"Ha! I see it now! I finally see it!"
Barkley rubbed his enormous bald head.
O'Neal nodded, still marveling. "Now that I see it, I'm even more amazed. We all saw Wang Yi twist his wrist to put a tremendous spin on the ball, making it race forward after him. But if an ordinary person twisted their wrist like that, the ball might move forward, but it would never reach that speed."
"To get it moving that fast, his wrist would have to rotate at an unimaginable speed."
"That means his wrist would need incredible strength. Apart from a nonhuman like Wang Yi, I doubt anyone else could ever achieve that."
After hearing O'Neal's analysis, Barkley looked unimpressed. "After listening to you, I think what you said was a load of crap. It's not that nobody else could ever achieve that kind of strength. Other people shouldn't even think about it. Just thinking about it would be a crime."
The two of them were always trading jokes and insults—a pair of lovable clowns.
Their commentary was pure entertainment.
By now, after watching the slow-motion replay, plenty of streetballers were itching to try the move themselves. They planned to go practice it as soon as the game was over.
The Hornets were up next on offense.
Wemby was pushed back near the three-point line.
But after receiving the ball, he faked a shot.
He'd been so accurate in the first game that Bond didn't dare give him space. He could only jump to contest, but Wemby simply brought the ball down and easily slipped past Bond toward the paint.
Towns hurried over to help.
But Wemby pulled the ball in, planted on his left foot, and turned to the right.
Towns quickly shifted right, but Wemby only turned halfway before suddenly