The Knicks had checked into a downtown Los Angeles hotel, and the conference room curtains were drawn shut tight.
Only a few cold white ceiling lights illuminated the long conference table.
It was nearly one in the morning when Mengke Bateer returned to the hotel.
No one yawned. No one slumped carelessly in their chairs.
The Game 3 loss hung over every heart like a heavy stone.
Jeff Van Gundy stood before the whiteboard, holding a black marker.
He did not immediately launch into a harsh reprimand.
Van Gundy knew very well that their loss to the Lakers had not been due to a lack of effort from his players.
The Lakers had simply unleashed a level of fighting spirit beyond anyone's expectations.
O'Neal had broken free of the Hack-a-Shaq strategy's restraints, while the Lakers' role players had rained down threes.
He circled the tactical replay diagram from the final two minutes of Game 3 with his marker.
"Guys, lift your heads and look at me."
Van Gundy's voice was not loud, but it was clear enough to cut through the silent conference room.
"One loss does not mean our Dynasty has collapsed."
"The series is still two to one. We still hold the advantage."
Sprewell leaned against his chair, his fingers absently rubbing his wristband.
The Madman still wore the same defiant expression he had carried during the game, though his brows were tightly furrowed.
Allan Houston leaned forward slightly, his eyes fixed on the tactical positions marked on the whiteboard.
Donyell Marshall held his stat sheet and silently scanned every number on it.
Stephen Jackson sat on the bench side of the room, listening intently.
Michael Jordan sat on the right side of the long table.
He rubbed his knee, the movement so subtle it was almost impossible