Yao appeal soars
• Yao's warmth key to crossover success
By Michael Tsai
Advertiser Staff Writer
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| The visibility of basketball sensation Yao Ming is believed to be helping erase stereotypes of Asians — and Asian males in particular.
Advertiser library photo Yao in numbers Size: He's 7 feet 5 inches and weighs 295 pounds. Shoe: Size 18, which makes his foot more than 13 inches long Shirt: XXXX Large (the sleeves still are seven inches too short) Family: His father is 6 feet 7; his mother is 6 feet 3. Both played for Chinese national teams. Yao doesn't have any brothers or sisters. More about Yao Name: Yao Ming. In China, the family name comes first (Yao) and the given name is last (Ming). So his "last name" comes first. Birthday: Born Sept. 12, 1980, in Shanghai Nickname: "Little Giant" How he grew: At age 4, he was as tall as most 8-year-olds. In elementary school, he was taller than one of his teachers. First basketball team: He didn't play organized ball until he was 9. Basketball skills: A starter in the NBA All-Star Game, he averages 13 points per game. Favorites: Computer games, Starbucks, big steaks and ribs SOURCES: NBA.com, ESPN — Washington Post |
"Yao!"
Yo!
Yao!
Whoa! Is it me, or have we entered some interesting pop culture territory here?
The Yo-Yao bit, spawned by the high-rotation Visa commercial featuring Chinese basketball sensation Yao Ming, is fast becoming this year's "Wassup!" — an infectious bit of verbal playfulness as ubiquitous in boardrooms as it is on playgrounds. But the implications are far more intriguing.
Yao, the 7-foot-5 center from Shanghai, has made a huge splash in the American mainstream since the Houston Rockets selected him with the first pick in last year's NBA draft. He was voted to a starting spot in this year's NBA All-Star Game ahead of Shaquille O'Neal, the league's most dominant player, and he's a leading candidate for the league's rookie of the year award.
His potential as a basketball player is eclipsed only by his potential as a marketing gold mine estimated by some to be at the level of Michael Jordan or Tiger Woods.
The Visa commercial plays off the credit card's well-established premise of famous people unable to use their fame to bypass everyday purchasing obstacles. In the spot, Yao is attempting to buy a Statue of Liberty figurine at a New York souvenir store, only he wants to write a check. A young female sales clerk, oozing urban 'tude, directs his attention to a sign that reads "No Checks."
"Yo!" she says, gesturing with her thumb.
"Yao," Yao corrects, pointing to himself.
They go back and forth. Yo! Yao! A manager enters the conversation. Yao asks, "Can I write a check?"
"Yo!" the manager replies, pointing to the sign.
"Yao!"
A couple of star-struck fans spot Yao.
"Yo!"
"Yao!"
And back and forth some more. Defeated, Yao leaves the store, passing old Yankees legend Yogi Berra on the way out. "Yo" the salesgirl says. "Gi," Berra corrects. "Yo-gi."
It's cute. It's simple. Ad critics say it works. But as part of the emerging phenomenon that is Yao-mania, it is more.
With every new commercial, every translated one-liner, every shirtless Asian-American fan with face paint screaming into an ESPN camera, Yao-mania further transcends the realm of sports.
Yao's impact on the court is easy to measure — 13 points and 8 rebounds a game for a team in playoff contention. His impact off the court has been far greater, measured in dollars and yuan, cross-cultural dialogue and crossover-dribble diplomacy.
The Visa spot is an interesting microcosm of Yao's entrance to the American marketplace. The initial verbal jousting between Yao the outsider and the hip-hoppy sales clerk mirrors the clash of cultures created by Yao's rising presence in the postiMichael Jordan NBA. Clearly, they're not speaking the same language.
The old-school, presumably
Italian store manager and the two young fans (black and hispanic) proxy the broader marketplace. And the appearance of Berra invokes the innocence of a sporting age past, a perceived purity that marketers and disenchanted sports media seem amazingly eager for Yao to champion.
Indeed, since his initial attempt to join the NBA in 2001, all manner of fan and fanatic has seen fit to project his interests on the 22-year-old Yao's enormous frame. The Chinese government subjected the NBA and the Rockets to a grueling negotiation process to ensure they would retain access to their most prized basketball property for international competition. The Chinese Basketball Association and Yao's old team, the Shanghai Sharks, also drove a hard bargain, demanding a sizeable buyout to release Yao from his contract.
Dunking image of Asian male
Fans in Asia and the United States are pulling for Yao to succeed in a league populated with the world's most elite basketball players. Asian-American fans see Yao as someone capable of changing perceptions of Asians in general, and Asian men in particular.
The notion is well grounded. From Jackie Robinson and Hank Greenberg to Ichiro Suzuki and the Williams sisters, minority athletes who present a good image on and off their fields of play have opened paths to the American mainstream for the communities they represent.
So when Yao scored six consecutive points and blocked Shaquille O'Neal three times to open a January game against the NBA champion Los Angeles Lakers, Asian-American fans across the country celebrated.
"That wasn't a Chinese guy exceling in gymnastics or soccer," said Charles Gary, a Los Angeles-based writer. "It was an Asian athlete showing that he could compete physically and psychologically against the toughest basketball players in the world."
