Then, with five seconds left in the third quarter, even a wide-open jumper from the free-throw line—a shot he normally made with ease—refused to go in.
The spectators in the arena couldn't help feeling disappointed.
After all, Wang Yi's missed shots had let the other team cut the lead to just seven points.
The other Hornets players were quietly delighted, too.
If they started the fourth quarter down by double digits, the pressure would be enormous. Getting the deficit into single digits was a huge break for them.
But watching Wemby, a wave of grievance welled up inside him.
Damn it, Wang Yi made every shot against me, and every single one was ridiculously difficult.
Now he's up against the other team's reserves, with nobody guarding him, and he can't make a shot. He can't even make an open dunk. He can't even hit a mid-range jumper that should've been automatic.
Is he trying to humiliate me?
At the thought, the momentum Wemby had just built up immediately ebbed away.
For the opening stretch of the fourth quarter, Wang Yi continued to look mediocre.
He missed two shots, then missed a layup that should have earned him a 2+1. The ball circled the rim a few times before bouncing out.
Wang Yi was baffled.
His form on those shots had felt pretty good.
Going by how they'd felt in the past, those shots should've gone in.
But he'd missed several in a row, including an open dunk. This was ridiculous.
Did he need the system just to make shots?
Wouldn't that make him completely useless?
Then, after a moment's thought, Wang Yi suddenly understood.
In the past, when he'd played against Wemby, his shooting percentage had nowhere near reached 100%.
According to the stats, he shot 53% against Wemby.
For