Seniors in traditional Burmese sports say that the mastery of the rising and falling Tin Tin Tin Tin ball promotes patience.

"Once you start playing games, you forget everything," said Win Tint, 74.

“You only focus on touch, only on your own style.”

The Myanmar National Game Center (Chinlone) traces its roots for centuries. It is described as a fusion of sports and art, often accompanied by music, and is often seen playing in different ways for men and women.

A group of people formed a circle, used their foot-style movements, knees and heads passed the ball in a "keep foot" game, and rated the system with a scoring system that was difficult for outsiders to understand.

Meanwhile, women are in a fashionable solo reminiscent of circus performances – kicking tens of thousands of balls per game, stomping on ropes, rotating umbrellas and balance chairs on chairs on top of beer bottles.

In recent years, with the Covid-19-19 pandemic, participation rates have declined, followed by a military coup in 2021 and the subsequent civil war.

Poverty is rising and artisans are facing increasing challenges in purchasing materials to make balls.

Across Southeast Asia, the pick-up movement variant of its famous crutch is widely played.

In Thailand, Malaysia and Indonesia, participants send balls with their feet and heads to the volleyball-style game "Sepak Takraw".

In Laos, it is called "kawaw" while the Filipinos play "sipa", meaning kick.

In China, it is very common for people to kick weighted open air in parks.

Myanmar's version is believed to date back to 1,500 years.

A replica of the silver-center dance ball was found in a pagoda built by French archaeologists in the PYU era, which proved evidence of its longevity, which extended from 200 BC to 900 AD.

Initially, the sport was a casual pastime, a form of sport and royal entertainment.

However, in 1953, the game was coded with formal rules and scoring systems, as part of an effort to define Burmese national culture after independence from Britain.

"Unless the Burmese people do this, no one will retain the traditional heritage of Myanmar."

Despite the ongoing conflict, players gather under the highway overpass, around dim street lights during wartime blackouts and on purposeful Chinlone courses – usually an open metal shed with concrete floors.

“I’m worried the sport is gone,” said Chinlone Ball Maker Maker Thein, working at a stuffy workshop in Hinthada, 110 kilometers (68 miles) northwest of Yangon.

“That’s why we ship it by hand.”

Sitting on the legs, the man shaved the cane, bent them with a manual crank, and then cleverly woven them into melon-sized balls with pentagonal holes, and then cooked them in a bucket to enhance their durability.

"We checked the quality of the Chinlone, just as if we were checking for diamonds or gems," the 64-year-old PE Thein said.

“It respects us when we respect Chinlone.”

Each ball takes about two hours to produce and brings business owner Maung Kaw $2.40.

However, the high-end rattan supply he sought from Rakhine State in western Myanmar is becoming increasingly scarce.

Fierce battles between military forces and opposition groups now control almost the entire state, which makes it offer danger.

Marco said the farmer was too scared to venture into the jungle battlefield to cut down sugarcane, which endangered his livelihood.