Were you at all surprised China took the women's team gymnastics gold? Much ink has been expended on how tiny and undeveloped (read: young) these athletes looked out there. The New York Times for one has probed whether several of the female team members met the required age of 16. Coaching legend Bela Karolyi went so far as to brand them "half-people". But the truth isn't as simple as you might think. Are some Chinese athletes younger than their I.D. documents say? Probably. But they could be older than has been reported, too. Just like almost all statistics in China, athletes' ages can be high-balled or low-balled, depending on age limits or other considerations at the time. Young prospects are typically drafted from the home into local sports schools and molded by provincial squads before being recruited to represent the country. Multiple alterations in age can occur in that span.

Indeed, it's becoming routine for China's National Bureau of Statistics to revise its GDP growth figures upward, officially to account for an expanding service sector, but also amidst pressure to reconcile the national average with conspicuous higher stats reported by local authorities across the nation. The higher provincial numbers may be closer to reality but are still often thought to be doctored down by grassroots officials (lowballing the numbers means local governments can evade taxes, just like everyone else in China, not to mention scrutiny over pork-barrel projects). The NBS calls its statistical rectification system "squeezing out the water," and claims it to be somewhat scientific.

So the next time you see a tiny Chinese gymnast who you think must be no more than 13 years old, it could be that she was actually 8 when she was gobbled up by China's sports machine—but her parents reported her age as 6 to suggest she was more malleable, trainable and promising. Or it may be that her provincial coaches shaved many months off her age to enter her in a junior competition, with an eye on the prize of placing her on the national team. Which might mean that by the time she became Olympics material, her age had to be "rectified" up, closer to the real deal. Perhaps. 

The Chinese phrase meiyou, meaning "don't have",  is a dreaded pronouncement in the food industry here. It can prophesy the unavailability of everything from fresh basil to those 100 bottles of imported wine you'd ordered ages ago. Municipal authorities recently estimated between 400,000 and 450,000 foreigners would visit Beijing over the month of August—and somebody needs to feed them. If that influx of extra mouths isn't enough of a challenge,  transportation regulations, stricter security codes, and unpredictable consumer behavior during the Olympics have complicated this gargantuan gastronomic undertaking. Even so, local eateries are finding ways to try to ensure that meiyou is the discouraging word that rarely is heard.

Traffic restrictions, which were intended to reduce transport times and cut vehicle emissions, has complicated access to foodstuffs. Cars are allowed on the road every other day according to a system of alternating, even-odd license plates. That means distribution channels are instantly cut in half. Jim Spear, co-founder of The Schoolhouse at Mutianyu, a dining and hotel venture specializing in locally-grown ingredients, was adamant about the policy’s negative impact: “We’ve been really, truly affected by transportation regulations. We still pay the cost of the vehicle and driver for our regular deliveries; and now, we have to pay yet another one for the other days.”

Bela says: when the American women took the world team gymnastics championship away from the Chinese last year, it ratcheted up the pressure on the host team.

Bela says: the best result in the preliminaries is always a close second, which is exactly what the American team achieved; it re-established the Chinese as the favorites, while only adding to the pressure.

Bela says: the U.S. has a big experience edge in the finals with four gymnasts--Shawn Johnson, Nastia Liukin, Alicia Sacramone and Chellsie Memmel--who've won team and individual gold medals at the world championship level.

Bela says: with only three gymnasts performing on each rotation--vault, uneven bars, balance beam and floor exercise-in the finals, advantage U.S, since the team boasts the two top gymnasts in the world in Johnson and Liukin. They finished 1-2 in the Olympic preliminary competition, while the top two Chinese girls were 3rd and 7th.

Bela says: the Chinese have a history of meltdowns in major competitions. With the Chinese following the Americans onto the floor for final rotation, they could very well crash and burn.

Bela says: the Americans are going to win the gold medal.

Bela is, of course, Bela Karolyi, who is to women's gymnastics as Confucius is to all life here in China. He has earned his reputation as a sage across 40 unrivaled years on the mats: coach of Olympic icons Nadia Comaneci and Mary Lou Retton; key architect of the Atlanta '96 "Magnificent Seven" and personal coach of team hero Kerri Strug. And while his wife, Marta, holds the official title as women's team coordinator, on their ranch outside Houston, Bela still helps forge a team mentality out of six girls from six different gyms in five different states.

But on Wednesday in Beijing's National Indoor Stadium, nothing Bela predicted came to pass, as the Chinese team whipped the home crowd into a frenzy while they whipped the United States for the gold medal. Indeed when the nerves showed up in the second half of the competition, they were borne almost entirely by the American team. Trailing by slightly more than one point after two excellent rotations--on vault and uneven bars—by both teams, the rivals came to the treacherous balance beam. China wobbled first when its first gymnasts slipped off the bar. But the first American, the veteran team leader Alicia Sacramone one-upped or more accurately one-downed her. Sacramone, at 20 the oldest member of the U.S. team, failed to mount the bar successfully, a shocking stumble that that squandered an opening left by China.

Still, the two American stalwarts, Liukin and Johnson, produced standout routines and, even with Sacramone's mistake, reduced China's lead to a single point going to the final round—floor exercise. But the meltdown that Bela predicted came on the other side. Sacramone was clearly shaken by her problem on—and off—the beam. And despite her steely reputation, she had scant time to regain her composure before being first up for floor exercises—and perhaps never did. In an early tumbling pass, she came up short and fell back on her butt. On another, she stepped out of bounds. Her score of 14.125 was the only tally under 15 for either squad. The disaster proved contagious, as both Liukin and Johnson also stepped out of bounds, perhaps by way of consoling their distraught teammate once they had no chance to catch the Chinese. "It's a bummer with Alicia," U.S. Gymnastics Federation chief Steve Penn. "She has been such a great leader and inspiration to these kids. But in the end I think they will be happy they are going home with a medal around their necks."

There was no doubt which team was superior on this day. But that doesn't mean some controversy won't linger. Karolyi and other have insisted that half the Chinese team did not meet the age requirements and certainly at a glance that seemed obvious. Bela has, in fact, been railing about the stupidity of the minimum age for years now. After all, Nadia Comaneci was 14 in 1976 when she gave perhaps the most memorable performance in Olympic gymnastics history. The bodies of younger girls are better suited to the sport, at least to the uneven bars and balance beam, and their lack of sophistication sometimes spares them the problems with nerves that affect older gymnasts who fully realize what is at stake.

But while Bela points the finger at the Chinese, the American team refused to look for any excuses. Asked about the age controversy, Sacramone shrugged it off, "I don't look 20 either," she said.