Boston, May 29, 1997.
The day after losing Game 6 of the Eastern Conference Finals to the Chicago Bulls.
The sky over Boston was a cold, hard, leaden gray, and the Atlantic Ocean winds swept through the streets, stinging people's cheeks.
Last night at the United Center, the Boston Celtics fell to the Chicago Bulls by a large margin [2:4].
The young people of Boston gave Chicago a real scare.
But a loss is a loss.
Lin Qi didn't sleep a wink all night and didn't even have time to visit Kevin Garnett in the hospital after his nose fracture.
At this moment, the large press conference hall of the FleetCenter Arena was packed with sports media from all over the United States, and the flashes of the cameras created a blinding white light.
Lin Qi stood in the shadows backstage at the press conference, staring coldly at the television broadcast screen.
On the stage in the center of the screen, Celtics ' Chris Paul Gaston is making a grand announcement to the camera with a broad smile.
"This is a great partnership. The Boston Celtics have officially signed Coach Rick Pitino to a ten-year contract. He will officially become the head coach of the Boston Celtics starting today."
Sitting next to him was a man in a sharp, bespoke suit with his hair neatly combed— Rick Pitino.
As one of the most legendary coaches in NCAA college basketball today, Pitino built a near-fearsome " Kentucky Fever" at the University of Kentucky. He championed a full-court press and an extremely aggressive style of play, leading the team to the NCAA national championship in 1996 and a runner-up finish in 1997. He is the media's favorite savior.
A murmur erupted from the reporters below the stage, and countless people began frantically taking notes.
Immediately afterwards, Pitino took the microphone and, with an arrogant and self-assured tone, delivered the most fatal blow with a smile.
"Coming to Boston is a completely new challenge. Mr. Gaston and I have reached an absolute consensus... In addition to the position of head coach, one year from today, I will officially also serve as the President of Basketball Operations for the Boston Celtics, taking full control of all personnel and management authority for this team."
Upon hearing this, Lin Qi's breath hitched slightly, and then he gave a self-deprecating twitch at the corner of his mouth.
Head coach. One year later, President of Basketball Operations.
There were no phone calls, no meetings, not even a single email that gave advance notice.
Chris Paul Gaston, completely bypassing him, publicly announced a one-year countdown to Lin Qi's career takeover in front of the entire American media.
Five minutes later, the solid wood door to the Celtics owner's office was pushed open, slamming against the wall with a dull thud.
Lin Qi slammed the door shut and stared coldly at Chris Paul Gaston, who was sitting behind his desk smoking a cigar. Gaston had just returned from a press conference, his tie still on, and his smile froze when he saw Lin Qi.
" Chris Paul, explain what's going on with this play on stage?" Lin Qi's voice wasn't loud, but it sent chills down one's spine.
Gaston paused, holding his cigar, sighed, and feigned discomfort on his face. "Lin, sit down. I know you feel offended. But as the owner of this team, I have to consider the survival of the entire club."
"Survival?" Lin Qi sneered. "We just fought a bloody six-game series against the defending champion Chicago Bulls, almost forcing a Game 7. The whole country is saying Boston has a good chance of beating the Chicago Bulls next year, and you're talking to me about survival?"
"Yes, it's about survival."
Gaston's face darkened, and he pulled a thick stack of financial statements from his drawer and pushed them onto the table in front of Lin Qi.
"You're an exceptionally bright front office genius, but you have to face reality... you've fallen to the Chicago Bulls for two years in a row. I admit it's Michael Jordan, but there are no excuses in business. You've also made quite a few mistakes over the past two years, and you have to admit that."
Gaston tapped the numbers on the report and exhaled a puff of smoke.
Do you know how much money the Chicago Bulls made last season? Over 100 million dollars! It's precisely because they have this terrifying ability to make money that the United Center dared to offer Jordan a sky-high annual salary of 30 million dollars.
You drafted Garnett and signed Mutombo, those were brilliant moves. But what happened? We still lost in the Eastern Conference Finals this year. We're still just a few steps away from that damn championship. This is a business league, winners take all, and being a loser doesn't pay the bills for me."
Lin Qi looked at the stack of financial statements, said nothing, and listened coldly.
Gaston stood up, walked to the window, looked out at the dim Boston night, and his voice was full of pure business calculation.
