Chapter Nineteen: Declaration

In the 19th century, San Francisco was known as a city of vice, where the wealth brought by gold fueled rampant immorality. Along Barbary Coast, casinos, brothels, taverns, and theaters stood side by side. In Chinatown, there were Chinese restaurants, temples, opium dens, and Asian prostitutes in the Red House.

In 1852, the Pacific News declared, "No country in the world can claim it has never sent a prostitute to San Francisco." Not far from Chinatown lay the Tenderloin district, long notorious as San Francisco’s most crime-ridden, filthy, and chaotic neighborhood.

This downtown area maintained its gritty yet distinctive character, frequently tagged with homelessness, drug trafficking, prostitution, and strip clubs. Yet it was also a refuge for non-mainstream art culture and marginalized groups; bands like Green Day and the late Kennedy recorded albums here.

During the Vietnam War era, a wave of immigrants from Laos, Vietnam, and Cambodia flooded in, earning the Tenderloin the nickname "Little Saigon." Whether through bleak, harsh realities or romanticized legends, Chinese people were consistently portrayed in an unflattering light. Chinese restaurants, opium, bound-foot prostitutes, and bespectacled bookworms nearly filled Americans’ entire imagination of the Chinese.

Just like in Hollywood films, where Qing dynasty elders appeared always sallow-faced, dressed in traditional gowns and skullcaps, dragging unsightly queue braids with vacant expressions. Yet a Chinese basketball team beating a well-known street team in San Francisco was, to the Tenderloin locals, akin to an Indian winning the Nobel Prize in Physics.

But Gan Guoyang did exactly that. In the afternoon game on August 2nd, he dominated the opponents. Although Cancer fought fiercely, bringing the score to 5-6 at one point, their core player White was thoroughly outmatched by Gan Guoyang.

White found it nearly impossible to score or defend against Gan’s one-on-one post moves. Once Gan mastered the technical nuances of low-post positioning, White, who played small forward on the school team, was devoured alive. Even fouls couldn’t stop Gan from scoring under the basket; the referee’s whistle only served as a rallying call for the cheering crowd.

Moreover, as the game flowed in his favor, Gan displayed a calm, unflashy passing game, assisting Chen Xing and Gan Guanhui, rendering Cancer’s double teams ineffective. This guy also proved reliable, seizing three shooting opportunities and making every shot, never wasting Gan’s passes.

Clearly, having lost the previous match, they constantly sought revenge.

***

A healthy dose of hatred is the finest spirit to motivate progress. Steve Lavin, White, and Pittman did not expect the roles to reverse so quickly within just a week. Beyond the influence of venue and morale, Gan Guoyang’s rapid improvement was undoubtedly the most direct cause.

“His progress is frighteningly fast, Dad. Can anyone really learn all that in just one week?” Lavin asked his father after the game.

Cap’s mind flashed through several names, but even those prodigies couldn’t have made such leaps in a week.

“Maybe he was hiding his skills last game, or... something else caused his poor performance. Perhaps I should drop by his family’s restaurant sometime. Don’t be discouraged, Steve. The world is always full of monsters, especially on the basketball court.”

As Cap found excuses for Gan’s improvement, he comforted his son.

Meanwhile, Gan Guoyang had already left the court surrounded by a crowd, heading to the Gan family restaurant with a group.

Gan Yutang and Gan Bingguang were startled, fearing a gang of vagrants was about to rob them, nearly dialing 911 in panic. After clarifying the situation, they learned their grandson’s team had actually won, bringing honor to the Tenderloin.

Raymond, Isabel, and their friends took the opportunity to bring down instruments, planning a small punk concert in the restaurant—free of charge but banning alcohol and drinks. Suddenly, the once quiet Gan family eatery exploded into lively chaos, nearly overwhelming Gan Bingguang and Gan Yutang.

Fortunately, they held their ground behind the counter, preventing the celebration from descending into a looting frenzy.

