The Knicks players had already surrounded Li Fei. Like a group of children who had won everything, they celebrated in the most primal way possible. Sprewell leaped onto Li Fei's back and clung to him like a koala, laughing wildly as he ruffled Li Fei's hair.
Allan Houston wrapped his arms tightly around Li Fei's waist and buried his face in Li Fei's chest, his shoulders shaking violently. This normally refined gentleman could no longer hold back his tears.
"We did it! Li! We really did it!"
"3-2! We have match point! On their home court!"
Van Gundy rushed over. He said nothing, only slapped every player hard on the back. His palms were red, but the smile on his face was brighter than ever.
At the other end of the court, it was a scene from hell.
The Lakers players stood frozen in place, each of them like a puppet whose soul had been ripped away.
Robert Horry stood with his hands on his hips, staring blankly at the glaring score on the scoreboard. Derek Fisher covered his head with a towel and crouched on the floor, his body trembling slightly.
Shaquille O'Neal, the most dominant center in the league, looked like a wounded beast at that moment.
He did not kick another water bottle or roar again. He merely bent over slowly, bracing his hands on his knees as he gulped down air. Sweat dripped from his cheeks and struck the hardwood with barely audible taps. His chest felt clogged, and an overwhelming sense of helplessness swept through him.
He had given everything he had, wreaking havoc in the paint, yet he still could not prevent this damned ending.
Phil Jackson stood on the sideline with a blank expression, but the exhaustion and disappointment in his eyes could