Gary, who is half Japanese, said he follows Yao's exploits closely on TV. He feels anxious when Yao struggles. He feels proud when he does well.
"Yao doesn't really fit the stereotype of the Asian male as mainly cerebral, inscrutable, asexual, humorless," Gary said. "I think he's in a position to dispel a lot of those perceptions. In America, the way to do that is through sports.
"I admire the grace he's shown despite all the pressure he's under. Through everything that's happened this season, he's kept a sense of humor and dignity."
Players at the University of Hawai'i's lower-campus basketball courts agree.
"It's cool because he's showing he can succeed in the 'L' without changing who he is," said Kevin Ma, 22. "He's going to be the next great big man, and that's going to open a lot of eyes."
Ma's backcourt partner, Jason Hsu, said Yao already had converted the most ardent cynics — his parents.
"They didn't want him to come to America because he might fail," Hsu said. "But, like, every night you see him dunking on someone or knocking someone's (expletive). They actually watch the news just to see how he did."
Yao is not the only Asian to play in the NBA. Rex Walters, whose mother was Japanese, played for the New Jersey Nets in the 1990s. Mengke Bateer, another seven-footer from China, plays for the San Antonio Spurs. And Yao's rival, Wang Zhi Zhi, played for the Los Angeles Clippers after spending a season with the Dallas Mavericks. (In a move to retain good relations with China, Dallas chose not to re-sign Wang after he failed to report back to China to practice for the World Games.)
Will skill silence naysayers?
But Yao clearly is seen as the most intriguing case study for NBA teams curious about the viability of the Chinese talent pool. In the 1980s and '90s, scouts scoured the African continent looking for the next Hakeem Olajuwan. More recently, NBA teams have expended high draft picks for European players in the mold of Germany's Dirk Nowitzki, Spain's Pau Gasol or Yugoslavia's Peja Stojakovic.
Yao's refined basketball skills have scouts drooling over an equation that includes a solid development infrastructure and the world's most populous nation. Basketball columnists have relayed rumors of the hundreds of skilled, hidden 7-footers supposedly being developed in Chinese training centers.
That image — pregnant with orientalist mystery and leftover communist paranoia — is perhaps revealing of the backwards perceptions that still color western views of China.
Yao's first season in the NBA already has raised some interesting issues with regard to cultural perceptions.
In Houston, Yao's presence has helped increase TV ratings more than 60 percent; attendance at home games is up by more than 1,000. The team has used the interest to reach out to its Chinese community, offering a radio show in Mandarin and including local Asian community groups in its promotions.
Yao is also a huge draw on the road — though not every team knows how to capitalize on his appearances. The Miami Heat raised hackles by handing out fortune cookies when the team hosted the Rockets.
The biggest controversy involved the Laker's O'Neal. Asked about Yao by a reporter, O'Neal responded: "Tell Yao Ming, 'Ching chong yang wah ah soh."
The remark was mostly ignored until Irwin Tang repeated it in a scathing article in the magazine Asian Week. That prompted a wave of criticism from Asian-American groups. But Yao shrugged off the comment, saying through his interpreter: "We're all basketball players. We all live together on this Earth."
Yao's handling of the situation only endeared him more to fellow players and the media.
By all accounts, Yao gets along well with his Rockets teammates, and players around the league — perhaps sensitive to Yao's minority-within-a-minority status — have gone out of their way to praise him. Allen Iverson, the all-star guard for the Philadelphia 76ers, even referred to Yao as "a gift from God."
Still, there may be a backlash looming. The universal praise Yao has received from NBA beat writers has raised the issue of Asians as a model minority. That fact that Yao's clean-cut, humble image is so often presented in contrast to the league's tattooed, trash-talking (and by inference, black) image seems to underscore the growing dissatisfaction of the mostly white media with the league's mostly black stars — and Yao could end up paying later.
Or not.
"I think when it comes down to it, there's no denying that Yao has game, and athletes will respect that," Gary said. "He means a lot of things to different people, but the thing that makes him relevant in the league is that he can play the game."
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Yao's warmth key to crossover success
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Yao has a contract with Nike, which, oddly, has yet to feature him in any of its advertising. He has endorsement contracts also with Visa, Apple Computer, Gatorade, China United Telecommunications and Sorrent.
Carolyn Frame, a partner in Joots, a Hawai'i-based marketing, advertising, public relations and graphics company, said Yao's warmth and comfort in front of the camera is a key to his crossover appeal.
"The ad that got my attention was the one for Apple" in which Yao in paired with Verne "Mini-Me" Troyer, she said. "There's no dialogue, but Yao comes across as very warm. He communicates a lot with just his expressions."
Frame said the Apple spot works because the size difference between Yao and Troyer is directly related to the sales message — that Apple has laptops in different sizes.
But for Yao to have staying power as a pitchman, he'll have to offer something more than visual spectacle.
"I think he can do it," she said. "He presents a different face than a lot of people are used to seeing from Asians. In Hawai'i, we understand Asian culture a bit more, but in other areas, seeing an Asian man like Yao in a different light will be educational."
Critics do wonder if Yao's limited English will limit his effectiveness. Yet, it is hardly uncommon for athletes to succeed in advertising without a lot of dialogue. In fact, Jordan's early image was built on a series of Nike commercials in which Spike Lee did all the talking.
— Michael Tsai
