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Malay Mail
03-06-2025
- Business
- Malay Mail
When the going gets rough, Myanmar players keep the ‘chinlone' ball rolling
YANGON, June 3 — Mastering control of the rising and falling rattan chinlone ball teaches patience, says a veteran of the traditional Myanmar sport – a quality dearly needed in the long-suffering nation. 'Once you get into playing the game you forget everything,' says 74-year-old Win Tint. 'You concentrate only on your touch and you concentrate only on your style.' Chinlone is Myanmar's national game and dates back centuries. Branded a blend of sport and art, it is often played to music, and is typically practised differently by men and women. Male teams in skimpy shorts stand in a circle using stylised strokes of their feet, knees and heads to pass the ball in a game of 'keepy-uppy', with a scoring system impenetrable to outsiders. Women play solo like circus performers – kicking the ball tens of thousands of times per session while walking tightropes, twirling umbrellas and perching on chairs balanced atop beer bottles. Teen prodigy Phyu Sin Phyo hones her skills at the court in Yangon, toe-bouncing a burning ball while spinning a hula-hoop – also on fire. 'I play even when I am sick,' says the 16-year-old. 'It is important to be patient to become a good chinlone player.' But play has plunged in recent years, with the Covid-19 pandemic followed by the 2021 military coup and subsequent civil war. Poverty rates are shooting up and craftsmen face increasing problems sourcing materials to make balls. But the rising and falling rhythm of the game offers its practitioners a respite. 'When you hear the sound of kicking the ball it's like music,' Win Tint, vice-chairman of the Myanmar Chinlone Federation, told AFP. 'So when you play chinlone, you feel like dancing.' 'Play day is happy' Different versions of the hands-free sport known as 'caneball' are widely played across Southeast Asia. In Thailand, Malaysia and Indonesia players kick and head the ball over a net in the volleyball-style 'sepak takraw'. In Laos it is known as 'kataw' while Filipinos play 'sipa' – meaning kick. Myanmar's iteration dates back 1,500 years, according to popular belief. Some cite a French archaeologist's discovery of a replica silver chinlone ball at a pagoda built in the Pyu era of 200 BC to 900 AD. It was initially practised as a casual pastime, a fitness activity and for royal entertainment. But in 1953 the game was given rules and a scoring system, as part of an effort to codify Myanmar's national culture after independence from Britain. 'No one else will preserve Myanmar's traditional heritage unless the Myanmar people do it,' said player Min Naing, 42. Despite the conflict, players still gather under motorway overpasses, around street lamps blighted with wartime blackouts and on dedicated chinlone courts -- often ramshackle open-sided metal sheds with concrete floors. 'For a chinlone man, the day he plays is always a happy day. I am happy, and I sleep well at night,' says Min Naing. 'On the days I don't play it, I feel I am missing something.' 'Respect the chinlone' But Win Tint is concerned that participation rates are falling. 'I worry about this sport disappearing,' says master chinlone ball maker Pe Thein, toiling in a sweltering workshop in Hinthada, 110 kilometres (70 miles) northwest of Yangon. 'That's the reason we are passing it on through our handiwork.' Cross-legged men shave cane into strips, curve them with a hand crank and deftly weave them into a melon-sized ball with pentagonal holes, boiled in a vat of water to seal its strength. 'We check our chinlone's quality as if we're checking diamonds or gemstones,' adds the 64-year-old Pe Thein. 'As we respect the chinlone, it respects us back.' Each ball takes around two hours to make and earns business-owner Maung Kaw US$2.40 apiece. But supplies of the best-quality rattan he covets from nearby Rakhine are dwindling. There is fierce fighting in the state between the military and opposition groups that now control almost all of it. Farmers are too fearful to plunge into the jungle battleground to cut cane, says Maung Kaw, endangering his profession. 'It should not be that we have players but no chinlone makers,' says the 72-year-old. 'I want to work as well as I can for as long as I can.' — AFP
Japan Times
03-06-2025
- Business
- Japan Times
Ancient Myanmar ball game battles for survival in troubled nation
Mastering control of the rising and falling rattan chinlone ball teaches patience, says a veteran of the traditional Myanmar sport — a quality dearly needed in the long-suffering nation. "Once you get into playing the game you forget everything," says 74-year-old Win Tint. "You concentrate only on your touch and you concentrate only on your style." Chinlone is Myanmar's national game and dates back centuries. Branded a blend of sport and art, it is often played to music and is typically practised differently by men and women. Male teams in skimpy shorts stand in a circle using stylized strokes of their feet, knees and heads to pass the ball in a game of "keepy-uppy," with a scoring system impenetrable to outsiders. Women play solo like circus performers — kicking the ball tens of thousands of times per session while walking tightropes, twirling umbrellas and perching on chairs balanced atop beer bottles. Teen prodigy Phyu Sin Phyo hones her skills at the court in Yangon, toe-bouncing a burning ball while spinning a hula-hoop — also on fire. "I play even when I am sick," says the 16-year-old. "It is important to be patient to become a good chinlone player." But play has plunged in recent years, with the COVID-19 pandemic followed by the 2021 military coup and subsequent civil war. A game of the traditional Myanmar sport of chinlone outside Thuwanna football stadium in Yangon on May 13 | AFP-JIJI Poverty rates are shooting up and craftsmen face increasing problems sourcing materials to make balls. But the rising and falling rhythm of the game offers its practitioners a respite. "When you hear the sound of kicking the ball it's like music," said Win Tint, vice-chairman of the Myanmar Chinlone Federation. "So when you play chinlone, you feel like dancing." 