It's a clash of ideologies and eras. The Soviet-inspired socialist sports system runs headlong into the global world of modern sport, where stars are brands and success is measured in dollars. As far as Chinese officials are concerned, the athletes are assets of the state to be utilised for the good of the nation. The state sports system that nurtured them should benefit from their success, they believe, and the stars should show humility and gratitude. Aside from their sporting careers, the state closely controls their financial dealings and even intimate aspects of their personal lives. 'Individualism and a focus on money should be avoided,' the regulations say. A growing number of athletes, however, are grumbling about their lot and reckon China needs to change with the times. They like what they see in other countries and they, too, tend to be individualistic, ego-driven and hungry for financial success. They love their country and have no problem handing over a share of the spoils. But how much should they give? Hurdler Liu Xiang, for instance, generates more money than any other mainland athlete apart from Yao Ming. But half of his prize money is shared among the state, the athletics federation and his province. The other half is divided up between himself, his coaches and his team of medics, physiotherapists, nutritionists etc. He's lucky if he ends up with a third. The number of endorsement deals he can make is tightly controlled, but he gets to keep about half of his earnings from them. And even though the sports men and women are handing over the lion's share of their earnings to the state, they have to pay tax on what's left. While advertisers might be falling over themselves to sign up the top names, any athlete who is thought to be getting too involved in the commercial side of things gets a rude awakening. Glamour diving pair Guo Jingjing and Tian Liang were having a whale of a time on the commercial circuit when they returned from Athens with gold medals dangling around their necks. And rumours that the good-looking couple were romantically involved made them tabloid regulars, which fired their stock through the roof as far as advertisers were concerned. Although the sports system and diving federation were also making a packet out of their entrepreneurship, they were only willing to let it go so far. Busy making hay while the sun was beating down on their backs, Guo and Tian turned around one day and saw the state's sports officials snarling at them in anger. Guo only avoided being kicked off the national team when she made a humiliating public self-criticism. Tian, who had even started an acting and singing career, paid a steeper price. He was dropped from the national team and was sent back to join his provincial team in his native Shaanxi. He's still there, waiting to be pardoned. Their treatment was a lesson to all other athletes who might be harbouring greedy tendencies. Yao Ming remains a special case. With everyone trying to cash in on him, political and economic wrangling had threatened to jeopardise his chances of playing in the NBA. When he finally signed his first four-year contract with the Houston Rockets for US$18 million, he had to pay his old club, the Shanghai Sharks, between US$8 million and US$15 million depending on the length of his stay in the US, according to a recently released book called Operation Yao Ming. As if that wasn't enough, the Chinese Basketball Association initially said they wanted half of all his earnings, but finally settled for about eight per cent - not a bad earner considering that, even before hefty endorsement deals are taken into account, his second contract is worth more than US$75 million over a five-year period. The notion of repaying the nation only applies to those who came through the collective system, so soccer players Sun Jihai of Manchester City and Shao Jiayi of Munich 1860 just have to pay tax on their earnings. Similarly China's golfing pioneer Zhang Lianwei and snooker prodigy Ding Junhui, who were not cultivated by the state, pay standard tax. Most of the sports earners are in the system though even stars of the board game Chinese Go. Those in the top 10 or 20 are the lucky ones, however. Below them on the ladder are hundreds of lesser names who earn small amounts in prize money and commercial deals, but must be content with an even smaller portion of what they generate. While they are competing, the state gives them food and board and a small salary - generally not more than 1,000 yuan a month. As Ren Hai, the director of China's Olympic Studies Centre, puts it: 'It's a struggle because China is in a period of transition from a centrally planned economy to a market economy. In every industry this has caused problems but changes have been made. Sport is one of the last industries to change, but we realise it too must change. We see the problems. We have to come up with a revised system that fits better with modern China.' In the days when the sports system was constructed, having a stable work unit to support you from cradle to grave was all anyone in China could desire. It's a different China these days. For one, the state hasn't the capacity to look after most of the retired athletes, and what they offer the lucky ones in pay and employment is generally paltry. Today the private sector offers tempting rewards. The old system worked well and produced a breed of champions out of seemingly nowhere, but it relied on parents putting talented kids into the system. With no effective welfare system in place, parents these days see their children as their retirement fund, and the one-child policy means you only get one chance to secure your future. For all the headlines Yao Ming and Liu Xiang get, there is a realisation that 99.99 per cent of their fellow athletes are going to struggle, and the old system isn't going to work for the current generation of little emperors.