Chapter 27: A Crushing Defeat
The next evening, at Hinkle Fieldhouse.
"Ronan, should we make an adjustment? Stephen doesn't look like he's in good form."
47–28. The lead was about to reach twenty points.
"Shooters need to keep shooting to find their touch. I believe Stephen will get his aim back eventually, but unfortunately, we've dug ourselves too deep a hole," Zhang Yu replied.
"He's our point guard, the NCAA's leading scorer, a superstar shooter. Shouldn't I give him time to get his touch back?"
Zhang Yu could only sub out the entire starting lineup and concede the game.
Once again, Zhang Yu answered for Curry:
The players looked up at Zhang Yu in surprise. They had expected him to unleash a furious tirade.
"Coach Z, why did you make that decision?" another reporter stood up.
The game between the Bulldogs and Purdue had reached the sixteenth minute of the first half. But Hinkle Fieldhouse, which had been roaring throughout the Bulldogs' past five games, was now completely silent.
"But we're already down by twenty-one. Where's he supposed to find the time to get his touch back?" Stevens frowned.
"Yeah!" Curry nodded firmly.
Butler fans stared in disappointment at the giant screen overhead. No one cheered or shouted.
He hadn't expected Stevens, who had always supported him, to start questioning him too. It left him feeling wronged.
"Coach Z, why did you make that decision?" another reporter stood up.
Every so often, someone raised both hands, ready to celebrate a basket, only to lower them again when the shot clanged off the rim.
"Shooters need to keep shooting to find their touch. I believe Stephen will get his aim back eventually, but unfortunately, we've dug ourselves too deep a hole," Zhang Yu replied.
Zhang Yu's eyes widened as he stared at Stevens in surprise. This wasn't Staples Center. He refused to believe Curry would go 0-for-10 from three.
The game between the Bulldogs and Purdue had reached the sixteenth minute of the first half. But Hinkle Fieldhouse, which had been roaring throughout the Bulldogs' past five games, was now completely silent.
It was already ten at night. The Bulldogs had suffered a crushing defeat, and the fans weren't in the mood to celebrate. They'd gone home as soon as the game ended, leaving hardly anyone outside Hinkle Fieldhouse. Zhang Yu looked grim on the sidelines.
Zhang Yu hesitated, then shook his head:
Zhang Yu stood frozen, lost in thought.
"Stephen, keep shooting. Believe in yourself!"
He hadn't expected Stevens, who had always supported him, to start questioning him too. It left him feeling wronged.
Stevens came over and spoke quietly. "I think they have a point."
Stevens said it calmly.
With only three minutes left, the Bulldogs were down 48–69, trailing Purdue by twenty-one. The game was all but over.
"What do you think about what those reporters said?" Stevens suddenly asked.
Zhang Yu's brows knitted together. He paced back and forth along the sideline, arms crossed, radiating an icy aura that warned everyone to stay away.
The reporter saw he wasn't getting anywhere and turned to Curry:
Zhang Yu's brows drew even tighter, but he couldn't say anything. This had been his game plan, and Curry had executed it perfectly.
The reason was the live score displayed on the giant screen: 45–28. The visiting team's score came first, the home team's second. The Bulldogs, who had won their previous five games, were trailing Purdue by seventeen points!
After the game, a reporter asked Zhang Yu:
Zhang Yu stood frozen, lost in thought.
They had to remember: in their previous five games, the Bulldogs had never trailed by more than five points.
The players looked up at Zhang Yu in surprise. They had expected him to unleash a furious tirade.
"Did you hear them? Those guys judge everything by a single game. Stephen just happened to be off tonight, and they won't let it go. Just watch—tomorrow they'll tear into me," Zhang Yu scoffed.
Stevens burst out laughing. Zhang Yu had acted like a seasoned coach ever since taking the job. Now, at last, he was starting to seem his age.
Stevens could only shrug helplessly and return to his seat.
Clang!
The reason was the live score displayed on the giant screen: 45–28. The visiting team's score came first, the home team's second. The Bulldogs, who had won their previous five games, were trailing Purdue by seventeen points!
"Did you hear them? Those guys judge everything by a single game. Stephen just happened to be off tonight, and they won't let it go. Just watch—tomorrow they'll tear into me," Zhang Yu scoffed.
