The moment Saipan took his shot, two people—one on the court and one on the sideline—fixed their eyes on his shooting form. The fans weren't the only ones watching.
One was Popovich.
Could the kid get back on track? It all came down to this shot.
If it went in, he might start hitting a string of them. But if he missed, his game was basically over.
The other was Wang Yi. He, too, watched Saipan's shooting form closely.
He knew Popovich must have exposed his trick to Saipan during the timeout.
Popovich would surely have given the kid a stern talking-to and told him to calm down.
So, after those two-odd minutes, had the kid really managed to settle down?
Under all those watchful eyes, Saipan finally took the shot.
The moment he released it, Popovich's brows drew together again.
He was deeply disappointed.
But a smile of crafty satisfaction flickered across Wang Yi's lips.
After Saipan released the ball, it flew barely five meters before losing momentum and dropping.
The basketball and the rim were like lovers who could never touch.
When everyone in the arena saw that wide-open three come up short, they all booed.
"Booooo!"
After taking the shot, Saipan wore an incredulous look. Even he seemed not to know what had happened.
In any case, his last few shots had all been bizarre. He'd completely lost his feel for shooting.
A shooter's touch was an elusive thing.
Sometimes, the moment you got the ball, you could tell it felt just right in your hands.
It seemed as though your fingers could feel every tiny bump on the basketball.
Your hand and the ball fit together perfectly.
Before you even released it, you could feel that the shot would go in as soon as you took