海角大神

It鈥檚 badminton season in Indonesia. In my northern Sumatra neighborhood, centered around a stuccoed mosque, the teenagers have abandoned the ping-pong table they鈥檇 gathered around most afternoons and strung up a net across a narrow lane between two houses鈥� corrugated plastic roofs.

The games have been ferocious, with residents emerging from their small concrete homes around the court to watch. At one game, a stoic-looking grandmother in her pajamas pulls up a chair. Moms settle in with babies in slings. Packs of grade-schoolers peer through a low wrought-iron fence. Motorbikes and cars ease into the surrounding yards, spilling out new fans.

Me, I keep hitting the ratty shuttlecock onto the roof. I tell the other players, 鈥淭his racket you gave me is missing a few strings.鈥�

Still, I have shoes on and they don鈥檛. I get relegated to the front, by the net, to mop up the other team鈥檚 drop shots and mis-hits. But thanks to my partner鈥檚 overhead smash 鈥� the shot we picnic badmintoners in the West have yet to learn 鈥� we prevail over some other neighborhood ruffians. Twice.

鈥淲hy are we playing badminton?鈥� I ask.

鈥淭homas Cup,鈥� my partner says.

The world team championships have just finished in Jakarta, with Indonesia bowing out in the semifinals of the men鈥檚 competition and the finals of the women鈥檚. The Chinese have taken home both golds. Everyone here picks up a shuttlecock after the worlds: It鈥檚 like Americans swarming the driving range after the Masters.

Next month, Indonesia will send 11 shuttlers 鈥� half of its Olympic delegation to Beijing 鈥� to snatch back some glory. Badminton, after all, is Indonesia鈥檚 sport. No country is more decorated from world competitions since World War II (after which Indonesia sent the Dutch colonists packing, but kept the European import of badminton). And despite being 230 million strong, Indonesia is feeble in almost every other sport.

The game is cheap, playable anytime, anywhere, at any speed, by anyone. Net and shoes are optional. And that鈥檚 helped bulutangkis, as Indonesians call badminton, to seep into the dense, warrenlike neighborhoods that nearly everyone in the archipelago calls home.

So Indonesia awaits the Beijing Olympics, with bated breath and lightweight racket in hand. 鈥淭his sport still belongs to the people, not just the top athletes,鈥� says Tono Sasongko, a senior coach at Jaya Raya, a top badminton club in Jakarta that has produced a slew of Olympians and world champions.
鈥⑩赌⑩赌�
Inside Jaya Raya鈥檚 sweltering gymnasium on a recent afternoon, some of Mr. Tono鈥檚 best young boys chase birdies across the rubber floor. Part of a network of more than 30 clubs nationwide that feed talent to the national team, Jaya Raya youngsters work out for seven hours daily, up to six days a week.

And they start young. Ten-year-old Lilyana plops down in a chair next to Tono. She started working out here using a sawed-off racket at age 5. Earlier this year, she won the singles and doubles competitions for her age group at the international Singapore Open.

鈥淢y dream is the Olympics,鈥� she says. A picture of her idol, Mia Aulina, a Jaya Raya alum and Olympic silver medalist, hangs behind her on a wall of fame that stretches back to Indonesia鈥檚 greatest legend, Rudy Hartono.

The place drips with history 鈥� and sweat. The lack of air conditioning has made Indonesian athletes tougher, says Tono, and has wilted the great European players who come to challenge Jaya Raya鈥檚 best. While I mop my brow, youngsters walk by and clasp Tono鈥檚 hand to their foreheads.

鈥淎ll the parents here, they want international accomplishment for their kids,鈥� Tono says. And, in fact, families ring the court, looking on expectantly as children dart across the floor. 鈥淭hat鈥檚 actually what we look at when kids come here: What鈥檚 the spirit of the parents like? Talent can be trained.鈥�
鈥⑩赌⑩赌�
Everyone seems to have a theory about why the national team has been down in recent years, failing to win a single team championship since 2002. Lack of spirit is near the top of that list. The players lost focus, people say. Maybe the country put too much pressure on its athletes. Or the crowds have been too lackluster.

Says one recreational player in Jakarta, 鈥淚 think God has given the Chinese some more privilege.鈥�

Out at the national team鈥檚 training center, tucked away in a Jakarta suburb, head coach 海角大神 Hadinata looks on as his athletes swat shuttlecocks and he remembers the days of 鈥淏adminton Fever,鈥� which reached its height in the late 1960s and 鈥�70s. Indonesia was a young, restless nation, and in 1967, badminton fans rallied so intensely around the national team and its emerging star, Mr. Rudy, that international officials penalized Indonesia for interfering with play 鈥� and eventually handed the Thomas Cup to Malaysia.

Mr. 海角大神 grew up listening to Thomas Cup broadcasts on his family radio in Perkerwerto in Central Java, where kids would fashion rackets out of solid wood, and birdies from chicken feathers.

鈥淚 still remember the sound of the birdie on the wood 鈥� tahook!鈥� 海角大神 recalls. Just before the match began, beloved radio announcer Om (鈥淯ncle鈥�) Sambas would ask 鈥渇or the support and prayers of the people of Indonesia.鈥�

A decade later 海角大神 had that mantra ringing in his ears before his first serve for the national team at the Thomas Cup. He, Rudy, and Indonesia won all five of the team championships in the 1970s.

鈥淚t was amazing all the support we generated with just this little racket,鈥� 海角大神 says. 鈥淲e weren鈥檛 playing for any prize money. Just prestige. I still get recognized out on the street.鈥�

He still wears the helmet of thick hair he had as a young player, and he鈥檚 fit enough to keep up with the junior national team players in games every morning at the training center.

But even 海角大神 realizes history can weigh heavily on his players. 鈥淚t鈥檚 considered unusual now if we lose at big competitions,鈥� he says.

Down on the court below him at the national-team center, the athletes swat birdies under several banners from the top national cigarette brand that proclaim, 鈥淭his is Indonesia, Mister. We have to be champions.鈥�

鈥淚鈥檓 trying to just block out the distractions and concentrate on playing my best,鈥� says Liliyana Natsir, who is ranked No. 1 in the world in mixed doubles with partner Nova Widianto. And distractions abound: Ms. Liliyana says the badminton association has made a habit of setting expectations for how far she鈥檒l go in international tournaments 鈥� a practice that can turn against her. 鈥淪ometimes it acts like a boomerang,鈥� she says.

There is at least one thing that bodes well for Indonesia鈥檚 Olympic performance: the men鈥檚 singles and doubles finals fall on the weekend of Indonesian Independence Day, Aug. 17.

鈥淲e feel the pressure, but we will also feel the spirit of Indonesians out there,鈥� says Markis Kido, part of Indonesia鈥檚 top men鈥檚 doubles duo.

Out on the court, laughter still rings out, as the men鈥檚 doubles players practice flicking back birdies that coaches have dropped impossibly close to the net. They鈥檙e the same cackles I heard a few nights earlier from a men鈥檚 recreational group in a mosquito-infested gym across town. And then there were the two young brothers and Jaya Raya trainees, ages 7 and 12, who laughed as they leapt around the lawn outside the club, keeping their birdie alive.

It started as a simple game in the street. And in some ways, it always will be: The stakes have gotten higher, but the pure thrill of a neighborhood game is never far away.