallas Mavericks. Many Chinese including Ming himself, believe that Yi is already the best player in China.
The game seesawed back and forth and was tied as the teams entered the fourth quarter. Yao Ming’s 22 points and Yi’s 20 points were offset by 38 points from Matthew who was unstoppable, hitting 14 of 18 shots including six three-pointers, despite the windy conditions. Yao Ming sank a 6’ hook shot to put China up by one point with only seven seconds to play. Matthew took the inbounds pass and raced up the sideline looking for an open jump shot, but at the last moment, dribbled behind his back to elude his defender and headed to the basket where Yi JianLian was waiting. The crowd was silent as Matthew soared high above the basket for a two-handed, in-your-face-dunk that would win the game for the all stars. Yi was too light and lacked the strength to stop Matthew. Maybe in five years he would add weight and muscle, but today he had no chance.
But Yao Ming could and did. Displaying the competiveness and will to win that is lacking in most Chinese, Yao raced up the floor after his go ahead basket, Mao launched his 7’6”, 320 pound body into the air and managed to get one-hand on the basketball; deflecting it away a moment before Matthew was about to throw it down for the winning points. Yao sprawled to the floor under the basket as tens of millions Chinese cheered across the huge nation and thousands stormed the court and lifted Yao onto their shoulders in what was later described as an atypical, Chinese reaction. History books would describe this exhibition victory as one of China’s most glorious moments in sports, and it was Yao Ming who would write the history.
I asked Matthew later why he had not pulled up for a short jump shot as he had done all evening, rather than drive all the way to the basket. His reply was interesting. “What would that have accomplished? How many people would that have pleased?”
It was yet another confirmation that Matthew was always one step ahead of us.
“How is Babylon looking?’ Matthew asked, deftly changing the subject. “I understand you made the five-year time schedule the State Department gave you?”
I laughed. “Has it been that long? It seems like yesterday, but yes, we have made some good progress. Didn’t I email you pictures?”
“You did, Jim. I just never got around to looking at them.”
“What is it about Babylon, Matthew? You have been indispensable in getting things done, but you have never visited the job site. Why?”
“I’ve been busy, Jim.”
“Are you coming to the Akitu Festival? Sixteen heads of state have already committed.”
“No, I don’t think so.”
“Why? Why don’t you want to be part of the new Babylon?”
Matthew hesitated before answering. “There is a reason that Babylon was called the city of sin. It was in Babel, the Hebrew spelling of Babylon, where man first rebelled against God by attempting to build a tower that would reach heaven. Yahweh was not pleased and destroyed the worker’s ability to communicate, thereby creating so much confusion among the workers that they were forced to give up their plans.”
“But that was then and this is now. We have built a brand new city.”
“Do you remember what Jeremiah prophesized?”
“Jeremiah predicted the destruction of Babylon, but the prophecy never came true. Babylon never was destroyed, it was just allowed to decay and wither away.”
“Jim, Jeremiah was referring to the future Babylon, the one you just built. Read Revelation, the final book in the Bible.”
“You believe it will happen, don’t you?” I said with a new understanding of where Matthew was coming from. “You always believed this project was doomed from the start.”
“You have done a great job, Jim. It was necessary to rebuild the city so that the prophecy could be fulfilled.”
Ken and I
flew back to Baghdad and arrived in time to meet Rosann and Chris at the airport. It had been four weeks and the ladies looked especially good. We cleared customs and found the man holding the “Simpson Party’ sign. Thirty minutes later our luggage was loaded and the limo driver started the fifty-six mile journey to Baghdad.
“This is first class treatment,” Chris commented. “Do you boys have something bad you want to tell us?”
“I agree, Jim,” Rosann added. “You don’t usually spend money like this unless there is a reason. Are you going to tell us that your project is extended and you’re not flying home with us next week?”
“Nope,” I laughed, “we have no sinister motives other than the obvious. We just want you to be impressed when we drive into the new city.”
“Have there been security concerns?” Chris asked, noticing the bullet proof glass in the windows.
“Not really,” I replied. “It’s been quiet.”
Ken supported me; “It seems everyone wants Babylon to succeed; Sunnis, Shiites, Iranians, Kurds; everyone. There has hardly been crime in the city to speak of.”
Two hours later we still had not reached Babylon as our limo was forced to slow down for thousands of pilgrims making the trip to Babylon on foot. “I thought you said the trip would only be an hour.”
Fifteen minutes later my cell phone rang. “It’s Marco,” I said as I answered the phone. Five minutes later I hung up and turned to Ken. “Apparently Marco has been busy while we have been gone.”
“Good-busy, I hope,” Ken said with concern.
“Remember that last committee meeting when they thought that they might have three million people for the ceremony and I asked where they would put them?”
“Don’t tell me they underestimated and everyone came at once.”
