Wang Yi and Jokic were not only competing in talent and skill on the court; they were also matching wits.
Every time the two clashed, even if it lasted only a second, there were already eight hundred schemes at play.
The other players could only stare in bewilderment.
They had thought this was a game of talent and skill. They hadn't expected it to be a battle of wits.
As Jokic kept outsmarting him, Wang Yi nearly picked up a foul three times.
Wang Yi knew Jokic was aware that he already had three fouls and would target him from then on, so he was careful not to reach in when guarding him.
If he could defend him, he did. If he couldn't, he let him go—let him drive to the basket or take a shot.
Of course, twice Wang Yi tried to steal the ball from Jokic, but Jokic noticed in time and quickly dodged away. Even as he dodged, he tried to bait Wang Yi into fouling him.
But Wang Yi was far too cunning.
He pulled back in time and didn't take the bait.
With just two minutes left in the second quarter, the lead had already grown to eleven points.
But that was only one instance among the more than ten times he had failed to get a steal.
The other teammates trained for three hours, until noon, then had lunch and rested for three hours.
When he said he'd cut off their father-son relationship, he meant it.
Wang Yi's attempts to steal the ball were unquestionably more beneficial than risky for Serbia.
"Coach Wang, what are you doing? Why are you dragging your father-son relationship into whether the team wins or loses?"
That was about Wang Yi's usual level of success on steals.
Everything had