'Play day is happy' Different versions of the hands-free sport known as "caneball" are widely played across Southeast Asia. In Thailand, Malaysia and Indonesia players kick and head the ball over a net in the volleyball-style "sepak takraw". In Laos it is known as "kataw" while Filipinos play "sipa" — meaning kick. In China, people kicking around weighted shuttlecocks in parks is a common sight. Myanmar's iteration dates back 1,500 years, according to popular belief. Some cite a French archaeologist's discovery of a replica silver chinlone ball at a pagoda built in the Pyu era of 200 BC to 900 AD. It was initially practised as a casual pastime, a fitness activity and for royal entertainment. But in 1953 the game was given rules and a scoring system, as part of an effort to codify Myanmar's national culture after independence from Britain. "No one else will preserve Myanmar's traditional heritage unless the Myanmar people do it," said player Min Naing, 42. Despite the conflict, players still gather under motorway overpasses, around street lamps blighted with wartime blackouts and on dedicated chinlone courts — often ramshackle open-sided metal sheds with concrete floors. A man prepares cane fibers to be woven into a chinlone ball. | AFP-JIJI "For a chinlone man, the day he plays is always a happy day. I am happy, and I sleep well at night," says Min Naing. "On the days I don't play it, I feel I am missing something." 'Respect the chinlone' But Win Tint is concerned that participation rates are falling. "I worry about this sport disappearing," says master chinlone ball maker Pe Thein, toiling in a sweltering workshop in Hinthada, 110 kilometers (70 miles) northwest of Yangon. "That's the reason we are passing it on through our handiwork." Cross-legged men shave cane into strips, curve them with a hand crank and deftly weave them into a melon-sized ball with pentagonal holes, boiled in a vat of water to seal its strength. "We check our chinlone's quality as if we're checking diamonds or gemstones," adds the 64-year-old Pe Thein. "As we respect the chinlone, it respects us back." Each ball takes around two hours to make and earns business-owner Maung Kaw $2.40 apiece. But supplies of the best-quality rattan he covets from nearby Rakhine are dwindling. There is fierce fighting in the state between the military and opposition groups that now control almost all of it. Farmers are too fearful to plunge into the jungle battleground to cut cane, says Maung Kaw, endangering his profession. "It should not be that we have players but no chinlone makers," says the 72-year-old. "I want to work as well as I can for as long as I can."
News.com.au
03-06-2025
- Business
- News.com.au
Ancient Myanmar ball game battles for survival in troubled nation
Mastering control of the rising and falling rattan chinlone ball teaches patience, says a veteran of the traditional Myanmar sport -- a quality dearly needed in the long-suffering nation. "Once you get into playing the game you forget everything," says 74-year-old Win Tint. "You concentrate only on your touch and you concentrate only on your style." Chinlone is Myanmar's national game and dates back centuries. Branded a blend of sport and art, it is often played to music and is typically practised differently by men and women. Male teams in skimpy shorts stand in a circle using stylised strokes of their feet, knees and heads to pass the ball in a game of "keepy-uppy", with a scoring system impenetrable to outsiders. Women play solo like circus performers -- kicking the ball tens of thousands of times per session while walking tightropes, twirling umbrellas and perching on chairs balanced atop beer bottles. Teen prodigy Phyu Sin Phyo hones her skills at the court in Yangon, toe-bouncing a burning ball while spinning a hula-hoop -- also on fire. "I play even when I am sick," says the 16-year-old. "It is important to be patient to become a good chinlone player." But play has plunged in recent years, with the Covid-19 pandemic followed by the 2021 military coup and subsequent civil war. Poverty rates are shooting up and craftsmen face increasing problems sourcing materials to make balls. But the rising and falling rhythm of the game offers its practitioners a respite. "When you hear the sound of kicking the ball it's like music," Win Tint, vice-chairman of the Myanmar Chinlone Federation, told AFP. "So when you play chinlone, you feel like dancing." - 'Play day is happy' - Different versions of the hands-free sport known as "caneball" are widely played across Southeast Asia. In Thailand, Malaysia and Indonesia players kick and head the ball over a net in the volleyball-style "sepak takraw". In Laos it is