China's Hot Shot

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hough Wang Zhizhi is a very big man, the hopes of 1.3 billion Chinese strain even the mightiest of shoulders. But fueled by dinners of Texas beef, the 2.16-m Atlas has coolly shrugged off this monumental national burden. Last week, in his first game in the biggest of the big leagues, the National Basketball Association, the soft-spoken Wang wowed a capacity crowd by nailing two shots and a pair of free throws for his new team—the Dallas Mavericks. By the time the play-off-bound Mavs had triumphed over the Atlanta Hawks by 108-94, Asia's first NBA player had scored a respectable six points in eight minutes of play. The man who was greeted at Dallas' Reunion Arena by a sign that read "Welcome to Wang's World" seemed more than a little stunned. "I can score on an NBA floor," said the 23-year-old, with a touch of wonder in his voice. "A Chinese player can play against the best basketball players."

China's proud NBA debut has been a long time coming. A few decades ago, the country was a basketball midget. But a full-court press by the state athletic commission showed China's determination to break into the sport. The first generation, including Wang's basketball-playing parents, set the ball in motion. Today, 200 million Chinese play hoops and delight in the exploits of Big Shark (Shaquille O'Neal), the Letter Deliverer (Karl Malone) and One Cent (Penny Hardaway). China even began touting its trio of homegrown goliaths—Wang, Yao Ming and Menk Batere—as the Walking Great Wall.

Expectations of international glory were dashed at last year's Sydney Olympics, when the Chinese team placed a disappointing 10th. To raise its game to the next level, officials realized the nation needed to send its best players abroad to rub shoulders with the world's greatest hoopsters, despite concerns that China's fledgling league might not withstand an exodus of its headliners. Although Wang had been selected by the Mavericks in the second round of the 1999 draft, his team—the army-run August 1 Rockets— had refused to let him go. Only this year, in the wake of the Sydney debacle, did the dutiful soldier get his chance. "This is a very, very long process," says Michael Denzel, vice president of NBA Asia. "Frankly, we're just relieved that Wang got to Dallas and had an opportunity to play."

Nobody will be watching Wang's moves more closely than Yao, China's other towering talent. A few months ago, bookies were betting that Yao would be the first Chinese player off the NBA bench. The 20-year-old enjoyed a breakthrough season this year and he holds outsized potential. "It's almost impossible to find a man of his size who runs the court so well," says Terry Rhoads, marketing director for Nike in China. "I could see him ending up as the No. 1 draft pick this June." But Yao's bid is caught up in capitalist wrangling—and Chinese political calculations. His team, the Shanghai Sharks, is holding out for a hefty deal to compensate giving up its showcase player. And in a weird twist of realpolitik, Yao's chances of playing in the States could depend on his national rival Wang's hoop success in Dallas: China might not want to risk dispatching another sporting ambassador to failure. "We don't want our players to be embarrassed in the NBA," says a Beijing sportswriter. "We don't need any more humiliation at the hands of the Americans."

Wang is also dribbling in place. His current stint in the NBA will probably last less than 10 games. Beijing wants him back to represent China in the East Asian Games as well as a slew of other pride-stroking regional and national championships through the summer and fall. The imposing center's return to the Mavericks next season depends on a host of factors: whether the NBA will take back a player who has missed training camp and the early part of the season, the success of Beijing's 2008 Olympic bid and even, in this era of frosty Sino-U.S. relations, rapport between Jiang Zemin and George W. Bush. Certainly, Dallas denizens are hopeful. "Tonight was a dream come true," said Mavericks owner Mark Cuban, after Wang's historic appearance. "There were so many things that could have gone wrong, and everything went right."

Even if Wang and Yao make it in the NBA, the nation has only one other prospective dazzler in the wings—Inner Mongolian Menk Batere. It may take another decade for China's basketball machine to produce a full crop of giant exports. The NBA, which touts itself as the "world's greatest league," is restrained about China's potential. In terms of NBA revenue, the nation lags far behind Japan and Taiwan. When Wang's debut was broadcast on state television last Friday, crowds gathered in Beijing to cheer on their native son. Several die-hard fans sported brand-new Maverick jerseys with Big Zhi's name emblazoned on the back. The only problem: the NBA hadn't licensed such blue shirts in China. In a stunning move, the nation's counterfeiters had stolen the ball.