"I know some of you are nervous. That's normal. When I won my first championship, I couldn't sleep the night before Game 1 of the NBA Finals. Not because I was scared, but because I was too excited. I lay in bed thinking—tomorrow, I'm going to prove I'm the best player in the world. That thought kept me awake."
Someone chuckled softly.
"But later, I understood. Excitement doesn't win games. Training does. Focus does. Every possession, every defensive stop, every rebound does. So starting today, I don't want to hear anyone say 'three-peat.' Don't think about a three-peat. Think only about the next possession. On offense, think only about how to put the ball in the basket. On defense, think only about how to keep your opponent from putting it in. It's that simple."
He turned and wrote one word on the whiteboard: now.
"Now. Only now," Li Fei said. "The past is gone, and the future hasn't arrived yet. The only thing we can control is now. For the next two weeks, every day, every practice, every shot, every defensive play—it all happens in the now."
He put down the marker and looked at everyone.
"I have only one demand. Once you step onto the court, give it everything you have. Not ninety percent, not ninety-five percent, but one hundred percent. On offense, attack. On defense, get into them. Grab those rebounds. Play every possession like it's the last possession of the NBA Finals. If we can do that, no one can beat us. Not the Lakers, not the Trail Blazers. No one."
The locker room fell silent for about two seconds.
Then Sprewell stood and slapped the table.
"Well said."
Then everyone stood. It wasn't some exaggerated, theatrical gesture. They rose naturally, as though something had moved them