*
We are keeping the road alive – just. However, the sketchy ‘off-court’ efforts – trading from hidden vantage points – are getting out of hand. Security crew are all over the stands and the scouts have been scanning the crowd for us constantly. Our only option has been to retreat to safer territory. This often results in a compromised view, so we can’t trade as quickly or as confidently. At what stage do we lose our ‘court-side’ advantage?
I crack up laughing at the US Open one day after spotting Archie trading from the balcony of a bar. His position is so ridiculously awkward he can only see half the court. It is resourceful but desperate thinking. No other traders are game to go on court and he has still managed to find a viewing platform. Only a few weeks later, Archie finds himself running around the corridors of the St Petersburg indoor tournament, trying to find a good area to trade from, when he stumbles out of a door onto the rafters of the building! He is looking down onto the court from a spot usually reserved for photographers with special passes. Jackpot. Or is it? If any of the Russian security guards catch him up there, it is going to be nasty.
Plan B is being implemented far too often. Windows, rooftops, cafes, bars and balconies are being used as ulterior viewing areas. It’s a farce compared to the golden days – two years prior Felix and Jethro survived an entire circuit without a single incident – now we’re being chased across the globe like Frank Abagnale Jr. I’ve even suggested using binoculars for some courts! It’s getting beyond desperate and there is no reprieve in sight. The States have been a battlefield, which is a real worry, as we’ve always felt comfortable trading US tournaments. If things are this tough in friendly, English-speaking, developed America, how the hell are we going to survive Asia?
21
THE ORIENT EXPRESS
It was a tough truth to swallow and I’d grappled with it for a few weeks before finally admitting to myself that the road was not going to last much longer. Despite the dim-looking future, I was committed to milking this lifestyle while it existed. I had been in contact with a number of other traders, and heard the same story over and over: ‘We’re quitting. It’s not worth it these days. The security issues make it impossible. It’s all over.’
I began to notice the absence of traders, particularly at the smaller events, which were now becoming near impossible to survive. Leo, Giovanni, Romeo and Mikka all dropped off the tour. Even Arturo stopped showing his recognisable face at tournaments – opting to send in an apprentice instead. The Swedish guys who had initially welcomed the security pinch now seemed to be feeling it too. After a while, they also fell victim to the onslaught. The trader population was plummeting like a fat kid on a see-saw, and nobody seemed immune to the crackdown.
I spoke to one of the Mexican lads who worked for a European data-outsourcing company. His job had been to input scores so the company could sell them on to third parties. Essentially, he was not a trader, but the basis of his job was still the same. We’d kept in touch throughout the year but I’d also noticed his absence at recent events. It turned out his company had struck a deal with the governing bodies. They were not allowed to trade the ATP and WTA events because of an exclusive contract; however, they were covering other ITF events around the globe. It looked like the entire industry was being shaped around corporate contracts, and the big companies were trying to shut traders out once and for all. We were being strong-armed by their foot soldiers and had no solution to their blitzkrieg. This was no crackdown – it was an extermination.
*
My first work stop in the East is a place I’ve never even heard of before: Guangzhou, China. I feel ignorant for not knowing of its existence before arriving in town. After all, it is home to over twelve million people! It’s the third-largest city in China and one of the fastest-growing metropolises and transport hubs in the world.
Trading in China is scary. The language barrier is like no other on earth. Most nationalities can speak a little English – enough for an ignorant Westerner to get by. Not China. If a Chinese person can say ‘hello’, they’re stoked with themselves. For us to reciprocate is equally hard. The Chinese writing system has over forty thousand characters. The average person recognises between five and seven thousand of these, to get by in daily life. It takes many years before a Chinese youth can hope to read the newspaper – there are just that many characters to learn before a person becomes proficient in reading. On a number of occasions, I have to copy the Chinese characters of my hotel or a bar I want to visit onto a piece of paper to show to my taxi driver. I have no idea what I am writing – it is sheer blind faith! I’m certain I haven’t got the stroke order correct either, but it seems legible, so it can’t be too messy! It’s a strange feeling to write symbols down that mean absolutely nothing to you.
