Probably nothing.
When something comes naturally to you and someone asks, “How are you so good at that?”, it’s hard to unearth the reason why. Sometimes we’re good at things and then we put in the grift and they become better. That might be in writing or pottery or shuffling numbers about on a spreadsheet.
Strip away evidence of talent, though, and what are you actually left with? Take away the nice story, the beautiful ceramic, and the immacule Excel. To me, talent is a boundless creative energy. If working hard is like moulding a protective shell then talent is a ball fizzing with light.
This is all to say that Tai Tzu Ying, a Taiwanese badminton player, retired this year. Given the fractured nature of the badminton media landscape (language barriers, the BWF’s ancient practices, and all this being a whole thing that I won’t get into here) I happened upon her retirement on Instagram. I remember thumbing her official post and selecting “translate” to read it in choppy English, which was the very least I could do. Maybe in her home country there was a big celebration, but over here? I witnessed yet another career that hadn’t been paid tribute to properly.
Tai Tzu Ying’s badminton was talent given form. To her it’s probably nothing but a sense of shots and movement coming together to form a game honed over years. But to those who understand badminton, watching her felt like boundless creativity playing within the confines of a court. Not ‘playing’ in the sense of ‘to play’ badminton. ‘Play’ as in to deconstruct the game of badminton to what it is: a game, something to take pleasure in. Her racket was childlike discovery set free, snapping shots only we could dream of into reality.
As a spectator, I believe the game (now in the sense of watching top level badminton) is going through a bit of a slump. Don’t get me wrong, there are still some exciting players and pairs, but I’ve found watching the singles discipline in particular a bit… eh. As players get stronger and the science behind their training and equipment advances, it feels like it’s reflected in their play. To my eye, at least, there’s a lot of players who I view as defensive algorithms: robots programmed to win games through interchangeable strategies.
Tai Tzu Ying’s style was purely for her enjoyment, like she were probing these algorithms with playful trickery. Truly, I believe I would’ve broken all my ankles and elbows if I’d ever have had the privilege of playing her. She had this remarkable fluidity with the racket, combined with an unrivalled technical ability not dissimilar from an artist delicately fingering a brush. Holds, reverse slices, stutters, last minute elbow drops to guide the shuttle cross court, and a knack for forcing wry smiles and head shakes out of her rivals. No, maybe she didn’t have a read of the game like the great Lin Dan (my idol), but I don’t think anyone would disagree that Tai’s badminton was, perhaps, some of the most beautiful we’d ever witness.
So, what does it feel like? I don’t know, just watch her.
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