"I don't think it's blind faith to give the ball to the NCAA's leading scorer," Zhang Yu said slowly.
"Heh, it's just a regular-season game. We lost. So what? We'll win the next one," Zhang Yu said indifferently.
"Why are you looking at me like that?" Zhang Yu smiled. "You all executed the game plan well. We just had a small problem at the final step. Stephen, don't hesitate. Take your shots. I believe you can get your touch back."
"But he never found his rhythm all game, and we lost," Stevens said gravely.
"Can I take that to mean you blindly trust Stephen Curry?" the reporter asked pointedly.
Curry's open three clanged off the rim again. Purdue took advantage and scored on a fast break.
The fifteen-minute halftime break passed quickly, and the second half began.
"I understand, Coach." Curry nodded hesitantly. After all those missed shots, he was starting to doubt himself.
"He just hasn't found his touch. A few more tries should do it."
He hadn't expected Stevens, who had always supported him, to start questioning him too. It left him feeling wronged.
Stevens could only shrug helplessly and return to his seat.
"Stephen, keep shooting. Believe in yourself!"
"Stephen, you went 2-for-10 in the first half, but took even fewer shots in the second. Why didn't you give the ball to your teammates?" the reporter pressed.
"Coach Z, why did you make that decision?" another reporter stood up.
The players looked up at Zhang Yu in surprise. They had expected him to unleash a furious tirade.
Curry's open three clanged off the rim again. Purdue took advantage and scored on a fast break.
Zhang Yu stood frozen, lost in thought.
The reason was the live score displayed on the giant screen: 45–28. The visiting team's score came first, the home team's second. The Bulldogs, who had won their previous five games, were trailing Purdue by seventeen points!
But the strange thing was, Curry had been fine at practice the day before. Today, he couldn't seem to make a shot.
Curry dribbled into a pick-and-roll, got past the opposing center, then saw a defender come over to help. He launched a floater from the free-throw line, but the ball bounced out again.
The reason was the live score displayed on the giant screen: 45–28. The visiting team's score came first, the home team's second. The Bulldogs, who had won their previous five games, were trailing Purdue by seventeen points!
Purdue's coach was all smiles, embracing his players one by one. Laughter and chatter filled the bench as they headed to the locker room.
Every so often, someone raised both hands, ready to celebrate a basket, only to lower them again when the shot clanged off the rim.
At halftime, the Bulldogs trailed Purdue 34–52. At least the gap hadn't widened to twenty points, allowing them to preserve a shred of dignity.
"Stephen, keep shooting. Believe in yourself!"
The players looked up at Zhang Yu in surprise. They had expected him to unleash a furious tirade.
"Coach, I'm sorry. This is all my fault."
Butler fans let out a loud sigh, while the few Purdue fans who had come to watch the game cheered with delight.
"Stephen, keep shooting. Believe in yourself!"
The players looked up at Zhang Yu in surprise. They had expected him to unleash a furious tirade.
But the strange thing was, Curry had been fine at practice the day before. Today, he couldn't seem to make a shot.
"Stephen, you went 2-for-10 in the first half, but took even fewer shots in the second. Why didn't you give the ball to your teammates?" the reporter pressed.
Purdue had been guarding Curry closely at the start of the second half, determined not to give him a chance to shoot. But as he continued to miss, they began to ease off.
"He just hasn't found his touch. A few more tries should do it."
Curry had been the Bulldogs' point guard, the NCAA's leading scorer, and a superstar shooter. Surely he deserved time to get his touch back?
The basket seemed to have a lid on it. Even when he was completely open, with no one within three feet, his threes somehow hit the front rim.
"Coach, I'm sorry. This is all my fault."
It was already ten at night. The Bulldogs had suffered a crushing defeat, and the fans weren't in the mood to celebrate. They'd gone home as soon as the game ended, leaving hardly anyone outside Hinkle Fieldhouse.
Butler fans let out a loud sigh, while the few Purdue fans who had come to watch the game cheered with delight.
"Coach, I'm sorry. This is all my fault."
"He just hasn't found his touch. That's all. Next question."
The basket seemed to have a lid on it. Even when he was completely open, with no one within three feet, his threes somehow hit the front rim.
The players looked up at Zhang Yu in surprise. They had expected him to unleash a furious tirade.
