Old Master Bo unleashed a furious tirade at Carl, spittle nearly covering her face.
Poor Carl. As this year's All-Star guard, she had the silky skills of Irving and the explosive athleticism of Westbrook in his prime.
But under the furious tirade of this eighty-year-old man, she was trembling and didn't dare say a word.
Meanwhile, Wang Yi still wore a mischievous grin as he deliberately walked past Popo.
"Hey, sorry, Popo. It wasn't his fault. It was all mine. If I hadn't made that damn three, you wouldn't be this furious."
Popovich was even more incensed at that.
He glared, his mustache bristling.
But he knew Wang Yi was trash-talking to rile him up and make him lose his temper.
So all he did was glare fiercely at Wang Yi.
When Popo didn't respond, Wang Yi kept grinning and taunting him:
"You wanted me to score only two points in one possession, but it backfired and I scored five. Sorry to disappoint you."
In fact, Wang Yi hadn't scored five yet. He still had one free throw to take.
But claiming he was sure to score five in this situation showed just how confident he was.
Old Master Bo could only glare helplessly.
Then he swept a hand through the air. "Carl, let me make this crystal clear: make one more mistake and you're sitting on the bench—and not just for the rest of this game."
Still trembling, poor Carl could only lower her head and return to the court.
Wang Yi still had one free throw.
This time, he didn't try to bounce the ball off the rim.
After all, bouncing the ball off the rim so it came right back into your hands wasn't a matter of skill. It was luck.
If you were lucky, it bounced