As if the Chinese alphabet doesn’t present enough of a challenge, the pronunciation of letters is entirely different. The Chinese use tone (pitch of voice) to distinguish words, whereas we use it to convey emotion. There are sounds in their language that don’t even exist in English and vice versa. It’s a vastly different world and I feel like nothing short of an alien.
Because learning the language is out of the question, the general method of communication is … charades. Pointing, signalling and gesticulating all become standard procedure. It is hilarious but also draining and frustrating. The communication barrier could not be wider.
To make things even more daunting, the Chinese have a very different diet to most cultures around the world. Western Chinese takeaway is a far cry from traditional Chinese food. Sure, you may occasionally see sweet and sour pork, and a range of dumplings and noodles, but the menu goes much deeper than that. Half the time, you don’t even know what you’ve ordered. You rarely ever find out, either, because the dishes are so unusual. Delicacies include bird’s nest soup, sea cucumber, intestine, ox tail, duck’s tongue, frogs, turtles, colon, pig’s heart, ears, feet (no part of the animal goes to waste here) and even caterpillars! I know for a fact that I’m eating fried goose intestine one evening, but there’s no telling how many domestic pets I will consume without realising it during my stay.
So Felix and I arrive in bustling Guangzhou without a clue. We find a rare and, as a result, expensive English-speaking taxi driver to deliver us to our hotel and jump online to get our bearings. Holy crap. The ‘internet’ here is like watching an edited aeroplane version of an R-rated movie. It’s only half there! Facebook, Twitter, YouTube, Betfair and countless other websites are all blocked. You can’t even load these pages. The great firewall of China is impenetrable! (Unless, of course, you have access via a remote server.)
It’s a shock to learn how censored and manipulated this country really is. As we flip through the TV channels in search of something we can vaguely understand, we notice a news item detailing the ongoing conflict between China and Japan. The reporter is cut out mid-sentence and the channel flicks to advertisements. Felix and I look at each other in disbelief. Palpable, unashamed censorship. Who knows what happened to the reporter? Maybe he’s fine; maybe he’s locked up in a cell somewhere. More importantly for us, who knows what happens to traders when they get caught in this country? China has an unsettling reputation for making difficult people disappear. We’re hardly political activists but we don’t want to get on the wrong side of the law in a country where the existence of 1.3 billion people has inherently decreased the value put on human life and freedom.
Hence, I’m a little shifty as I take a seat in the tennis stand the next day. Not for the first time in my life, I’m the only Caucasian on court in a foreign country. I’m not the only trader, though. A Chinese lady sits a few rows back from me with a big pointed hat on, a scarf covering most of her face, and a magazine held up over her mouth to conceal the fact that she’s talking into a hidden microphone and calling points. It takes me a while to realise but it would appear I have competition. This always motivates me to hit points
quickly and remain vigilant with my trading.
We make a very healthy profit from our first match, and, as a result, I receive a nasty glare from the lady in the scarf. She’s pissed off – most of that money probably belonged to her operation. That’s the least of her worries, though. The head of security storms into the stand. My mirth is instantly frozen, and it feels like my balls have made their way into my ribcage somehow. Gripped with panic, I shrink into my seat and pray for deliverance. The security guard walks past me and straight to the lady in the scarf. Once again, her loss is my gain. While he’s talking to her, I jump out of my seat and pin it towards the exit.
There’s a security guard waiting for me with an official at the bottom of the stairs, though. Shit! They stop me and issue a barrage of harsh-sounding Chinese. I reply with dumb English. It’s a stalemate. Neither of them speak any English and they could be speaking Chinese as far as I’m … oh, wait. I edge my way towards the exit. They motion at it with one final burst of what I assume to be aggressive Cantonese (the language they speak in the Guangdong region). I take this as my cue to leave and waste no time in doing so. But where does this leave me? Do I return later and risk seriously pissing them off? I’d pay good money to know what was actually said in that transaction. Ah, here’s a chance to solve the puzzle. The Chinese lady is also being shown the exit. Maybe she can shed some light on this situation for me.
