The atmosphere in the Washington Bullets ' home locker room was extremely tense.
In the best-of-five playoffs first round, trailing 1-2, it means that another loss tonight will end their entire season.
Chris Webber sat in front of his locker, thick ice packs wrapped around his knees. His gaze was fixed on the television screen on the wall, his fingertips tapping the wooden chair with a dull thud.
The screen was relentlessly replaying the final moments of the previous game: he was tightly guarded by P.J. Brown in the lower body, and before he could even get a shot off, Kevin Garnett burst out from the weak side. The combined defensive pressure from the two players completely deprived him of his passing vision, ultimately forcing him into a distorted motion and a fatal turnover.
Webber watched that scene, his face so dark it seemed like it could drip water.
He knew all too well what kind of headlines the outside media were using to humiliate him. The commentators claimed that the Boston had found a tactical way to counter the Bullets, and they were praising the 20-year-old high school third overall pick for his groundbreaking growth, while he, the prodigy of 1993, had become a backdrop to highlight the genius, being driven step by step into a corner of despair.
"Call..."
Webber abruptly ripped the towel off his knees, stood up without a word, and walked toward the players' tunnel with a grim expression.
Washington, D. C., Capital Centre.
When the opening whistle blew in the center of the court during the very first possession, Webber showed the nation-wide cameras the real reason he was considered a super genius.
On the Bullets ' first offensive possession, Webber didn't habitually move to the high post to observe the ball distribution; instead, he directly positioned himself on the left low post to receive the ball. Behind him was the clumsy P.J. Brown on the defensive end, Garnett was lurking on the weak side, and Dikembe Mutombo was lurking deep in the paint, blocking off the space.
In the last match, this defensive cage caused him immense pain.
This time, however, Webber didn't hesitate at all when he received the ball.
He puffed out his chest and leaned back sharply, then took a huge, violent step toward the center. It was an incredibly realistic, wide-ranging feint. In the split second that Brown adjusted his center of gravity, Webber displayed a flexibility disproportionate to his size, executing an extreme reverse spin and squeezing past the baseline. Before Mutombo's massive frame could get into position to help defend, Webber stretched out his long arms in mid-air and delivered a reverse layup, sending the ball steadily into the basket.
Upon landing, the entire Capital Centre erupted in thunderous cheers. Webber made no unnecessary celebrations, simply clenching his right fist and pounding his chest before turning back to defense.
In the next possession, he moved to the high post to receive the ball. P.J. Brown dared not give him any more space, taking quick, short steps and immediately closing in with his massive defensive weight, his long arms outstretched, trying to block his passing lane to the weak side.
Webber's eyes didn't even waver. In the brief moment when Brown stepped up to defend, he subtly flicked his wrist. The basketball passed through Brown's raised arm and ribs, passing precisely to Juwan Howard, who was cutting along the baseline. The ball went in, and the referee's whistle blew, resulting in a successful and-one play.
The Washington fans in the stands went completely wild, creating wave after wave of cheers.
In the third possession, Boston's defense escalated dramatically. As soon as the Bullets got the ball to Webber, Eddie Jones on the wing abandoned his defender and pounced like a cheetah to double-team him.
Facing the double-team, Webber remained remarkably calm tonight. He raised the ball high, patiently waiting until the exact moment when both defenders' defensive focus was completely drawn away by his shooting fake before extending his body in mid-air and delivering a highly concealed long diagonal pass, precisely to the weak-side corner. Tracy Murray, open on the court, caught the ball, jumped, and drained a three-pointer.
The Capital Centre was instantly ignited, the Bullets ' bench went wild, and the players waved towels and roared excitedly.
After the first quarter, Webber had racked up 12 points, 4 rebounds, and 3 assists against Boston's formidable defense.
On the Celtics ' bench, Garnett sat to one side, his eyes fixed on the figure walking towards the bench in the center of the court.
The dominance that man displayed on the court tonight was truly formidable. This dominance wasn't just based on the literal statistics touted in the newspapers; it was his ability to use the calmest and most correct tactical choices in every offensive and defensive possession, forcing Boston's entire defense into a dilemma, and creating local advantages for Washington in the blink of an eye during fleeting defensive rotations.
As the halftime whistle blew, the Washington Bullets held their nerve at home, heading to the tunnel with a 7-point lead. Webber delivered an impressive first-half performance: 21 points, 7 rebounds, and 5 assists.
At the corner of the corridor leading from the Celtics' entrance back to the visiting team's locker room, General Manager Lin Qi stood quietly and reached out to stop Garnett, who was soaking wet.
"Did you understand?" Lin Qi asked.
Garnett stopped, roughly wiping the sweat from his face with his jersey, and gasped, "What?"
"He's passing the ball, setting high screens, and creating space for his teammates at all costs." Lin Qi's gaze was cold as he looked towards the Bullets' home team locker room in the distance. "In the first two games, he wanted to score against you as soon as he received the ball, eager to respond to the media's doubts. But in the first two quarters today, he hid that inflated 'ego.' He only wanted to win today; he didn't care at all whether he scored over you or not."
