Westbrook bumped chests with Wang Yi, then they went through a complicated series of high-fives. Finally, he shook his head in disbelief with a grin.
"WOW, WOW, WOW, man. You're just ignoring every rule of physics and every law of nature. You're doing whatever you want out there."
Rose, whose hair was braided into little rows like a Predator's, shook his head in disbelief.
"I've seen plenty of people make a hundred threes in a row during practice, but you're the first I've seen do it in an actual game."
Bond came over too. "The boss doesn't just make every three. He can sink them from all kinds of positions."
Mitchell handed Wang Yi a towel and some water. "Of course. The boss goes one, two, three, four; two, two, three, four; changes positions, then shoots again."
That had everyone laughing out loud.
Wang Yi grabbed the towel, wiped the sweat from his face and head, then flung it straight at Mitchell's face. "You can't say anything decent, can you?"
Mitchell gave Wang Yi a thumbs-up. "The boss is so right. Anyone who says a dog can spit out ivory deserves to have his mouth torn off. The boss tells it like it is."
The guy could butter someone up anytime, anywhere, and once again he had everyone laughing.
Knicks head coach Thibodeau had no answer for Wang Yi's fast-break threes.
When someone got hot, you could guard him from way out and he'd still pull up right in your face. What could you do?
All he could do was tell his players, "Guard the three! When that guy gets hot, he's terrifying. We can let him drive in for a two, but we can't let him shoot threes. If we have to, foul him when he goes up for