“You guessed it. Marco says there were over ten million the first day and as you can see, the roads are stilled packed with pilgrimages from as far away as Turkey and Iran. He estimates there are over thirty million people in the city today.”
“How did they handle it,” Chris asked thinking like a former CIA agent, which she was. “Security must be a nightmare with all Shias, Shiites and Kurds all thrown into the same mess.”
“No, surprisingly security is not an issue. Marco says there hasn’t been a single act of terrorism, or even a serious crime, since the festival began five days ago; not one!”
“You know, that’s what the historians said about Akitu. It’s a time of rejoicing and peace.”
“So, what is the problem?” Rosann asked.
“The challenge is to find a place for all these people to sleep and eat,” Ken said. “Not to mention getting thirty million people to the prayer temples that are designed to hold a million people at most.”
“How are they handling it?” Chris asked again.
“After our meeting last week, Marco and I discussed the potential problems if three million people showed up at once,” I answered with my proud, I thought of everything voice. “Before we left for China the U.S. and Iraqi military were building tent camps in every park, stadium and open space in the city complete with portable toilets and mess halls.”
“So despite the size of the crowd, the supply system is already in place,” Ken surmised.
“That’s right. Marco built five huge camps outside the city, complete with small temples where the people can celebrate Akitu without going all the way into the city.”
“See how much can get done when you boys are away,” Chris commented while poking Ken in the ribs.
“Look, we are coming up on one now,” Rosann said as she pointed to the right. “And I don’t know if you boys have noticed, but there has been a steady stream of people since we left Baghdad. How many more people can they handle?”
“Today should be the end of it. Tomorrow the gods arrive by barge, sailing up the Euphrates. I would think most people would want to be here for the procession.”
“That’s going to be quite a sight, do we have good seats?” Rosann asked?
I started to answer, but was interrupted. “Shhh; what’s that noise?” We all listened as the noise became louder. It best could be described as a loud, mournful wailing. I finally figured out where it was coming from.
“Muslims are praying. Marco mentioned the unbelievable noise during the daily prayer ceremonies. This must be the midday prayer.”
“When do they pray?” Chris asked. “Ken, you must know this.”
Rosann beat Ken to the punch, saving us a long lecture. “Muslims pray once before the sun rises, once at noon, once at midday, once when the sun sets, and once at night. The prayer times vary daily depending on the season and the rising and setting of the sun,” Rosann said proudly, looking directly at Ken.
Not to be outdone, Ken added his two cents worth. “But did you know that Muslims only pray towards Mecca because that is where the Kabaa is located; the house of god built by the prophet Abraham. If you live in Mecca you face in the direction of Kabaa.”
“Too much information,” I added, trying to put an end to the one-upmanship, but Rosann managed to have the last word.
“If this noise is the product of Muslims praying, I wonder what it sounds like at funerals.”
Twenty minutes later the limo dropped us off in front of the Ishtar Gate, a magnificent structure dating back to 575 BC. One of eight gates to the inner city, the Ishtar Gate is the most beautiful and ornate. Lavishly decorated with blue glazed tiles and alternating rows of dragons and aurochs in bas relief, the Gate together with the Walls of Babylon was once considered one of the Seven Wonders of the World.
“Come on ladies, it’s a short walk to the Days-Inn. There are no cars allowed in the old city.” The Gate opened up onto Procession Street where tomorrow the gods would walk to Marduk’s temple.
Ken and I were proud puppies as we saw the reaction of Rosann and Chris. Their mouths were agape as they took in the splendor of the gold-laden street and the 120 ornate friezes that lined Procession Street, each depicting a golden lion. Ahead of us was Nebuchadnezzar’s castle that rose four hundred feet high, blocking the lower half of the Tower of Babel that reached up to the clouds. To our right were the hanging gardens, still considered one of the Seven Wonders of the Ancient World.
I looked at Rosann and saw the tears come to her eyes. “Are you okay?” I asked, not knowing what else to say.
“I have never seen anything so spectacular and beautiful,” she said between tears. “The pictures you emailed me don’t do it justice.”
Chris was equally impressed. “It’s like we went back three thousand years in time when we walked through that gate. It’s absolutely amazing.”
I was more than a little proud. “Well, here is our hotel,” I said as we entered the Nebuchadnezzar’s castle. “Let me pick up the keys.”
“How did you swing this?” Ken asked as he walked with me to the front desk. “I thought this was only for heads of state?”
“And also for people that know that the U.S. party somehow booked two extra suites by mistake,” I answered with a smile.
“I wonder how that could have happened,” Ken mused.
“Guys, we’re going to change and meet down here in thirty minutes,” Chris declared.
“We can’t wait to see the city,” Rosann agreed. “It’s unbelievable.”
Ken and I looked at each other and shook our heads from east to west. “No way,” we said simultaneously. “Dinner reservations are for 8:00.”