The Bulldogs' offense began. Curry used a screen to get a brief opening. Remembering Zhang Yu's instructions, he looked at the basket and started his shooting motion.
But the memory of all those first-half misses weighed heavily on him. His motion faltered, giving the defender time to close in. The three was contested, and the ball bounced off the rim.
In the locker room, Zhang Yu stood at the front, watching the players come in and sit down. Aside from their exhausted breathing and the quiet sounds of them drinking energy drinks, the room was silent. The mood was somber.
"Stephen, you went 2-for-10 in the first half, but took even fewer shots in the second. Why didn't you give the ball to your teammates?" the reporter pressed.
"Coach Z, why did you make that decision?" another reporter stood up.
The players looked up at Zhang Yu in surprise. They had expected him to unleash a furious tirade.
"Stephen, keep shooting. Believe in yourself!"
Curry's open three clanged off the rim again. Purdue took advantage and scored on a fast break.
Zhang Yu's brows drew even tighter, but he couldn't say anything. This had been his game plan, and Curry had executed it perfectly.
At halftime, the fifteen-minute break passed quickly, and the second half began.
"Stephen, you went 2-for-10 in the first half, but took even fewer shots in the second. Why didn't you give the ball to your teammates?" the reporter pressed.
"Just one loss, and those guys are like sharks smelling blood. They're questioning my strategy and trying to trap Stephen with their questions. I don't want to see them again," Zhang Yu said angrily.
"Can I take that to mean you blindly trust Stephen Curry?" the reporter asked pointedly.
Curry dribbled into a pick-and-roll, got past the opposing center, then saw a defender come over to help. He launched a floater from the free-throw line, but the ball bounced out again.
The reason was the live score displayed on the giant screen: 45–28. The visiting team's score came first, the home team's second. The Bulldogs, who had won their previous five games, were trailing Purdue by seventeen points!
But the strange thing was, Curry had been fine at practice the day before. Today, he couldn't seem to make a shot.
Curry dribbled into a pick-and-roll, got past the opposing center, then saw a defender come over to help. He launched a floater from the free-throw line, but the ball bounced out again.
The reason was the live score displayed on the giant screen: 45–28. The visiting team's score came first, the home team's second. The Bulldogs, who had won their previous five games, were trailing Purdue by seventeen points!
"Stephen, keep shooting. Believe in yourself!"
"Stephen, you went 2-for-10 in the first half, but took even fewer shots in the second. Why didn't you give the ball to your teammates?" the reporter pressed.
"Coach Z, why did you make that decision?" another reporter stood up.
Stevens came over and spoke quietly.
"I think they have a point," Stevens said calmly.
The players looked up at Zhang Yu in surprise. They had expected him to unleash a furious tirade.
"Coach, I'm sorry. This is all my fault."
Zhang Yu's brows drew even tighter, but he couldn't say anything. This had been his game plan, and Curry had executed it perfectly.
At halftime, the fifteen-minute break passed quickly, and the second half began.
"Just one loss, and those guys are like sharks smelling blood. They're questioning my strategy and trying to trap Stephen with their questions. I don't want to see them again," Zhang Yu said angrily.
Curry dribbled into a pick-and-roll, got past the opposing center, then saw a defender come over to help. He launched a floater from the free-throw line, but the ball bounced out again.
The reason was the live score displayed on the giant screen: 45–28. The visiting team's score came first, the home team's second. The Bulldogs, who had won their previous five games, were trailing Purdue by seventeen points!
Butler fans let out a loud sigh, while the few Purdue fans who had come to watch the game cheered with delight.
At halftime, the Bulldogs trailed Purdue 34–52. At least the gap hadn't widened to twenty points, allowing them to preserve a shred of dignity.
In the locker room, Zhang Yu stood at the front, watching the players come in and sit down. Aside from their exhausted breathing and the quiet sounds of them drinking energy drinks, the room was silent. The mood was somber.
47–28. The lead was about to reach twenty points.
Zhang Yu could only sub out the entire starting lineup and concede the game.
But the memory of all those first-half misses weighed heavily on him. His motion faltered, giving the defender time to close in. The three was contested, and the ball bounced off the rim.
In the locker room, Zhang Yu stood at the front, watching the players come in and sit down. Aside from their exhausted breathing and the quiet sounds of them drinking energy drinks, the room was silent. The mood was somber.
