A night that began with counting

April 9, 1961. The Workers’ Gymnasium, Beijing.

Fifteen thousand seats, filled to the last one — with many more listening at home on the radio. This was New China’s first world-level sporting event, and the first world championship broadcast ever by the Central People’s Broadcasting Station.

That night, the entire crowd of fifteen thousand did something remarkable: they counted out loud, in unison, along with the rally on court.

When they reached “twelve,” the building exploded.

The mood of China in 1961

Wind the clock back to 1961.

These were hard years for New China. To host the 26th World Championships — the first world event the country had ever staged — the state, under extremely difficult conditions, earmarked funds to build a gymnasium seating ten thousand: the Workers’ Gymnasium.

The whole nation was waiting for this event. At the pre-tournament mobilization, Marshal He Long put it bluntly: “Play with China’s style. Play at the world’s level.”

And across the table stood the overlords of world table tennis: Japan, arriving with five consecutive men’s team titles at the Worlds, with one goal — take the Swaythling Cup home again.

Down 1:2, and up steps the “Master Tactician”

In the men’s team final, China had taken only one of the first three matches, trailing 1:2.

Fourth on court: Xu Yinsheng, against the Japanese star Hoshino Nobuya.

The match went to a deciding game, and Xu led 20:18 — one point from winning. But he knew exactly what his opponent was thinking: Hoshino was bound to go for broke.

So Xu made the choice people would marvel at ever after: attack first, force Hoshino back off the table into lobbing.

Hoshino retreated and started lobbing. The classic defensive script — one high ball after another, draining the attacker’s legs and patience, waiting for you to miss a smash.

Most players panic in that spot. And panic whispers: kill it with one swing — which is how your mechanics break down and the ball finds the net or the floor.

One smash, two smashes… the twelfth

Xu Yinsheng didn’t rush.

He neither softened nor overswung. He used medium-paced smashes, one after another, all into Hoshino’s backhand — steady, accumulating, not hunting for a single killing blow.

The crowd held its breath first. Then someone began to count:

“Eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve—”

The twelfth smash went at Hoshino’s middle, his stroke fell apart, and the ball sailed out.

The hall erupted. Outside it, radio listeners across the country were gripped. Chairman Mao later said of listening to it: “So tense — my heart nearly jumped out of my chest.”

That point tied the tie at 2:2, and the match turned.

“How many chances does a lifetime give you to fight?”

The rest of the story deserves remembering too.

In the eighth match, Rong Guotuan went on court and won — China beat Japan 5:3 and lifted the Swaythling Cup for the first time.

It was Rong Guotuan, winner of China’s first-ever table tennis world title in men’s singles in 1959, who left behind the line that has crossed more than half a century:

“How many chances does a lifetime give you to fight? If not now, when?”

At those World Championships, China didn’t just take the men’s team crown: Chinese men swept the top four in singles (Zhuang Zedong, Li Furong, Zhang Xielin, Xu Yinsheng), and in the women’s singles Qiu Zhonghui outlasted Hungary’s Eva Koczian over five games to win the first women’s world championship gold in New China’s sporting history.

The 26th World Championships became, from that point on, the true birthplace of the “national game.”

Why “twelve smashes” has lasted this long

Purely as technique, the twelve smashes are nothing exotic: attack first, force the opponent back, keep the smashing steady.

It became a cultural symbol because it carried what China needed most in that era —

  • Patience: don’t try to finish it in one shot; stack the advantage point by point;
  • Stability: when everyone is waiting for you to miss, be the first not to;
  • Courage to attack: when the moment to strike comes, take the initiative without hesitation.

“Steady” and “fierce” held true at the same time, in the same twelve smashes.

For the players reading this

Technically, the twelve smashes contain one especially useful truth:

In a continuous attack, don’t try to kill with every ball.

Real players, mid-rally, use medium power and stable placement — the goal is to make the opponent more and more uncomfortable on the move until they break, or until you’re handed a genuinely high ball. The most common amateur mistake is exactly the opposite: full power on every shot — you miss it yourself on the third ball before the rally even develops.

Patience is itself part of the attack.

Sixty-plus years later, the Swaythling Cup has spent a very long time in Chinese hands. But every time that night in 1961 comes back around, the most moving thing is still the sound of fifteen thousand people counting together — the first time the Chinese counted themselves into history on a world sporting stage.

That generation deserves its own reading: Rong Guotuan, Zhuang Zedong, Qiu Zhonghui. For table tennis’s fuller arc in China, see A brief history of the national game. The Japanese team they beat was at its very peak — and soon began its long decline: see The Japanese era.