Just then, Wang Yi turned his head toward Spike Lee on the sidelines.
He made a very gentlemanly gesture toward Spike Lee.
It was the sort of gesture a gentleman might make when inviting a woman to dance.
He said, "This is for you."
The four players around him—King Arthur, Jokic, Little Rivers, and Aleksandar—looked at one another in disbelief.
How the hell did that go in?
What kind of damn Divine Shots were these?
God, were you going to let anyone play basketball properly?
What was the point of even playing?
Pang Bo and Hachimura jogged over and helped Wang Yi up, one on each side.
As the Beauty Referee passed Wang Yi, she said, "That was an incredible shot! But you and Spike Lee need to be a little more careful with each other."
She was warning Wang Yi.
After all, Spike Lee was a spectator.
As a player, you could provoke the entire crowd, but you couldn't single out one spectator and provoke him.
If your words got too harsh, you could very well be called for a Technical Foul.
Wang Yi smiled and said, "That guy's been trash-talking me the whole time. Am I not allowed to fire back?"
The Beauty Referee walked up to Spike Lee and shook her head. "You can trash-talk him; the rules allow it. But watch what you say, or I can't guarantee you'll be allowed to stay courtside for the rest of this game."
Spike Lee had been ready to trash-talk Wang Yi, but now he had to swallow his words.
The two teams traded baskets from there.
The Raptors couldn't stop the Knicks' three-pronged attack, and the Knicks couldn't stop Wang Yi's offense.
Wang Yi wouldn't even shoot unless he was double-teamed. He insisted on waiting until the opposing