In the final moments of the fourth quarter, the air inside the Capital Centre was incredibly tense. Both teams, having exhausted all their rotation Bullets, engaged in a raw, physical battle on the wooden floor.
Chris Webber was still scoring despite his almost cramping legs, but the Boston Celtics, with their tight overall defensive discipline, gradually chipped the point difference back in.
There is one and a half minutes left in the game.
Washington center George Murray, who stands at 2.31 meters tall, used his height to grab an offensive rebound in the paint and score on the second-chance opportunity.
89-88! The Washington Bullets have taken a one-point lead at home.
The entire Capital Centre erupted in a deafening roar, as if the dome were about to be lifted. Instant pressure returned to the Celtics.
Sam Cassell dribbled the ball past half-court, and through a tight gap in the defense, passed the ball to Kevin Garnett, who was positioned high up the court.
The instant Garnett received the ball, Washington's entire defense made the predictable, desperate decision: they left the weak side open and double-teamed Garnett relentlessly.
All night, this 20-year-old third overall pick orchestrated the team's offense from the high post. The Bullets were gambling... They weren't just trying to shut down Garnett, their high-post offensive pivot, tactically; they were also betting that the 20-year-old high schooler, under the suffocating double-teams in crucial moments, would likely make a fatal mistake due to inexperience. In the harsh context of the playoffs, forcing that mistake would allow the Bullets to immediately capitalize on the opportunity for a fast break. And in these high-stakes, game-changing games, a point or two can often determine the fate of an entire season.
Two long arms instantly intertwined in front of Garnett, the intense physical confrontation pinning him firmly at the top of the arc, almost completely depriving him of the space to launch a surprise attack.
The Washington fans in the stands stood up in unison, their shrill boos deafening. Under the watchful eyes of the entire audience, Garnett didn't hesitate for a moment. In the absolute instant the double team closed in, he displayed a composure beyond his years, his wrist subtly flicking in the corner.
The basketball pierced through the only gap between the two defenders' ribs and flew precisely into the empty weak-side corner.
Eddie Jones, positioned there, caught the ball, jumped, and shot.
Swish!
91-89! The Boston Celtics have taken a 2-point lead!
There are 36 seconds left in the game.
Trailing by two points, the Washington Bullets faced their final offensive play of the season.
Strickland used his body to protect the ball and run down the clock, slowly advancing past half-court. Chris Webber, with sweat streaming down his face, walked heavily and determinedly to the high post, spreading his arms wide and frantically calling for the ball.
The hearts of 15,000 Washington fans jumped into their throats. The shouts and cheers in the arena almost lifted the dome off their heads.
Webber received the ball, firmly positioned at the corner. Directly in front of him, Garnett had completely lowered his center of gravity, locking down Webber's shoulders. A step away, P.J. Brown was fully tilted defensively, ready to cut inside and surround him at any moment. Mutombo spread his arms under the basket, creating a no-fly zone, while Eddie Jones on the perimeter cut off all passing lanes behind Webber.
Just as Webber lowered his shoulder, preparing for a powerful drive, Rick Adelman gave his final defensive signal from the sidelines.
boom!
Garnett and P.J. Brown suddenly closed in from two directions without warning. Their four terrifying long arms intertwined to form a defensive cage, trapping the exhausted Chris Webber in a dead end at the intersection of the right sideline and the center line.
Here, just steps from the Bullets ' bench and scorer's table, Bullets head coach Bernie Baker stood with his hands clenched, staring intently at his star player trapped in a suffocating encirclement, but he didn't call a timeout. In this crucial moment that would determine the fate of the season, the veteran coach chose to trust his star player without reservation, leaving the final decision entirely to Webber.
Webber, cornered in a dead end, felt an overwhelming sense of suffocation. The defense had robbed him of all his passing vision, and all around him were surging green jerseys. The red light on the offensive timer was flashing wildly on the backboard, leaving him with only a few seconds left.
He knew better than anyone that the Bullets still had the last precious timeout of the game. All he had to do was turn around and make a simple "T" gesture to the referee or scorer's table nearby, and the whole team could reposition themselves in their half and create a clean play opportunity on their home court.
Any rational player would make the safest choice. Webber's right hand had even instinctively risen to his chest and abdomen.
