Asian Games
Ball sports are my thing: marbles, mini golf, even pocket billiards. I'm pretty handy at games requiring reasonable hand-eye coordination.
That is until my neighbour came to play.
Gui Huong is his name. I call him the $8 million dollar man. He earned the price tag after purchasing the house next door and with the deal done became the first neighbour of Asian extraction to share my picket fence.
Prior to the grand poobah's arrival, his son Jamie or "Jaimheeee" had moved into the luxe pad. Jamie studied in Australia and his command of the English language smoothed troubled waters that could have arisen when the South China Sea met Middle Harbour.
When Jaime was absent iTranslate dismantled the language barrier between myself and his father. There was not a word of cheeky Chinese coming from me and zero sino-Sydney slang from Gui Huong. Chinglish was replaced with wild gesticulation.
It took just a few days before I was bailed up by a beaming Gui Huong in the back lane. With much bowing, handshaking and flashing of his pearly whites he handed me a green ceramic bowl. Convinced it contained the ashes of a loved one or chicken feet, I was relieved to lift the lid and discover a pungent offering of green tea. It was a welcome gift which should have been passed from my side of the fence.
How could I repay his generosity? It was then that the ball dropped. A game of table tennis was the answer.
With my garage cleared and the table in place, all was in readiness for a ding dong battle. I'd go easy on him, be neighbourly, gently work him from side to side. By the end of the match he'd want to take his bat, ball and green tea home. That was my game plan.
Gui Huong appeared wearing a red polo shirt with Chinese sponsors on the front and back. He wore a gleaming pair of bright white shoes and carried a blue man bag full of bats (not winged ones). Jamie was by his side armed with an iPhone to translate the score and beam the event to Beijing.
My palms began to sweat and my tummy was troubled. Gui Huong looked every bit the professional, more Deng Xiaopingpong than an amateur player.
Sporting the expression of a terracotta warrior, Gui Huong buried his shirtless and shoeless opponent.
With a gentle wave of his round wand he caressed the ball and pinged it with pinpoint accuracy. Scrambling from left to right, I began to pong. Sweat cascaded from my brow, it drenched the table and drowned any thoughts I had of victory.
In between points there were Chinese mutterings between father and son. Were they admonishing my pitiful resistance or did they want to purchase my house? I was too exhausted to enquire.
Seated behind my sludgy end of the table, Jamie kept score "1-0" .... "5-0" ...."10-2" ...."15-3" ...."21-5". Game. Set. Embarrassed. It was all over in minutes.
Despite the shellacking, my newbie neighbour Gui Huong expressed genuine appreciation for being asked to "play". Communication is strained yet cordial, and on this occasion he let his bat do the talking.
Since winning the match, I've renamed him the $12 million dollar man after he just missed out on purchasing the property adjacent to his other boundary.
That is until my neighbour came to play.
Gui Huong is his name. I call him the $8 million dollar man. He earned the price tag after purchasing the house next door and with the deal done became the first neighbour of Asian extraction to share my picket fence.
Prior to the grand poobah's arrival, his son Jamie or "Jaimheeee" had moved into the luxe pad. Jamie studied in Australia and his command of the English language smoothed troubled waters that could have arisen when the South China Sea met Middle Harbour.
When Jaime was absent iTranslate dismantled the language barrier between myself and his father. There was not a word of cheeky Chinese coming from me and zero sino-Sydney slang from Gui Huong. Chinglish was replaced with wild gesticulation.
It took just a few days before I was bailed up by a beaming Gui Huong in the back lane. With much bowing, handshaking and flashing of his pearly whites he handed me a green ceramic bowl. Convinced it contained the ashes of a loved one or chicken feet, I was relieved to lift the lid and discover a pungent offering of green tea. It was a welcome gift which should have been passed from my side of the fence.
How could I repay his generosity? It was then that the ball dropped. A game of table tennis was the answer.
With my garage cleared and the table in place, all was in readiness for a ding dong battle. I'd go easy on him, be neighbourly, gently work him from side to side. By the end of the match he'd want to take his bat, ball and green tea home. That was my game plan.
Gui Huong appeared wearing a red polo shirt with Chinese sponsors on the front and back. He wore a gleaming pair of bright white shoes and carried a blue man bag full of bats (not winged ones). Jamie was by his side armed with an iPhone to translate the score and beam the event to Beijing.
My palms began to sweat and my tummy was troubled. Gui Huong looked every bit the professional, more Deng Xiaopingpong than an amateur player.
Sporting the expression of a terracotta warrior, Gui Huong buried his shirtless and shoeless opponent.
With a gentle wave of his round wand he caressed the ball and pinged it with pinpoint accuracy. Scrambling from left to right, I began to pong. Sweat cascaded from my brow, it drenched the table and drowned any thoughts I had of victory.
In between points there were Chinese mutterings between father and son. Were they admonishing my pitiful resistance or did they want to purchase my house? I was too exhausted to enquire.
Seated behind my sludgy end of the table, Jamie kept score "1-0" .... "5-0" ...."10-2" ...."15-3" ...."21-5". Game. Set. Embarrassed. It was all over in minutes.
Despite the shellacking, my newbie neighbour Gui Huong expressed genuine appreciation for being asked to "play". Communication is strained yet cordial, and on this occasion he let his bat do the talking.
Since winning the match, I've renamed him the $12 million dollar man after he just missed out on purchasing the property adjacent to his other boundary.
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