“It’s only 3:00. We have plenty of time to walk around before dinner,” Chris suggested, refusing to get the point.
The following afternoon we watched from our vantage point among the splendor of the Hanging Gardens as the boats came into view. Millions of people lined both sides of the Euphrates and packed the viewing stands along the route, but the four of us were alone, high above the throng of revelers. For the last fifteen minutes we could hear the roar of the people upriver as the procession passed.
“This r
eminds me of the Gasparilla invasion in Tampa,” Rosann said in awe as the flotilla of vintage sailing craft preceded the barges carrying the gods. Rosann was referring to the annual invasion of the pirate, Jose Gasparilla, who every year accompanied by hundreds of revelers, sails his pirate ship into Tampa Bay and captures the city. The mayor of Tampa surrenders the keys to the city, initiating a wild celebration and victory parade.
“Yes, in a small way, it does, but notice that there are no power boats in this invasion.”
“Thanks so much for inviting me here,” Chris said, leaning over to kiss me on the cheek.
“Don’t thank me, thank Ken. He did all the work.”
“Again?”
“Look, here comes Marduk’s barge,” Ken said as the largest barge complete with a small temple and a raised throne came into view.
“Do you see who I see,” I said, passing the binoculars to Ken.
“What is it?” Chris asked.
“The President of the Islamic Republic of Iran, Mahmoud Ahmadinejad” Ken announced. “I don’t believe it.”
“Isn’t that a slap at the United States?” Rosann asked. “Why did we allow it?”
“Nobody knew,” I replied, “nobody except that damn committee chairman we dealt with,” I muttered with genuine anger.
“Let’s go get a drink,” Ken suggested.
The 11-day Akitu festival was an overwhelming success from an organizational perspective. Day after day the events went as planned and the participation of the common people represented by the King, played by the President of Iraq, went much better than expected. U.S. and Western diplomats kept a stiff upper lip regarding the choice of Ahmadinejad to assume the role of the conquering god Marduk, who triumphed over chaos.
Did the United States represent chaos to the Muslim world?
The four of us had a wonderful time and met more dignataries than we ever thought possible. It would probably improve our business opportunities in the future, but Ken and I were more interested in making sure Chris and Rosann were happy. “If Rosann is happy, I am happy,” I told Ken.
“And if Rosann isn’t happy, …” I interrupted before he could finish the adage.
We had nothing to worry about as the women continued to be star struck by the beauty of the city. We climbed to the top of the Tower of Babel, spent hours upon hours looking at the artifacts displayed in the castle and temples, took a moonlight boat ride on the Euphrates, visited the markets and shops in new Babylon, dined at the small restaurant in the Hanging Gardens and made love every day. After five years of hard work, Ken and I were able to step back and enjoy Babylon for the first time.
“Where are you taking us to dinner tonight?” Rosann asked the four of us walked along Procession Street for the last time. “It’s our last night. How about the restaurant in Hanging Gardens again, assuming we can get a reservation?”
“That would be fine, but first I need to attend the final ‘meeting of the gods’. I want to see what Marduk, Iranian President Ahmadinejad, has to say. Akitu tradition holds that on the eleventh day the gods determine the destiny of Iraq for the following year.”
“That ought to be good,” Ken added. “Why don’t I take the ladies to dinner and you join us when you can.”
The three of them were just ordering drinks when I arrived. “Did the meeting of the gods break up early?” Ken asked.
“What’s wrong, Jim?” Rosann asked as she saw the ashen expression on my face. I waited for the drinks to come before I answered.
“Marduk announced that an hour ago Iran and the Palestinians signed a peace treaty and he personally has moved his headquarters to the Temple on the Mount.”
“What’s that mean?” Chris gasped, knowing something was terribly wrong.
“It means that that Iran has declared war on Israel,” Ken answered.
“And that’s not all,” I continued, taking a gulp from my drink and signaling to the waiter to bring another. “The King announced a joint treaty with Iran and the intention of moving the capital of Iraq to Babylon. The coalition, meaning the U.S., has been given one month to pack up and leave.”
“You mean that Iraqi President Jalal Talabani and Ahmadinejad have been planning this all along as we busted our asses to rebuild Babylon for them,” Ken said angrily.
“I’m not sure when this started, but it must have been in the works for some time,” I replied as the drinks came none too soon.
“Is there anything else?” Rosann asked.
“Isn’t that enough?” I replied curtly, before realizing I was taking my anger out on the wrong person. “I’m sorry, Mary, I’m just in a foul mood.”
“That’s okay, I understand – this time. Why don’t we forget dinner and head back to the Days Inn and order pizza?”
“Let’s stay here,” I suggested. “It might be the last time we will ever be here.”
Chris agreed. “Let’s celebrate the great work you two did and let others worry about Babylon’s destiny.”
Chapter 18 - Iran Expansion