But just as his palm was about to strike his left palm, Webber's body suddenly froze.
He had made that humiliating "T" sign his whole life.
Four years ago, on that dark night of the NCAA finals in New Orleans, that non-existent timeout called blindly due to a miscount, that fatal technical foul that cost Fab Five the national championship—it has tormented his pride every moment for the past four years.
From that night on, the words "call a timeout" were no longer just a tactical choice for Chris Webber; they became a humiliating mark etched into his very bones. To proactively raise one's hand and call for a timeout... what would be the wisest and most rational choice for others, was, for Chris Webber, tantamount to bowing his head in front of the entire world.
No.
Besides the Ann Arbor curse, his mind also flashed back to his own unparalleled glory. Just a few months earlier, in a regular season game against the Utah Jazz, the Bullets were also on the brink of elimination in the final moments. Didn't he, with Carl Malone's relentless defensive interference, sink that earth-shattering buzzer-beating three-pointer?
This is the Capital Centre! This is his territory! He was once a savior; he can resolve dire situations in the most ruthless way!
The stubborn pride that had trapped him for four years, the desperate desire to prove himself in dire straits, transformed into an invisible steel cable, forcefully pulling down his right hand, which was halfway raised. He lowered his hand. He refused to call a pause.
Under the suffocating gaze of the entire arena, Webber did not choose to pass the ball. He gritted his teeth, grabbed the basketball, and suddenly jumped. He jumped to the highest height he could reach that night, facing the encircling defense, and forced his way up from the corner of the sideline to launch a three-pointer!
boom!
Kevin Garnett's spider-like long arms swept over him relentlessly. Under such terrifying defensive pressure, Webber's hand inevitably distorted in mid-air, but he still managed to throw the ball out using only his astonishing core strength.
The basketball soared through the air above the Capital Centre, falling into the rim under the watchful eyes of countless people. It spun wildly halfway around the Hoop before finally swishing off the rim in a breathtaking silence!
Snap!
The rebound, which had been waiting patiently, was caught and held tightly by Dikembe Mutombo. In desperation, the Bullets were forced to resort to fouling, and Sam Cassell stepped to the free-throw line, coldly sinking both shots.
93 to 89! There are eight seconds left in the game.
A four-point deficit is an insurmountable chasm for a team whose energy and offense have completely stalled. As Strickland hastily attempted a three-pointer from the top of the arc, only to have it bounce off the glass, the final buzzer blew.
93 to 89.
The Boston Celtics dominated the Bullets on the road, winning the series 3-1 and officially advancing to the Eastern Conference Semifinals.
The entire Capital Centre fell into a deathly silence. Only the Celtics' bench players roared as they rushed onto the court, a green storm spreading across the red and blue floor. Sam Cassell grabbed Eddie Jones, Finley waved a towel and jumped wildly, while Mutombo raised his hands high.
Garnett, who was instrumental in the defense, did not immediately join the wild celebration. He stood there, his chest heaving, silently watching Chris Webber in front of him.
Throughout the game, that man racked up a miraculous 32 points, 11 rebounds, and 7 assists, unleashing all the cards in his Stephen Curry. But when the final buzzer sounded, this genius who had burned himself out could only bend over, hands on his knees, leaving behind an incredibly isolated figure in the dejected gazes of the home crowd.
Garnett slowly walked over, and the two exchanged a glance at each other in the center court.
Webber didn't speak, his resolute face covered in sweat. He simply extended his right hand and slapped Garnett's broad chest hard, making a dull thud.
After taking the picture, Webber released his grip and turned to walk towards the away team's tunnel. His back looked incredibly lonely, but his spine remained ramrod straight.
Garnett stood in the middle of the wooden floor, watching the figure gradually disappear into the darkness.
In that instant, something seemed to suddenly become clear in my mind, and everything came together.
The words Lin Qi had said to him in the player tunnel half an hour earlier resonated in Garnett's ears like a belated thunderclap...
The more eager you are to prove something to the outside world, the more likely you are to trap yourself in your own trap.
Gazing at that lonely figure, Garnett finally understood Webber completely at that moment, and also understood himself.
The Boston Celtics advance to the Eastern Conference Semifinals.
Opponent: Miami Heat!