Pingpong hits the big time
HardBat Classic: Big Time Table Tennis
As sports fans, we live vicariously through our favorite athletes and teams.
But why should multimillionaire superstars hog all the glory? Couldn't some of our sports heroes look a little bit more like you and me?
Enter: The HardBat Classic. You'll never look at pingpong the same way again.
That's right, pingpong. From hipster contests in Brooklyn to 50 Cent's pingpong-themed birthday party, the sport has been making waves within pop culture. So naturally, the next logical step was to organize the largest table tennis tournament in U.S. history, offer a $100,000 grand prize -- nearly 30 times more than the prize money at the biggest professional competitions -- and watch the drama unfold.
"We wanted to reinvent the perception of pingpong," said @radical.media producer and event organizer Andrew Fried. "We [wanted to] create a banner under which it can reemerge as a cool thing."
Hosting the tournament in Las Vegas was a good first step. Inviting funnyman Judah Friedlander and tennis heartthrob Anna Kournikova really drove the point home.
Of course, the true stamp of approval came when ESPN agreed to air an edited broadcast of the June tournament this Sunday, Oct. 2, at 4 p.m. (rescheduled from Sept. 27).
The HardBat Classic's tagline was "Bringing table tennis out of the basement and into the big time," but it could have just as easily been: "This is not your grandpa's pingpong."
Considering how things played out, it's probably wise they went with the former.
Because for all the behind-the-scenes planning and production, this event still needed a protagonist to emerge. And in Wayne Obertone, the tournament's oldest contestant, the hard work was repaid in spades.
At 73 years old, Obertone made his presence known right from the start. Not for his surprisingly quick smashes or his wicked chop-shots -- though soon those garnered him attention, as well -- but for his consistent suspenders-and-shorts fashion statement.
And by consistent, I mean he wore the same thing every day.
"Wayne is doing his thing with no regard to his opponent," said commentator Matt Schick during one of Obertone's matches. "Or, his wardrobe."
Described by friends as borderline obsessive-compulsive, and by event organizers as a living, breathing Rain Man, Obertone was a table tennis champion nearly half a century ago, but had been retired for some time. News of this tournament and its oversized purse, though, enticed him to come back to the sport he loved.
"This guy can talk to you about a match in 1967 and tell you what he did at that point then," Fried said. "But ask him what he had for lunch yesterday and he has no idea."
Still, it's ironic that in the midst of actors, celebrities and high-rollers living it up in Vegas, the one who stole the show was almost always silent. A perfect insight into Obertone's character came when he was asked to explain his unusual outfit.
"I wear suspenders to keep my pants up," he said during the telecast.
So, he didn't talk much. In fact, he couldn't be reached for comment on this piece. But he also didn't need to, as he let his game speak for itself all the way to the tournament semifinals.
He was joined in the Final Four by table tennis all-star Trevor Runyan, chiropractor and Subway franchise owner Jeffrey Shaw, and surely the University of South Alabama's only British alumnus, Jack Baker.
You'll notice it's quite an eclectic mix, which is exactly what the organizers were going for. Faced with the challenge of actually making pingpong a spectator sport, they brought back the classic form of the game: hardbat.
Instead of the spongy paddles that are capable of crazy spins and unstoppable serves, hardbats represent a much simpler time in table tennis, when the playing field was more level.
"Table tennis at the Olympic level, the points last two seconds. Serve, smash, done," Shaw said. "What a great idea to do hardbat because before you couldn't even see the ball.
"Obviously, the money got people's interest, too."
After qualifying for a tournament with a potential six-figure payoff, Shaw, a father of five in rural northern Michigan, practiced by hitting a thousand balls nightly for two months. This was, after all, life-changing cash on the line.
For some players, the pressure was just too much to bear. For Baker, though, the pressure never even had a chance to latch on. After winning the regional qualifier in Mobile, Alabama, he thought the grand prize was the all-expenses-paid trip to Vegas. He didn't even know there was another tournament worth $100,000 until he checked into the hotel.
And, he didn't think his odds were very good. When he saw all the pros practicing in the massive convention center packed with around 75 pingpong tables, he said, "Might as well just start drinking now."
Three days later, though, Baker -- along with Runyan, Shaw and Obertone -- was just two matches away from $100K. And while Center Court provided the drama, the broadcast booth delivered the comic relief. If you've seen either "Best in Show" or "Dodgeball," then you will be floored by the real-life duo of Schick and Scott Gordon.
A bona fide pingpong nerd, Gordon was born to do color commentary, if only for this rather obscure sport. And Schick's there to stand up for those less interested in the unfamiliar terminology and obscure facts from the world of table tennis.
In one of the best announcer exchanges in recent memory, Gordon explained in detail the "half-long serve," a crafty technique carried out by one of the contestants. To which Schick responded:
"Half-long serve? No one knows what you're talking about."
You couldn't write it any better.
But for pure movie magic, look no further than Obertone, perhaps the sport's first major superstar.
"He had hundreds of fans chanting his name," Schick said. "I wonder the last time anyone has chanted his name. Now he has it in Vegas for a chance at $100,000.
"You started to sense something special was going to happen."
It just goes to show you that heroes can come in all shapes and sizes. And they can even dress funny, too.
Matthew Iles is an editor for ESPN.com.