‘Hi, excuse me. Do you speak any English?’ I ask, holding up my thumb and forefinger lamely to signal my request for just a little of my own language.
I receive yet another spray of aggressive Cantonese. Fair play, really. I think we just took her for a couple of grand!
I learnt my lesson in Chennai. I’ve never forgotten Leo’s tale of Malaysian imprisonment either. I will not be going back this week. Felix is ejected from the stands later in the day, which leaves us both at a loss and a loose end. Luckily, there is a lot to do and see in this mysterious city.
We hike up a local mountain to get a panoramic view of the city. We visit the Xiangjing amusement park and safari park (home to the largest population of tigers I’ve ever seen in captivity), and we play ping-pong at the local parks where permanent public tables line the streets. The metro system in ‘G-town’ is high-tech and impressive. Flashing lights, automatic doors, tokens and maps all help us on our way. As Felix and I ride an air-conditioned train one morning, we laugh at the kid sitting across from us. He’s around three years old, and while sitting on his grandpa’s lap manages to grab a cigarette out of his pop’s shirt pocket, followed by a lighter. He then attempts to spark one up on the train. We laugh and he looks across at me inquisitively. I doubt a three-year-old boy from Guangzhou has seen many funny-looking Caucasians. I think we’re both equally perplexed and amused. Felix and I also manage a few nights partying at the local nightclubs. It’s interesting to see how people party in China. The clubs are huge. People seem to drink hot tea with vodka and play games of Roshambo to see who has to down the next shot. There are entertainers dancing on stage, and catwalks where models and dancers strut about to the music. Somehow, we manage to get into a game of Roshambo without actually understanding a single word of what is said.
One of the best things about China is how despicably cheap it is. As we stumble into a McDonald’s at the end of the night, I order a large Big Mac Meal for around two and a half American dollars. This puts China at number four on the global Big Mac Index’s affordability chart. (I haven’t made that up, either; it’s a list published by The Economist.)
*
From Guangzhou, we make a quick hop across the South China Sea to Bangkok. This time, it is only Felix and me. Neither of us can hope to match Archie or Mono in the maniacal drinking stakes, so the week ends up being a lot quieter than last year’s effort. We visit the Grand Palace, eat good food and enjoy the hotel facilities.
It is also a lot less successful on the trading front. On the Monday, I am approached by a security crew, addressed by name, then ejected and banned from the venue. A year ago, this place was a cakewalk. It is just another example of how much things have changed. I am reduced to trading from the TV feed in our hotel room. For some matches, I sneak down to the venue and watch the big-screen-TV feed with a beer (it is marginally quicker than the televised coverage), but even then I have to keep an eye out for security personnel. I could still get myself into trouble just for being on the premises. Some drastic measures have to be taken – I decide to shave my head in the hope that I won’t be recognised in future.
We enjoy the Thai food, massages, temples, kick-boxing matches and sights, but before we get settled we are returning to China. Getting a travel visa for China is tedious at best. Getting a double-entry visa for the second year in a row is even harder. Imagine if I’d tried to apply for a work visa! After jumping all the hurdles and ticking the boxes, I am allowed in the country again. This time, we are headed to Beijing.
The National Tennis Center, in Beijing, was built for the 2008 Olympic Games. It houses state of the art stadiums (centre court boasts an air-conditioned climate-control system) and draws in a crowd of tennis-mad Chinese spectators. Beijing is probably the biggest city I’ve ever been to. The population density, built-up metropolitan sprawl and traffic all converge to create a bustling city that never sleeps. We take advantage of our proximity to the Olympic site and visit the famous Bird’s Nest stadium, along with the Cube (a colourful swimming complex).
