Zengcheng, China--Roughly 40 miles east of downtown Guangzhou, the outer edge of this megapolis, one of many in China, sits this factory town in the shadows of the Huideng Mountains on the banks of the shallow Donguan River. Its a cool 54 degrees and sunny, but a welcomed break from this year's harsh Northeast United States winter. There's a twinge in my back from making the hour and a half trip from the Guangzhou Airport on the back of a cramped moped, the only transport available upon landing, and one that was also carrying three other passengers.The community appears to be a typical Chinese factory town: a center square surrounded by imposing government buildings, manufacturing facilities grouped in the industrial district and residential areas teeming with green space.
If you walk down bustling Shenzhen Street, the main thoroughfare bisecting the the surprisingly tidy factory district, you'll come to a small alley known as Mawan Street. If you weren't looking for the tiny road you would almost certainly miss it. I took a sip of my coffee--I've grown to like the Chinese coffee during my scant 36 hours in the country--a deep breath and made the turn into the crowd.
It was 8 o'clock in the morning and as I made my way down Mawan I began to hear a very familiar song echoing off the multi-colored stucco facades of the buildings lining the narrow street. I thought to myself, 'No, it couldn't be, you're hearing things. Get a hold of yourself.' Thirty yards further, the song now crystal clear, the claustrophobic alley suddenly burst open into a spacious, tree-lined courtyard. I couldn't believe what I was witnessing.
Thousands of workers in crisp, freshly pressed company uniforms were lined in perfect rows and columns and singing, in English, the Steelers' fight song, with slightly modified lyrics. "Here we go, Zengcheng. Here we go. Zengcheng going to the Super Bowl. Here we go ..."
Standing on a podium before the workers was their supervisor Mary Zinjian, at her signal, three succinct yet piercing claps, the 3,000 strong halted the singing and began to passionately wave their yellow towels--their "Terrible Towels."
I had finally arrived at the Terrible Towel factory, the supplier of the black and gold rally towels of the Pittsburgh Steelers--a team tradition since the mid 1970's. I first learned of the facility after bumping into former NFL running back and current YahooSports reporter Tiki Barber in JFK Airport in New York a little over a week ago. I was headed to Florida to do a story on sand and sun and Barber had just returned from China after doing a story on the Green Bay Packers' Cheesehead foam hat factory north of Macau. He said the Terrible Towel factory was big news in this region of China, especially because the Steelers had made it to Super Bowl. Florida can definitely wait!
Twenty-four hours later I was on the other side of the world, some 10,000 miles from Pittsburgh, in a country I had never been to, barely able to communicate and hearing the Steelers fight song being performed ... live.
Before hastily leaving the U.S. I was warned that Westerners--mainly journalists--are often forbidden to enter factories, talk to employees or even come within 50 yards of a Chinese industrial complex. So, when I awoke in my hotel the night after arriving in this "town" of 475,000, I was shocked to find in the lobby the owner and top management team of the towel factory smiling, offering gifts, personally inviting me to tour the facility the next day and lining up interviews.
This town has become obsessed with the Steelers, a sense of pride permeates each and every worker, feeling that their craftsmanship has helped the football club reach the NFL championship game: The Super Bowl. Though not direct employees of the Steelers, the workers, who made 2 billion Terrible Towels this year, feel "like part of the team."
"I love the Troy Polu ... molim," shouted one worker in broken English, adjusting the 3-feet locks of long black hair covering his face, a product of the government-approved Troy Polamalu wig he and hundreds of other workers were wearing on this day. Employees operating sewing machines must tie the wig hair back or fit it beneath a hair cap after an accident last month that ended the record 743 accident-free days.
The owner of the factory Ya Liu spoke candidly about his business and the Steeler madness. He said that the town was crazy over the Steelers, not just the workers. And that the next town over would not even know what American football was, let alone the Pittsburgh Steelers. Liu will show the big game on a 6-inch black and white television for all the workers to see on Monday morning at 7:30 (6:30 pm eastern Sunday kickoff) in the courtyard for a half hour before work commences.
When production of the towel was relocated here from the U.S. two years ago, Liu initially had a difficult time convincing the locals to work in the factory that makes a "terrible" product.
"I went to the factory to find out about a job and they told me I would be making terrible towels. I went home and I looked up in the dictionary the word terrible," said Zeng Fuenghou, 19, through an interpreter, but who displays a voracious desire to learn English. "I could not believe that they were asking me to make a product with this label. I had to check again in the dictionary. I did not want to make a terrible product."
Fuenghou would eventually come to work at the factory after the misunderstanding was sorted out. But other misunderstandings arose along the way.
"When I first began making the towels, I thought Americans were very, very small humans because the product was not called 'Terrible Hand Towels.' So I assumed they were full size towels. But then I learned that the towels were purposely small and were for cheering a sports team on," said Wen Tjian, a worker that mixes the yellow dye for the towels.
Though the town has numerous factories, the Terrible Factory, as the residents have dubbed it, is a source of pride.
"I came from the countryside to the city for a job and a chance at a better life," said Jeng Tian, 24, also through and interpreter, and who spent the early part of her life as a terrace farmer west of town. "I make towels that are terrible ... and I'm proud of that."
Over the next couple of days, I toured the factory and the town with six company escorts. The environmental disaster stories that you hear about manufacturing in China had me braced for the worst. Yes, the Donguan River was dyed yellow and black, but they assured me it was not the toxic ink from the towel factory but a natural coloring product to "support the team." The working facilities were immaculate and, even though I was forbidden from entering the largest building on the site, I trusted the working conditions were just as favorable inside.
On what was supposed to be my last day in the country, I am told that the Cheesehead foam hat factory in Macau has challenged the Terrible Towel factory to a game of touch football on the following day in downtown Guangzhou--neutral territory. The Zengcheng government strongly recommended that stick around.
On the drive to this fiercely anticipated grid iron match up, the next day, the supervisors inform me that I will quarterback the Terrible Towel squad. That it would be an "honor" if I would lead the workers to victory over the "despicable Cheeseheads" and that my China stay may be extended indefinitely if I declined.
I'm totally caught off guard by this, however, I am unable to convey that I am not qualified to be a quarterback ... in the U.S. or China, trust me. They assured me that I must and that under no circumstances can I lose this game, this was the reason they let me into the Terrible factory in the first place.
Soon after arriving at the site, I am pushed from the car and thrust onto the shoulders of the energetic, chanting employees and carried to the sidelines of a large athletic field, measured in meters and line with thousands of spectators.
Across the field, the foam Cheesehead workers have formed a huddle around a kneeling player. I can do this I thought, I used to light up the backyard football games when I was a kid. As their huddle broke, the kneeling player rose, and kept rising, then rose some more, and suddenly towered over his teammates.
Yiu, the smiling owner, leaned over and said, "Do you believe they were able to get Aaron Rodgers to come here a week before the Super Bowl? Here we go Zengcheng, here we go. Zengcheng going to the Super Bowl. Here we go."
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