known as "kataw" while Filipinos play "sipa" -- meaning kick. In China, people kicking around weighted shuttlecocks in parks is a common sight. Myanmar's iteration dates back 1,500 years, according to popular belief. Some cite a French archaeologist's discovery of a replica silver chinlone ball at a pagoda built in the Pyu era of 200 BC to 900 AD. It was initially practised as a casual pastime, a fitness activity and for royal entertainment. But in 1953 the game was given rules and a scoring system, as part of an effort to codify Myanmar's national culture after independence from Britain. "No one else will preserve Myanmar's traditional heritage unless the Myanmar people do it," said player Min Naing, 42. Despite the conflict, players still gather under motorway overpasses, around street lamps blighted with wartime blackouts and on dedicated chinlone courts -- often ramshackle open-sided metal sheds with concrete floors. "For a chinlone man, the day he plays is always a happy day. I am happy, and I sleep well at night," says Min Naing. "On the days I don't play it, I feel I am missing something." - 'Respect the chinlone' - But Win Tint is concerned that participation rates are falling. "I worry about this sport disappearing," says master chinlone ball maker Pe Thein, toiling in a sweltering workshop in Hinthada, 110 kilometres (70 miles) northwest of Yangon. "That's the reason we are passing it on through our handiwork." Cross-legged men shave cane into strips, curve them with a hand crank and deftly weave them into a melon-sized ball with pentagonal holes, boiled in a vat of water to seal its strength. "We check our chinlone's quality as if we're checking diamonds or gemstones," adds the 64-year-old Pe Thein. "As we respect the chinlone, it respects us back." Each ball takes around two hours to make and earns business-owner Maung Kaw $2.40 apiece. But supplies of the best-quality rattan he covets from nearby Rakhine are dwindling. There is fierce fighting in the state between the military and opposition groups that now control almost all of it. Farmers are too fearful to plunge into the jungle battleground to cut cane, says Maung Kaw, endangering his profession. "It should not be that we have players but no chinlone makers," says the 72-year-old. "I want to work as well as I can for as long as I can."
Al Jazeera
25-05-2025
- Sport
- Al Jazeera
Photos: Bull racing draws crowds in rural areas of cricket-loving Pakistan
Bulls are yoked together by thick wooden frames in a sun-scorched field in rural Pakistan. Behind them, clutching nothing more than ropes – and his pride – stands a man perched on a plank. Hundreds of spectators whoop and cheer as the animals thunder down a track, kicking up clouds of dust and a tangible sense of danger. This is bull racing, Punjabi style. The traditional sport encapsulates the raw vibrancy of village life and stands in stark contrast to the floodlit cricket and hockey stadiums of Pakistan's cities. In the Attock district of the eastern province of Punjab, bull racing runs deep. Here, it is more than a pastime. It forms part of the region's living heritage. In the village of Malal, a key hub for the sport, crowds gather annually to witness the spectacle. Jockeys crouch low behind the bulls on their wooden planks, gripping the reins and relying upon experience and instinct to claim victory. Yet chaos is never far away. It is not uncommon for bulls to unseat the jockeys, sending them tumbling through the dust. 'This isn't just entertainment. It's tradition,' said Sardar Haseeb, whose family has organised races for generations. 'We take pride in our animals. Farmers and landowners raise their bulls year-round just for this moment. People are willing to pay high prices for a winning bull. It becomes a symbol of pride.' The event has a festive air with dancing and showers of banknotes tossed into the sky – a celebratory gesture more usually associated with weddings. The aroma of freshly fried sweets wafts from sizzling pans, enticing the crowds. Stallholders serve roasted chickpeas and other delicacies. The bustling scene generates income for local vendors, who benefit from the celebration of culture. At the most recent event put on by Haseeb, more than 100 bulls competed, and participants came from across Pakistan to take part. Among the competitors was farmer Muhammad Ramzan. 'My bull came in fifth place, and I'm thrilled,' he said. 'It left 95 others behind.'
South China Morning Post
25-05-2025
- Sport
- South China Morning Post
Pakistan's traditional bull races a source of pride, and income, in rural areas
Bulls are yoked together by thick wooden frames in a sun-scorched field in rural Pakistan, while behind them, holding onto nothing more than ropes and his honour, is a man on a plank. Hundreds of spectators whoop and cheer as the animals begin to hurtle down a track, whipping up a storm of dust and imminent danger. This is bull racing , Punjabi style. The traditional sport captures the raw energy of village life and is a world away from the floodlit cricket and hockey stadiums found in many Pakistani cities. A jockey, left, controls a pair of bulls during a traditional bull race in Malal, Pakistan. Photo: AP Jockeys crouch on a wooden platform behind the charging animals, hanging onto the reins. Photo: AP Bull racing has deep roots in the Attock district of eastern Punjab province. It is more than just a sport there, it is a part of the region's living heritage.