The aftermath of the victory party was:

The restaurant’s stock of alcoholic beverages was depleted, forcing a trip to a nearby supermarket; the steamed dishes on the counter were popular but some were eaten without payment; Gan Youwei endured an overworked night in the kitchen, but his flushed face showed pride in his son rather than fatigue; and the restaurant’s previously clean restroom was trashed into the most filthy and disorderly latrine on the West Coast.

When tallying the accounts, Gan Bingguang discovered that the night’s revenue exceeded the entire month of July’s earnings, offering a glimpse of hope for the Gan family restaurant.

Although this business model diverged from their original intentions, survival under current conditions and economic realities was paramount.

As the mastermind and hero of the game, Gan Guoyang and Gan Guanhui received different treatment.

Gan Guoyang was told to rest early, as he had to depart early the next day for summer camp.

Gan Guanhui’s task was to clean the restroom—a challenge more arduous than winning today’s game.

Displeased, Gan Guanhui protested, but Gan Yutang said, “Guoyang is the real hope; you’re just along for the ride. Making you clean the bathroom isn’t fair! Just bear with it and endure the hardship, Hui.”

Fortunately, Gan Youwei had prepared a pot of yellow soybean and pork tail stew for Gan Guanhui’s late-night snack, soothing his soul, tainted by the stench.

***

On the morning of the 3rd, Sunday, Cap Lavin drove his Cadillac to the Gan family restaurant following the address on a card, wishing to speak with Gan Guoyang.

Learning that Gan Guoyang and Gan Guanhui were headed to Walnut Creek for the Aloke Basketball Summer Camp, he offered to drive them there.

The roughly 40-kilometer trip from San Francisco to Walnut Creek took about half an hour by car, whereas taking buses and light rail required transfers in Oakland and at least an hour.

Not missing a free ride, Gan Guoyang and Gan Guanhui placed their luggage in the trunk. Gan Guoyang, being tall, adjusted the passenger seat back considerably to sit comfortably.

Gan Guanhui, having stayed up late cleaning the restroom the night before, quickly fell asleep in the back seat.

While driving, Cap chatted with Gan Guoyang about many basketball-related topics.

Cap didn’t pry into Gan’s personal life; he merely asked about his future aspirations.

When Gan expressed his desire to play in the NBA, Cap’s face grew serious.

Had it not been for yesterday’s game, Cap might have simply smiled and shaken his head, thinking it just another child’s dream.

But now, things were different—Cap believed it was something to take seriously.

“If you truly want to make it to the NBA, you must have a solid plan over the next two to three years. A good high school and a basketball college that suits you are essential steps. I might be able to help.”

Cap’s words were spot on; guidance like this is crucial for a sixteen-year-old.

But Gan Guoyang’s maturity exceeded his years. He asked, “Why would you help me? We’re strangers.”

Cap smiled, anticipating the question. “If I said I just cherish talent without expecting anything in return, you’d think I was insincere. Since ’74, I’ve been promoting a writing project about stories from the San Francisco Bay Area. When I first saw you on the court, I thought you’d make a great subject... Forgive me if this sounds presumptuous, but your identity...”

“Yes, I know. I’m Chinese. No Chinese have played professional basketball.”

“That’s right. But when I was young, a Japanese player briefly played in the NBA back in 1947. His name was Wataru Misaka. He played for the University of Utah NCAA team, winning the 1944 NCAA championship and the 1947 NIT championship. In the NBA, then called the BAA, with the New York Knicks, he played only three games. Yet his name remains in basketball history as the first Asian to step onto a professional basketball floor.”

Gan Guoyang understood Cap’s meaning. If he could become the first Chinese professional basketball player, regardless of performance, he would make history and become a story worth telling for Cap.

Gan Guoyang said, “Thank you, Mr. Cap, but I want to make it clear: first, I respect every basketball player who fights hard, but please never compare me to a Japanese player. Second, I want to make my mark in history not because of my skin color or identity, but because of my achievements on the court. Lastly, could you please drive a little slower? I feel like I’m going to be sick...”