It wasn’t just the Chinese. Every single person in Beijing for the Olympics had planned their schedule around a 9.45 pm presence at the Bird’s Nest on August 21. Liu Xiang, hero of all of China, was expected to defend his Athens gold, and possibly even retake the world record from Cuban Dayron Robles.

On August 18, just before noon, he pulled out of his heat, his Achilles tendon making even limping visibly painful, sending every Beijinger in view into the closest huddle to weep together. To weep, sad, shocked and bewildered.

China had till that moment been somewhat aloof from the Games venues. It had been hospitable, its volunteers at the ready with a smile and assistance, the stadiums designed to celebrate record-breaking feats. But it had been playing perfect host. It had not revealed itself beyond the superpower aspirations seen through architecture and urban infrastructure. Revelations of its frailties were certainly not on the agenda.

But as Liu went out, China showed emotion. The narrative of Liu’s special place has been told so often that it is a legend. By it, his victory in the 110m hurdles at Athens demolished myths about the limitations of Asian athleticism. It had given the Chinese a hero for his age, modern, global, with a sense of himself. And when he pulled out, it was not quite clear what hurt more: his personal absence or the failure to win that athletics medal.

In these extraordinary Games of Michael Phelps and Usain Bolt, of Indian breakthrough and of British ascent, of China’s likely long-term dominance of Olympic sports, Liu’s unexpected departure was possibly the most arresting moment of the 2008 Olympics. Liu, till that disconsolate appearance, had been everywhere in hoardings, write-ups, chatter. He himself had been little seen. And the more fanciful amongst us will see in that build-up a tragedy that maybe had to be.

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