Chapter Nine: Cancer

Early the next morning, Gan Guoyang showed the sneakers his father, Gan Youwei, had bought him the night before to Pang Hui. His cousin’s eyes lit up immediately. "Whoa, Avia! Great basketball shoes! Did your dad really buy these?"

"Yeah. Avia? What kind of brand is that? Is it famous?"

In the 1980s, Nike was still in its infancy, and Adidas’s domain was primarily soccer. In the United States, Converse held the dominant position in basketball shoes, while various regions had their own local brands. With the booming development of professional sports in the late 70s and early 80s, all kinds of sporting goods companies had sprung up across the country like mushrooms after rain.

Avia was a footwear and sportswear brand founded in Oregon in 1979. It had grown quite rapidly, earning a reputation for its aerobic shoes, walking shoes, and basketball shoes, and it held significant influence among young people and emerging groups, especially on the West Coast.

"This is the high-top 860 that Avia released last year. It says 'Fast' on the tongue, and with the leather upper, it has so much more texture than canvas shoes. These shoes are really nice—I mean, really nice."

"It's a very popular style lately, way cooler than those Converse."

Gan Hui played with the new shoes, clearly unable to put them down. Gan Guoyang silently took the shoes from his cousin’s hands and put them on his own feet, which made Gan Hui wince. "Oh, man, they're brand new! You're just going to wear them? What a waste."

"What are you talking about? If you don't wear shoes, what are you supposed to do with them?"

"Collect them, of course! This pair of Avia 860s is definitely going to be a classic."

Gan Guoyang knew that many people had a habit of collecting sneakers, treating them not as footwear, but as art pieces.

"How much do these cost, roughly?"

"At least 100 dollars, I’d say. Prices are rising fast these days, so maybe even more. For a popular style like this, some people would fight to pay 200."

Hearing this, Gan Guoyang felt even more puzzled. Where had his father managed to buy these, and who had recommended them? Gan Youwei certainly didn't know the first thing about basketball shoes, and his English was abysmal—he could barely understand basic greetings and couldn't speak a full sentence. Being nearly forty, he had never been exposed to English growing up, and as a chef, he had no need for the language.

In an era without online shopping, the thought of his father going through who knows what trouble to secure these shoes—and likely paying a premium—made Gan Guoyang feel a pang in his heart. When he asked his father, Gan Youwei just smiled and told him not to worry about it, and to just focus on playing ball.

After helping out at the shop for a while that morning, Gan Guoyang took out the business card Chen Xing had given him and dialed the number for Coach Bobby Berman. It rang for a long time before someone picked up.

"Hello, this is the Excel in Basketball summer camp. I’m the coach, Bobby Berman. What do you need?" The voice on the other end sounded tired, lazy, and a hint impatient. Such camps surely received countless inquiries, and answering the same questions repeatedly was undoubtedly exhausting.

"I’d like to sign up for the Excel summer camp. How do I pay, and where do I go to register?"

"The July spots are full. You’ll have to wait for the August session. Leave your name and number. On August 3rd, you can go to the sports center at 2675 Mitchell Road in Walnut Creek, pay in person, and start your camp." Berman rattled off the time and address in a deadpan, listless tone.

After taking it down, Gan Guoyang gave his and Gan Hui's names and their phone number.

"Sunny Gump? What kind of name is that... Anyway, are you signing up for the kids' class or the youth class?"

"The youth class. I’m sixteen this year."

"Sixteen? Alright, kid, I’m a direct person. If you’re sixteen and still taking a fundamentals camp like ours, you probably won't achieve much in basketball. Our youth class is mainly for 10- to 13-year-olds. Of course, if you just want to experience it, that’s perfectly fine. Sorry, pardon my bluntness."

Berman's words were incredibly rude; it was clear he wasn't a qualified salesman. Many parents or children might have hung up, canceled, or even filed a complaint.

"Oh, tell me, Mr. Berman, how old are you this year?"

"Me? I'm thirty-seven."

