Wang Yi had sprained his right ankle, and now he'd sprained his left.
And judging from the replay, this sprain was clearly worse than the last one.
Wang Yi sat on the floor, clutching his left ankle, his face contorted in pain.
This time, even the Salt Lake City fans fell silent.
After all, no fan wanted to see an athlete get injured. The only exceptions were Bogut and Zha Zha.
The team doctor came over to Wang Yi again to check on his foot.
Baiyin also hurried to his side, her face full of worry.
Only a few of the most extreme Devil's Home Court fans kept cheering.
By now, most of the fans in both the United States and China livestream chats were praying for Wang Yi.
"Brother Yi, please be okay."
"If you have to, just let this game go."
"Five guys challenging an entire team on their home court was always going to be tough. You've already done amazingly well to get this far. No one would blame you if you gave up now."
The referee came over and asked Wang Yi, "Wang, can you keep playing?"
The referee meant that if Wang Yi couldn't play and the team couldn't send in anyone else, the Jazz would have to be declared the winners.
Baiyin shook her head. "No. He absolutely can't go back in. Not for the rest of this game."
But Wang Yi gritted his teeth, took off his shoe, and rewrapped the bandage around his ankle.
This time, he wound the bandage much tighter than before.
Then he clenched his teeth against the pain and pulled his laces tight.
Baiyin put a hand on Wang Yi's arm.
"Wang Yi, are you crazy? This could affect your career!"
Wang Yi looked at Baiyin, his expression