Super Wingstorm

April 2003. Almere City, in the Flevoland Province of the Netherlands.

On a lush green soccer pitch in the city’s northern sports park, a group of sixteen-year-old Dutch boys stood in a circle, playing a game of keep-away. Though it was supposed to be practice, their expressions were exceptionally relaxed. There was none of the tension one would expect from a training session; it felt more like they were just fooling around, or even teasing.

The game of keep-away also had another name: monkey in the middle.

And the "monkey" these Dutch boys were toying with was the Chinese boy in the center, tasked with winning the ball back.

His black hair and yellow skin made him stick out on the all-Dutch team. As he ran tirelessly around the pitch trying to win the ball, he looked like a chicken with its head cut off, bumping around aimlessly. His efforts frequently drew bursts of laughter from all around, which only further fueled the Dutch boys’ desire to play around.

The fans watching from the sidelines were also thrilled, as if they weren’t watching soccer practice, but a spectacular performance by the Amsterdam Royal Circus.

The ball moved skillfully back and forth between the feet of the Dutch boys in the circle. Although the Chinese boy ran relentlessly, chasing the ball, he never managed to intercept it. A few times he managed to get close, drawing surprised gasps from those around him, but ultimately, the ball always slipped past him at the last moment.

At first, every failed attempt to get the ball was met with laughter, even taunts and jeers. But gradually, these sounds faded, until at last, there was only dead silence.

Any cruel game can get the audience’s adrenaline pumping with its novelty at first. But after it plays out over and over again, the spectators gradually grow numb. Instead, they begin to feel a tragic sense of gravity.

The tragic gravity of the weak being left to the mercy of the strong.

"Poor kid, why is he still trying so hard?" someone sighed sympathetically, shaking their head.

"It’s not surprising. He’s like this every time."

"It’s been almost a year. How has he not given up yet?"

"If it were me, I would’ve given up long ago."

"He’s fast and has good stamina, but his fundamentals are atrocious."

"I’ve been watching the game for years, and I’m telling you, that Chinese kid has no future. Forget playing professionally; I doubt he even meets the standard for the amateur leagues. He should give up now and find something else to do."

"Isn’t that the truth? Mr. Reep has tried to convince him to quit many times, but he just refuses, no matter what."

"What a stubborn kid."

"It’s a shame. If he had come a few years earlier, with his speed, stamina, and that level of determination, he might have actually had a shot at the professional leagues. But now..."

"Sigh, what can you do?"

......

......

Head coach John Reep finally blew the whistle to end the training session.

Everyone on site, including him, let out a heavy sigh of relief.

’It’s finally over!’

To them, the short ten-minute game of keep-away had felt incredibly long.

After the whistle blew, the Chinese boy, having failed to ever get the ball, collapsed to his knees on the training pitch, completely spent. He gasped raggedly for air.

His teammates walked past him. Occasionally, one or two who felt sorry for him would reach out and lightly pat his head and shoulders.

But this comfort from his teammates didn’t make him feel any better. It felt like humiliation. He clenched his fists and pounded them against the turf, silently cursing himself.

His name was Yang Yang. He was sixteen and from a small county town in Quanzhou, Fujian, China. His parents ran a small shoe factory and were reasonably well-off. Seeing his passion for soccer, they arranged for him to train with a retired professional player in the city from a young age. He had lived up to their hopes, consistently standing head and shoulders above his peers.

His maternal uncle, Shen Ming, ran a Chinese restaurant in Almere, in the Netherlands. On a trip back to China to visit relatives, he happened to watch one of Yang Yang’s school team matches. He casually mentioned that Yang Yang should consider coming to the Netherlands for more advanced training, an idea that instantly captivated the boy.

His parents were against it at first. After all, the gap between Chinese and European players was enormous. Yang Yang had never even had formal professional training—how could he possibly succeed?

But Yang Yang insisted again and again. With his uncle Shen Ming also pushing for it, his parents eventually relented, deciding to let him go for the experience abroad.

They gave him a one-year deadline. If Yang Yang could establish himself in the Netherlands, they would let him continue playing soccer. Otherwise, he would have to return home, focus on his studies, and give up his dream of becoming a professional player for good.

He landed in the Netherlands full of ambition, but what awaited him was one heavy blow after another.

First, he was rejected from tryouts at several Amsterdam clubs. Left with no other choice, he had to rely on his uncle’s connections—and a sponsorship fee—to convince Almere, a third-tier amateur team, to let him train with their youth squad for a year. But the result was the same: compared to his Dutch peers, even on an amateur team, he was still leagues behind.

During his year of training with Almere, even though he did everything in his power to improve and integrate into the team’s practice, his abysmal fundamentals were still on full display in every session. This was especially evident in the deceptively simple yet highly demanding game of keep-away, where his frequent errors in passing and receiving meant he was constantly the one forced into the middle to chase the ball.

A scene like today’s was an almost daily occurrence.

If Yang Yang had been under any illusions before, the past year’s experience had forced him to fully confront the enormous gap between himself and the Dutch players his age.

He refused to accept it, but there was nothing he could do.