"Everyone, keep your heads up. Let's keep playing the same way in the second half," Zhang Yu suddenly said.
"Right. This is just a minor regular-season game. Winning or losing doesn't matter," Stevens agreed, then changed tack. "But what if we make March Madness and Stephen suddenly goes cold in a game? Are you going to give him one game to find his touch, then wait until next year to get even?"
It was already ten at night. The Bulldogs had suffered a crushing defeat, and the fans weren't in the mood to celebrate. They'd gone home as soon as the game ended, leaving hardly anyone outside Hinkle Fieldhouse.
"Yeah!" Curry nodded firmly.
"I understand, Coach." Curry nodded hesitantly. After all those missed shots, he was starting to doubt himself.
"But he never found his rhythm all game, and we lost," Stevens said gravely.
Curry was taken out looking miserable.
"Just one loss, and those guys are like sharks smelling blood. They're questioning my strategy and trying to trap Stephen with their questions. I don't want to see them again," Zhang Yu said angrily.
Zhang Yu could only sub out the entire starting lineup and concede the game.
But the memory of all those first-half misses weighed heavily on him. His motion faltered, giving the defender time to close in. The three was contested, and the ball bounced off the rim.
In the locker room, Zhang Yu stood at the front, watching the players come in and sit down. Aside from their exhausted breathing and the quiet sounds of them drinking energy drinks, the room was silent. The mood was somber.
Curry's open three clanged off the rim again. Purdue took advantage and scored on a fast break.
Zhang Yu stood frozen, lost in thought.
The reason was the live score displayed on the giant screen: 45–28. The visiting team's score came first, the home team's second. The Bulldogs, who had won their previous five games, were trailing Purdue by seventeen points!
But the strange thing was, Curry had been fine at practice the day before. Today, he couldn't seem to make a shot.
Curry dribbled into a pick-and-roll, got past the opposing center, then saw a defender come over to help. He launched a floater from the free-throw line, but the ball bounced out again.
The reason was the live score displayed on the giant screen: 45–28. The visiting team's score came first, the home team's second. The Bulldogs, who had won their previous five games, were trailing Purdue by seventeen points!
"Stephen, keep shooting. Believe in yourself!"
The players looked up at Zhang Yu in surprise. They had expected him to unleash a furious tirade.
Curry's open three clanged off the rim again. Purdue took advantage and scored on a fast break.
Zhang Yu stood frozen, lost in thought.
The reason was the live score displayed on the giant screen: 45–28. The visiting team's score came first, the home team's second. The Bulldogs, who had won their previous five games, were trailing Purdue by seventeen points!
But the strange thing was, Curry had been fine at practice the day before. Today, he couldn't seem to make a shot.
In the locker room, Zhang Yu stood at the front, watching the players come in and sit down. Aside from their exhausted breathing and the quiet sounds of them drinking energy drinks, the room was silent. The mood was somber.
"Everyone, keep your heads up. Let's keep playing the same way in the second half," Zhang Yu suddenly said.
"Right. This is just a minor regular-season game. Winning or losing doesn't matter," Stevens agreed, then changed tack. "But what if we make March Madness and Stephen suddenly goes cold in a game? Are you going to give him one game to find his touch, then wait until next year to get even?"
It was already ten at night. The Bulldogs had suffered a crushing defeat, and the fans weren't in the mood to celebrate. They'd gone home as soon as the game ended, leaving hardly anyone outside Hinkle Fieldhouse.
Zhang Yu could only sub out the entire starting lineup and concede the game.
But the memory of all those first-half misses weighed heavily on him. His motion faltered, giving the defender time to close in. The three was contested, and the ball bounced off the rim.
In the locker room, Zhang Yu stood at the front, watching the players come in and sit down. Aside from their exhausted breathing and the quiet sounds of them drinking energy drinks, the room was silent. The mood was somber.
"Everyone, keep your heads up. Let's keep playing the same way in the second half," Zhang Yu suddenly said.
"Right. This is just a minor regular-season game. Winning or losing doesn't matter," Stevens agreed, then changed tack. "But what if we make March Madness and Stephen suddenly goes cold in a game? Are you going to give him one game to find his touch, then wait until next year to get even?"
The next evening, at Hinkle Fieldhouse.
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