A gleam of wisdom flashed in Old Master Bo's eyes.
"Do you really think Wang Yi can't carry the team anymore? Look at how effortlessly he's played over these ten games. He's averaged just 26 minutes per game and still scored 30 points a night. If you stretch that to the usual 36 minutes per game, wouldn't he average 40 points?"
The reporters seemed to catch on.
But one of them wasn't convinced. He replied,
"You can't calculate it that way in basketball. At 26 minutes per game, he has plenty of energy. But if you stretch that to 36 minutes, his energy will fade as the game goes on, and his offensive efficiency will drop too."
Old Master Bo smiled and shook his head. His silver hair shimmered in the media room lights.
"You still don't understand Wang Yi."
He paused, then continued:
"If you watched all of the Kings' games this season, especially the three they lost, you'd notice a pattern. In a lot of games, especially close ones in the final moments, the old Wang Yi would roll up his sleeves and take matters into his own hands."
"'Give me the ball in the final moments.' That's what Wang Yi used to do."
"But this year's Wang Yi is different. In many games, he's happy to let his teammates handle the ball."
A reporter immediately objected. "That only means Wang Yi has gone soft. He's lost his fire. He's not the Wang Yi he used to be."
Old Master Bo smiled as he retorted, "Do you even believe what you're saying?"
The reporter fell silent.
Old Master Bo continued:
"I'd sooner believe the earth is flat than believe Wang Yi has lost his fire. He's happy to pass and let his teammates handle the ball because he's