Because play doesn’t start until twelve each day, we use our mornings to visit famous sights in the centre of town. Unfortunately, it just so happens to be Golden Week. This means there is a seven-day public holiday in effect for the entire country. Not a good time to be visiting the most revered and popular sites of the country’s capital – especially when that country boasts the largest population on earth. Our visit to the Forbidden Palace exposes us to the very definition of overpopulation. It is overwhelming. I’ve never seen so many people in one place in my life, and I hope I never do again. In situations like this, general convention is broken down and most people look out for themselves exclusively. With the help of a local student, we manage to push through the mosh pit of Chinese tourists and secure a few tickets. We scarcely make it into the site before tickets are sold out for the day. I’m not sure how many people are there but I’ve since read that Golden Week produced a record attendance at the Forbidden City – a whopping 182,000 people in a single day!
It seems every single person there wants a photo of us, too. As strange-looking foreigners with different-coloured skin and hair, we become an attraction in our own right. It’s funny for the first few minutes as we high-five kids, pose for photos and say ‘hello’ over and over. But, when a line starts forming for people to photograph us, we realise it is time to move on.
Sadly in countries with such overpopulation, people inevitably suffer. Poverty, malnutrition and abortion are all rife in China. I see a truly heart-wrenching thing as we leave the Forbidden Palace. Disfigured beggars line the street. Most of them are missing limbs, and some are mutilated to unfathomable extents. I am devastated to see one of the beggars propped up against a tree, pretending to sing along to a tape he has playing. He has no arms or legs. His body is badly burnt and his face has been melted into a contorted, tortured mask. It is like a disturbing scene from a horror movie, to watch this person mime the words to a Chinese love song while his tarnished face twists inhumanly. The poor man is forced to humiliate himself in public just for the sake of a few yuan, thrown his way in heartbroken sympathy.
The problem is, where do you stop? This guy has been dealt a rough hand – worse than most people on earth. But there are hundreds of others all lining the street with similar predicaments. Men with no arms play flutes with their feet so they can busk to the masses. Some paint with a brush held in their mouth. Others play guitar from their wheelchair, and those who don’t have family to set them up for the day, or resources they can busk with
, simply beg. It is a hellish scene, and one of those moments where you realise just how very privileged you are to be alive and healthy.
This isn’t the only time we encounter street beggars. Every time we go out, there are people harassing us in the street. Shameless mothers push their children into bars late into the night to beg for money. It’s a horrible thing to turn your back on an innocent child and tell him or her to go away but there is no way any of us are going to reward this irresponsible parenting by giving the children money. The only comfort is that life in China is cheap. Hopefully, this helps those in need to get by. It is one of the cheapest countries I’ve ever been to. Taxis, food, drinks, attractions, electronics, you name it: they’re all dirt-cheap. And, with 1.3 billion people there to produce them, they’re available in abundance.
The Chinese also appear to have an obsession with producing and buying fake products, making (counterfeit) goods even cheaper. ‘Marlboro’ cigarettes, famous wines, electronics, brand-name clothing and even unofficial Apple Mac stores have all been well documented in China. Apparently, these replicas are so good that even the employees in the Apple stores don’t realise they are working for a fake company!
In our spare time, Fitzy and I manage to visit the 798 Art Zone, the Summer Palace, a famous restaurant known for its delicious Beijing roast duck, and a food festival held at the Olympic site. We spend our time away from the tennis doing and seeing as much as possible. Once again, we are trying to distract ourselves from an inevitable truth – our industry is being strangled and we are helpless to stop it.
*
The Beijing tournament is a problematic affair. The scouts are present on court and there are plenty of police around the grounds. We aren’t taking any risks here. Just to screw us right over, our connection is cripplingly limited in this new city. As a result, I spend most of my time on court reading a book and trying my hardest to blend in like a regular tennis fan. When I’m not doing that, I sneak off to the big screen and try to get a connection up and running, so I can trade from the safety of the food court.
Game, Set, Cash! Page 21