Garnett's knuckles turned white as he gripped the drink bottle. "But his hands were on fire today, and his passes were so accurate; we just couldn't shut him down."
"That's good, because that's the real Chris Webber."
Lin Qi reached out and patted Garnett's broad shoulders twice, his tone calm yet carrying a chilling, judgmental edge.
"People are most likely to make rational and correct decisions when they are full of energy and the situation is going well. But this is only the first half, Kevin. The second half of the playoffs is brutal. As the competition intensifies, the real test will come when he is exhausted, his brain is oxygen-deprived, and none of his teammates can be relied on. At that time, will he still be able to play the right kind of basketball? Will he still be able to suppress the savior-like demon in his heart?"
Lin Qi paused, looked directly into Garnett's gleaming eyes, and made his point clear.
"The most likely time for a superstar to lose a game is not when he lacks ability or has technical flaws, but when he puts his personal pride and honor before the team's victory or defeat. Because in the playoffs, the more desperate you are to prove something to the outside world, the more likely you are to trap yourself in your own trap."
The passageway was unusually quiet for a moment, with only the noise from the distant audience seats.
Garnett took a big gulp of his energy drink and wiped the water off his chin.
"Lin... what if that guy really does undergo a complete transformation tonight, and manages to suppress his inner demons until the very last second, consistently making the right choices?"
Lin Qi met the young the Big Ticket's aggressive gaze, slightly turned his head, looked across the tunnel towards the empty center of the court, and said softly:
"If he can really do that, Kevin... then tonight, we have to win a real Chris Webber fair and square."
Returning for the second half, the game completely devolved into a brutal and grueling physical battle.
Webber continued to score for the Bullets using various difficult face-up and back-to-the-basket moves, but the inherent resilience of the Boston Celtics was completely brought out at this moment.
Sam Cassell began to use his age-defying experience to control the offensive rhythm in the frontcourt. He no longer pursued blind fast breaks, but instead ran down the clock to the last ten seconds of each possession, steadily bringing the team across half-court and using pick-and-rolls in half-court sets to dismantle Washington's defense bit by bit. Eddie Jones became a sticky presence on defense, suffocating the Bullets ' playmaker Strickland with almost suffocating defense. P.J. Brown transformed into a blue-collar meat grinder in the low post, twice collapsing into the paint early to assist in the defense at crucial moments, and cooperating with Mutombo to disrupt the Bullets' attempts to cut through the baseline with passes in mid-air.
On offense, Garnett also started making the simplest yet most correct decisions. When receiving the ball high up in front of the basket, Webber hesitated to fully close out due to his explosive driving ability, and Garnett would unhesitatingly sink a three-pointer or a long two-pointer; when Webber gritted his teeth and closely guarded him, he would not hesitate and would immediately make a bounce pass to the cutting Eddie Jones; when the Bullets ' weak-side defense showed any signs of collapsing, Garnett would instantly and accurately flick the ball to Sam Cassell lurking on the perimeter, allowing the latter to reorganize or punish the defense directly with a long-range shot.
Before the end of the third quarter, the Celtics, with their ruthless and disciplined team execution, went on an 11-3 run to close the gap to just 2 points.
The players from both teams walked back to their benches with noticeably heavy steps.
With the series reaching this stage, both coaches tacitly shortened their rotations, with both sides almost exclusively using seven-man lineups. By the start of the fourth quarter, everyone on the court was nearly exhausted. Garnett and Sam Cassell were bent over, their jerseys soaked with sweat, and all that could be heard were their heavy, bellows-like breathing.
Chris Webber, now back on the bench, showed his fatigue for the first time.
He shouldered too much responsibility tonight. He had to post up, deal from the high post, battle with P.J. Brown on defense, and defend against Garnett's mid-range and long-range shots. In the extreme game where everyone's energy was at its limit, he almost single-handedly carried Washington's entire offensive system.
However, this relentless and unrelenting exertion, under the repeated onslaught of Boston's five-man defensive chain, is beginning to approach a critical point.
In the luxurious private room above, Lin Qi stood in front of the huge floor-to-ceiling windows, looking down at everything quietly.
He could see clearly that Webber wouldn't last much longer. Although Boston's defense was also exhausted, the five players were fulfilling their roles and sharing the burden with a strict defensive discipline; while on the Washington side, when the tactical gears began to break down under extreme strain, all the pressure would ultimately fall unreasonably on Webber alone.
In the most intense and physically demanding battles of the playoffs, only a very few historical monsters can single-handedly carry the weight of an entire team when their physical strength is completely exhausted. But there is an insurmountable chasm between such people and ordinary superstars.
Can Chris Webber overcome this insurmountable barrier?
Lin Qi simply stood on the high ground, quietly waiting to see what would happen next.