The mood in the Lakers' locker room wasn't exactly lively, but it was unusually quiet.
The players sat in front of their lockers.
Some kept their heads down as they tied their shoes, retying the laces again and again.
Others clutched towels in their hands, repeatedly wiping the sweat from their palms.
Wang Yi stood in front of the tactics board and said little.
He simply circled a few key positions with a marker.
The scratch of the tip gliding across the whiteboard was especially clear in the quiet locker room.
"Just do what we've practiced," he said, looking up at the team.
His voice was soft, but full of strength.
"Give it everything we've got."
The stands outside were already packed.
Cheers rose in wave after wave.
When the Spurs players emerged from the Player Tunnel first, the visiting fans' shouts erupted at once.
Then Wang Yi, wearing the Lakers' No. 0 jersey, slowly emerged with his teammates.
The entire Staples Center seemed to catch fire.
A purple-and-gold tide surged through the arena.
The shouting was so loud it made people's ears ring.
Wemby led the Spurs onto the court.
At 36, he was still as upright and imposing as ever.
His face was expressionless, but his eyes were as sharp as an eagle's.
As he surveyed the court, he carried an air of unquestionable authority.
He and Wang Yi passed each other near midcourt.
Neither said a word; they simply nodded to one another.
The referee was already standing at center court.
The players began warming up.
The basketball struck the floor with a deeper, louder thud than it had in practice.
Thump, thump, thump—it was like a pounding in everyone's chest.
Wang Yi stood beyond the three-point line and lifted the ball for a shot.
It still