Courting community spirit

In mid-August, Zhejiang's province-wide community basketball league, ZheBA, launched the second stage of its season.

The opening phase highlighted the league's grassroots appeal: about 1,650 amateur players competed across the province, drawing 778,800 spectators and more than 100 million online viewers.

Yet beyond the numbers, ZheBA is about more than basketball. It is about collective memory and belonging. It is a platform where factory workers and students share the court, where families pack neighborhood gyms, and where entire cities reconnect through the bounce of a ball.

By centering grassroots basketball and stories rooted in local pride, the league has turned competition into a living archive of Zhejiang's urban spirit.

Sense of belonging

With five seconds remaining, Yongkang trailed by two. The ball went to No 2, a 21-year-old college student wearing his hometown's signature black. Without hesitation, he stepped back beyond the arc and launched a 3-pointer that could change everything.

The ball hung in the air as the crowd held its breath. The rim rattled, the shot bounced out, and the buzzer sounded. Ningbo escaped with a 79-77 home victory.

Defeat on the court did not feel like defeat in the stands. For Huang Shengchong, who grew up playing on Yongkang's schoolyards, the miss was almost secondary.

"Playing here means carrying my city with me," he said. "I'm still studying, balancing classes and training, but when I wear Yongkang on my chest, I know I'm fighting for something bigger than myself."

The community responded in kind. Shopkeepers left their counters to cheer. Grandparents waved flags stitched with Yongkang slogans. The message was clear: this was their team.

The "Iron Man spirit", a local phrase describing Yongkang's resilience, pulsed through the bleachers. Fans shouted: "Shengchong, we believe in you. Taking the last shot makes you our hero."

Head coach Xia Qiankang, a folk legend in Zhejiang basketball, saw the game as proof of what grassroots sport can mean. "We played to the last possession," he said. "That's what matters. We showed Yongkang's heart."

In that moment, a missed shot became something else entirely: a portrait of a city rallying around its own, neighbors united by basketball, and a reminder of how a provincial league like ZheBA can turn community pride into something that lasts far beyond the scoreboard.

Mountain might

Two hours southwest of downtown Huzhou, Longwang Mountain rises quietly above the valleys. It is not the tallest or the most famous peak in Zhejiang, but locals know its winding trails, dense forests and clear streams as part of daily life.

Now, in ZheBA, the mountain has taken on a new meaning, symbolizing the city's team, built on grit, diversity and hometown pride.

"I think our team is just like the Longwang Mountain," said forward Liu Zhuo. In Huzhou's 82-77 win over Yuyao, Liu scored 29 points, slicing through defenders and hitting jumpers.

Yet after the game, he didn't dwell on the numbers. "A mountain has different landscapes — streams, rocks, forests. Our team has different players and different strengths. We win because we cover for each other, and because our city is behind us."

Liu grew up in Anji, with Longwang Mountain practically his backyard. His father, a PE teacher and basketball coach, put a ball in his hands in the fourth grade. For Liu, every rebound and fast break still feels like carrying his hometown forward.

His teammate Shen Huanhuan, now an academy coach, sees the league as a way to pass that passion along. "When kids sit courtside and watch us fight for every possession, they get hooked," Shen said. "Basketball teaches more than offense and defense. It teaches persistence, teamwork and how to face life. ZheBA is planting that seed in our own neighborhoods."

Head coach Shan Zhiming knows the roster is not stacked with stars. Undersized in the paint and lacking a dominant center, the team relies on effort.

"We don't always win on height," Shan said. "But we win on heart. Everyone boxes out, everyone dives for loose balls. That's how we compete. And when parents bring their kids, filling the gym with the hometown colors, you feel the city lifting you up."

In Huzhou, Longwang Mountain has always been a place for weekend hikes and family gatherings. Today, it is also a metaphor: proof that even without towering peaks, a team, and a city, can stand tall. For children waving flags in the stands, it shows their basketball dreams can start right here, in the shadow of their hometown mountain.

Grapes, dates, greatness

After a grueling afternoon practice in Quzhou, baskets of grapes and dates arrived at the gym door, carried by neighbors with calloused hands.

These were no ordinary snacks. They came from local orchards, fruits cultivated through hard work under the sun, embodying the labor and love of the community.

Each piece of fruit was a symbol of the city's spirit, offered quietly to the players wearing "Quzhou "across their chests.

"This team carries the pride of our city," said head coach Lu Hanxu. "The fruits may look small, but they hold the sweat and hope of our neighbors. When our players see them, they remember that every sprint, every rebound, every contested shot is more than a game, it's our city's spirit on display."

Many players had interrupted family trips or returned from jobs elsewhere, feeling the weight of that gesture. The baskets became a living bridge between the orchards where locals toiled and the hardwood where athletes battled — a reminder that community sacrifice fuels every fast break and every desperate defensive stand.

As the team unpacked the gifts, the gym filled with collective purpose. Parents lifted children onto their shoulders, fans cheered from the bleachers, and what might have been just fruit became a symbol of shared struggle and pride.

That bond was tested Sunday night when Quzhou lost 69-58 to Cangnan. Yet, when the buzzer sounded, the sea of crimson in the stands remained, waving flags and chanting.

It felt, in a way, like victory.

One of Quzhou's players, Ma Chaoqun, had tears in his eyes. "When you see the stands still full after a loss, when you know they believe in you, no matter the score — that's heavier than any trophy," he said.

In Quzhou, the greatest victory lies not in the scoreboard, but in the unbreakable trust between the city and its players. Each gift and each cheer tells the same story: neighbors turning their harvest into encouragement, and young athletes carrying that devotion onto the court. It is proof that the deepest triumphs are rooted in community — and that together, they are whole.

Xinhua