Forcing a Timeout from the Indiana Pacers

"Ahhhhh, it's Goodwin, it's Goodwin!" a blonde beauty in the stands named Melaina Weaver cheered excitedly.

Melaina Weaver had once been a student at the University of Kansas. When she heard that the University of Kansas had made it to the NCAA finals again, she and her friends went to the arena to support her alma mater, and she ended up becoming a fan of Goodwin on the spot.

From then on, she followed news about Goodwin while balancing her work.

The moment she learned that Goodwin had been drafted by the Celtics, she jumped for joy on the street. Afterward, she didn't miss a single Boston Celtics game, attending every one to support Goodwin, though she was always left disappointed when he didn't get a single second of playing time.

Even so, she persisted. She could never forget those final minutes of the NCAA tournament, where Goodwin appeared like an angel to save the University of Kansas. In that instant, Goodwin's figure had been deeply etched into Melaina Weaver's heart.

Silent persistence would eventually bear fruit.

"Girl, who is he? Why are you so excited?" an older fan sitting next to Melaina Weaver asked curiously.

Melaina Weaver replied excitedly, "I'm his super fan. His name is Goodwin, and he's truly amazing."

Goodwin? Truly amazing?

The older fan looked back at Goodwin, who was wearing the number 20 jersey on the court, with a look of doubt.

"Beep." As the whistle blew, the second quarter began. The Boston Celtics inbounded the ball from the backcourt, passing it to Ricky Davis, who dribbled across half-court at a leisurely pace.

Once across half-court, Ricky Davis dished the ball to Vin Baker on the wing.

The moment Vin Baker received the ball, the Indiana Pacers players became noticeably more focused.

Vin Baker was the only starter left on the floor for the Boston Celtics, so the Indiana Pacers assumed the Celtics' primary offensive focus had to be on him.

But the Indiana Pacers were about to be proven wrong.

Chris Mihm began moving from the paint toward the perimeter.

"Watch out, screen!" Jeff Foster, thinking Chris Mihm was going to set a screen for Vin Baker, hurriedly warned his teammates.

The next second, Jeff Foster froze. Why was he running to the corner?

It turned out Chris Mihm was running to the corner to set a screen for Goodwin.

As soon as Chris Mihm arrived, Goodwin cut sharply to the outside.

Thump.

Chris Mihm set a solid screen on the defender, allowing Goodwin to shake his man and sprint to the three-point line at a 60-degree angle on the left side.

Vin Baker flicked his wrist and passed the ball to Goodwin.

Goodwin didn't hesitate for a second upon receiving the ball; he jumped, hung in the air, and released his shot.

The motion was fluid and seamless, quick as a flash.

Under the gaze of the entire arena, the ball flew toward the rim.

Swish. The ball dropped steadily into the embrace of the net.

Three-pointer good.

33:25.

The lead instantly grew to 8 points.

"Great shot, Goodwin," Vin Baker shouted to Goodwin.

Goodwin didn't reply, instead giving Vin Baker a thumbs-up before quickly retreating on defense.

Vin Baker couldn't help but shake his head. This kid seemed like a different person once he stepped on the court; he was cocky off the court, but quiet as a baby on it.

On the sidelines, Doc Rivers nodded. This kid was truly like a microwave—he could score the moment he stepped on the floor. He had really found a gem.

At the same time, Doc Rivers couldn't help but curse John Carroll in his heart for being a pig. To have a player with such combat effectiveness and keep him glued to the water cooler—if you don't get fired, who will?

"Achoo—" Back in New Jersey, John Carroll couldn't help but sneeze. As he picked up a tissue from the table, he looked at the television, which was broadcasting the 2003-2004 regular season game between the Boston Celtics and the Indiana Pacers.

He still believed that the team's poor performance wasn't his fault and that he shouldn't have been fired, so he wanted to watch with his own eyes as the Boston Celtics fell into the abyss!

But he never expected the Boston Celtics to play so well in the first quarter.

However, he remained dismissive, as he had seen many such starts during his two-plus months of coaching.

But by the second quarter, Doc Rivers' rotation left him shocked. He had actually put in the flashy-but-useless Goodwin. What shocked him even more was that Doc Rivers was actually running plays for Goodwin.

Running plays was one thing, but he had actually made the shot.

It must be luck.

Back to the scene at TD Garden:

Clang! The Indiana Pacers missed their shot.

Chris Mihm grabbed the rebound.

The moment he saw the ball hit the rim, Goodwin had already sprinted toward the frontcourt.

The defender was a step slow and scrambled to give chase.

Chris Mihm glanced at the frontcourt, saw that Goodwin had already crossed the half-court line, and without a second thought, he threw the ball to Goodwin.

The ball sailed through the air toward Goodwin.

Goodwin kept his eyes on the incoming ball as he ran.

The ball drew closer, and Goodwin raised his hands, catching it steadily.

The moment Goodwin caught the ball, the defender closed the gap once again, leaving only half a body's length between them.

I can make it, I can make it.

Goodwin dribbled the ball and charged toward the heart of the Indiana Pacers' defense.

Before long, Goodwin reached the three-point line, slammed on the brakes, and set his posture for a shot.

The Indiana Pacers defender reacted instantly, also slamming on the brakes and lunging toward Goodwin.

???

Mid-air, the Indiana Pacers defender's face was full of question marks—a pump fake!

Goodwin faked the shot, sent the defender flying, then aimed at the rim, jumped, hung in the air, and released the three-pointer.

The fans at the arena: ???

A fast-break three-pointer? Is this for real?

The ball traced a beautiful arc through the air.

With a "swish," the ball dropped steadily into the embrace of the rim.

Goodwin had hit another three-pointer.

In less than a minute on the court, Goodwin had scored 6 consecutive points, helping the team push the lead to double digits.

36:25!

"Ahhhhh!" "Ahhhhh!" "Ahhhhh!"... Whether it's a black cat or a white cat, if it catches mice, it's a good cat. Watching the ball drop smoothly into the rim, the fans in the arena raised their arms and cheered in an instant.

The Boston Celtics bench was also in a frenzy, and Paul Pierce swung his towel wildly in the air, as if trying to tell everyone: Look, this is my junior—Goodwin!

Clap, clap, clap, clap, clap!

On the sidelines, Doc Rivers was applauding frantically.

Beautiful, well done, Goodwin.

Compared to the ecstatic Boston Celtics bench, the Indiana Pacers bench was stunned; the script wasn't supposed to go like this. Not only had the point gap not narrowed, but it had widened to double digits.

The Indiana Pacers head coach was full of question marks—who is this guy?

However, the Indiana Pacers head coach reacted quickly and immediately called a timeout.

Hearing the referee's whistle for the timeout, Goodwin stopped in his tracks, stood where he was, raised his hands high, and shouted loudly: "Ahhhhh..." venting all the frustration, depression, and every bit of negative emotion he had held for the past two months.