"And the real trouble is just around the corner. Garnett's insatiable agent has recently started making a lot of noise in the media. He's declared that if Boston doesn't offer Garnett a supermax contract extension worth over $100 million this summer, they'll just leave when his contract expires."
Gaston whirled around and stared intently at Lin Qi.
"One hundred million dollars! Lin, to be honest, in this league... there are only two types of teams that can survive. One type is a championship contender like the Chicago Bulls, who can make a lot of money. The other type is a completely tanking team, who can still make a steady profit by paying low salaries and taking a cut of the league's revenue..."
"The worst off are the mid-table teams. High salaries, high expectations, ticket sales are low, and they still have to shoulder huge salaries. If Garnett really signs that $100 million contract, and the team can't win the championship, I'll lose tens of millions of dollars every year! I can't gamble the club's hard-earned money on a 'maybe we can win' probability."
Lin Qi leaned back in his chair, his eyes icy. "So, you brought in Rick Pitino, are you planning to use his college reputation to sell tickets in Boston, or are you hoping he'll bring the Kentucky system to the NBA and replicate the miracle?"
"This is insurance, Lin. 'All in one's hands' isn't in a businessman's dictionary." Gaston wasn't angry; instead, he slowly sat back down and held up one finger. "More than half the teams in the league are waving checks at him. I can't gamble the Celtics ' future on just you."
Gaston sat back down and held up one finger.
"I'm giving you one last year. In this year, you'd better prove your worth to Pitino with your actions, make him feel that you are an indispensable helper. Or, prove that without you, Lin Qi, Rick Pitino is nothing in the Pro League. Otherwise, by this time next year, given the prevailing circumstances, it will be very difficult for me... You will have no choice but to hand over all power in the uniform department cleanly and completely."
As he spoke, Gaston pulled a folder from the drawer, slammed it onto the table, and pushed it in front of Lin Qi.
"Also, before next season starts, you have to bring me back a championship roster that's even stronger than the current one, a roster that can truly tear the Chicago Bulls apart head-on. Listen, Lin, I want irrefutable proof that Michael Jordan will be terrified. Only when I've laid down the stakes for a championship will I get Pitino to accept your coexistence arrangement."
Gaston patted the folder and added.
"Coach Pitino has looked at your current roster. He said he's not comfortable with some of your defensive and half-court players, thinking they're too slow and don't fit his full-court press philosophy. You should try to get rid of them soon. Also, all these players on the roster are former University of Kentucky players. He made it clear that he wants you to meet his team-building needs as much as possible in the summer draft and trades, bringing these Kentucky players to Boston."
Lin Qi took the folder, opened the first page, and saw a string of names marked with asterisks in blue pen.
* Tony Delk
* Wall McCarty
* Ron Mercer
* Derrick Anderson
Lin Qi stared at the asterisks, his fingertips turning slightly white from the pressure.
Gaston waved, relit his cigar, and leaned back in his chair.
"Meet his needs as much as possible, make him feel that you can work together. Lin, I hope you understand, I am not your enemy."
Lin Qi tucked the folder under his arm and slowly stood up. He suddenly remembered Garnett sitting silently in the corner of the locker room after the game last night, his head covered with a towel. He remembered Mutombo, ice-packing his knee, still telling the young players, "We're so close."
Those players thought that after losing to the Chicago Bulls, they would face summer training, trades, and revenge.
Lin Qi walked to the door, stopped, and didn't turn around.
The door closed behind me.
In the corridor, photos of the Celtics ' past championships are hung on the walls.
Beal Russell, John Havlicek, Larry Bird Larry Bird...
Those Celtics legends are all smiling in the photos.
Lin Qi walked past them, the folder in his hand crumpled from his grip.
As the elevator doors opened, he glanced down at the list of former Kentucky players, and suddenly, a chilling smile crept onto his lips.
The anger was still burning in his chest, but beneath that anger, something else had fully awakened.
The elevator is going down.
Looking at that glaring list of Kentucky names, Lin Qi suddenly smiled.
Gaston wanted financial insurance, Pitino wanted supreme power, and the media wanted a savior myth.
Then let's give them a good enough show. He can play along with these idiots for a whole year's worth of absurd drama, but a year from now, when the curtain falls, it will be time for him to settle the score himself.
The offseason has begun.
In this grand drama, it's still uncertain who will be the actors following the script and who will be the prey ultimately ensnared.