"Thirty-seven? If you're still an assistant coach at a youth fundamentals camp and working a side job answering phones, it’s probably—no, not probably, it’s certain—that you won't achieve much in basketball. Of course, if you're just trying to scrape by, that’s perfectly fine. Sorry, pardon my bluntness."

Gan Guoyang mimicked Berman’s tone and launched a merciless counterattack.

"Hey! I’m not like that—"

Berman tried to explain, but Gan Guoyang had already slammed the phone down.

Gan Hui, who had been watching from the side, was dumbfounded. "That camp coach seems like a real jerk... But cousin... maybe we should choose a different summer camp? There are plenty of basketball camps out there."

Gan Guoyang shook his head. "No, we’re going to this one. I think it’ll be just fine."

Just then, the shrill ring of the phone sounded again. Gan Hui looked at Gan Guoyang and said, "That wouldn't be that coach calling back, would it? Don't answer it."

Gan Guoyang replied, "What’s there to be afraid of? If he dares to curse me, I’ll just curse him back. Besides, this is our restaurant line—can’t miss a customer's order."

With that, Gan Guoyang picked up the receiver. It was Chen Xing.

"Guoyang! Are you free this afternoon?"

"What's up?"

"Someone's come to challenge our court. They specifically asked to play against us."

"But we’ve already saved up enough money."

"It’s not about the money. We’ve made a name for ourselves on the streets, and people are coming to our doorstep to challenge us."

"Alright, I’m free this afternoon. Where at?"

"25th District on California Street, Rochambeau Park!"

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Rochambeau Park was named after the French Marshal, Comte de Rochambeau, who led French forces to support the American Revolutionary War and defeated the British at Yorktown, Virginia, and was thus considered one of the founding fathers of the United States.

Just like its solemn namesake, the court was a three-on-three street venue where veterans often gathered. It was filled not only with gifted young players but also with many adults—former college players, street legends, retired professionals, and seasoned basketball enthusiasts.

In short, it represented the high level of street basketball in San Francisco. If you wanted to play a paid game here, it was at least 100 dollars a match.

When the trio arrived, they found a large crowd gathered. Some were playing, while others were watching from the sidelines. That was the nature of a "high-stakes" court—there were always spectators, and one’s performance on the court would receive immediate feedback. Play well, and you’d get cheers and fame; play poorly, and you’d inevitably face mockery and belittlement behind your back. The pressure was significantly higher.

The arrival of Gan Guoyang and his group caused a small stir. People’s eyes shot toward them like arrows; someone with weaker nerves might have had their legs turn to jelly right then and there.

A white player wearing a blue jersey and white shorts walked over to greet Chen Xing and waved at Gan Guoyang.

"Hey, nice to meet you. You’re A-Gan? I’m Steve Lavin."

Lavin was about the same age as Gan Guoyang, with a square, broad jaw and slightly drooping eyelids that gave him a more mature look.

"I’m the one who invited you for this exhibition game. You guys have been making quite a splash on the San Francisco courts lately, and I wanted to test our skills against yours," Lavin said directly.

Recently, the trio’s winning streak on the streets of San Francisco had drawn significant attention. Their status as Chinese-Americans undoubtedly added to the intrigue, finally attracting the notice of the true local talent.

Gan Guoyang just nodded, wasting no words, as both teams moved onto the court to warm up. The crowd grew larger by the minute; this was clearly the marquee matchup of the day.

Before the game started, the three huddled on the sideline to discuss strategy.

"What’s the deal with these guys? Are you trying to make extra cash with these high-level games? If we lose, I’m not paying!"

"Shut up, there’s no money in this game. Jason asked me to set this up. That Steve Lavin? He’s Carp’s son."

Chen Xing gestured toward a small, thin old man on the sidelines in a gray sweatshirt, with a hooked nose and graying hair.

"Who’s Carp?"

"The historian of San Francisco street basketball. Back in the day, he was one of the top ten high school players in the city."

"Back in the day? Which decade?"

"The forties."

"..."

"Forget his dad! Tell me about the opponents and our strategy!"

"Cancer. Our opponents today are team Cancer. You two should know that with a name like that, their style of play is like a tumor—it’ll torture you until you wish you were dead."