The Spurs' security guard stared blankly at the doorknob in his hand.
Then he called loudly to the people inside, "Sorry, Coach Popovich. The doorknob outside is broken. I'll go find someone right away."
By now, everyone in the locker room was drenched in foul-smelling water, and their mood had sunk to rock bottom. When Popovich heard the security guard say he was going to find someone from the Kings, he flew into an even greater rage.
He knew that if they went to get someone from the Kings, who knew how long they'd have to wait?
The Kings' maintenance crew would surely drag their feet. Wouldn't they take at least half an hour to show up?
After all, the Spurs did the same thing all the time.
Cursing Wang Yi, that damned bastard, he took out his phone, reached it inside his shirt to dry it off, and called Wang Yi.
As soon as the call connected, Popovich launched into a loud tirade. "You damn bastard! How could you treat a nearly 100-year-old man like this? Aren't you afraid you'll go to hell?"
On the other end of the line, in the spacious, luxurious home locker room,
Wang Yi sat on a leather sofa, enjoying a leg massage from Baiyin while drinking the nutritious vegetable juice his nutritionist had just brought him.
He gestured for all the players to be quiet.
Then, struggling to hold back his laughter, he said,
"Oh, Popo, calling me before we've even started the game? That's not very nice, is it? You're asking how I could treat a nearly 100-year-old man like you, but I haven't done anything. Was there anything wrong with the hotel where you stayed last night? I specifically told them we wouldn't pull any funny business this time. We'd just