June 24, 1998, General Motors Plaza, Vancouver.
Twenty-seven minutes before the draft began, the league office received a confirmation call in Boston.
The Detroit Pistons sent out the 10th pick.
The Boston Celtics traded Rick Anderson, the 25th overall pick in the 1998 draft, two future second-round picks, and a cash prize.
In the makeshift operations room on the top floor of the FleetCenter, an old-fashioned fax machine malfunctioned for a while before spitting out its last sheet of paper.
The paper was still hot.
Lin Qi tore off the paper, glanced at the Alliance stamp on it, and casually slapped it on the corner of the table.
Because Boston had been so high-profile in its smokescreens over the past week, Dirk Nowitzki was photographed by a reporter from the Boston Globe as he walked into the arena through the side door in his eye-catching green training uniform.
The next day, press releases praising him as "German Larry Bird," "the future super power forward," and "recreating Larry Bird Larry Bird's glory" flooded the internet.
The entire league felt that Boston's die-hard old fans were once again dreaming of a white resurgence.
On television, David Stern walked onto the stage with his steady, measured steps.
The lights were dimmed throughout the arena, and the cameras captured every detail: the green tablecloths, the team's baseball caps, and the forced smiles of the players' families.
In the center of the small green room, Chris Paul Pierce, dressed in a dark suit and with his tie perfectly tied, rested his hands neatly on his knees.
When the camera zoomed in, he even smiled generously at the camera.
That wasn't something he forced out. At least for this moment, he was convinced he would soon be able to stand up and shake hands with Stern.
"First overall pick in the 1998 NBA draft."
Stern adjusted his glasses and read the name aloud.
" Los Angeles Clippers select Michael Olowokandi from the University of the Pacific Ocean."
No one in the operations room was surprised.
In this era, whoever controls the inside game controls the game.
A tall, long-armed, and athletic black man is a priceless treasure.
No matter how bad his skills were in the videotape, as long as he stood there, the boss would feel like he had bought a skyscraper that he could collect rent from for a lifetime.
The Vancouver Grizzlies selected Mike Bibby with the second overall pick.
The Denver Nuggets selected Rafe LaFrentz with the third overall pick.
The camera cuts back to the Green House.
When LaFrentz stood up, Pierce also stood up, smiling and hugging his University of Kansas teammates.
Pierce's expression remained relaxed at this point.
My teammate was selected third, so I should be selected soon too.
He even bent down to straighten his suit cuffs after sitting down, waiting for his name to be called.
The Toronto Raptors selected Antawn Jamison with the fourth overall pick.
The Golden State Warriors selected Vince Carter with the fifth pick.
Immediately afterwards, the trades between the two teams began to scroll at the bottom of the TV screen.
Pierce remained seated, his smile fading slightly.
Sixth in line...
Dallas held the 6th pick, and Don Nelson could have directly selected Dirk Nowitzki.
But Don Nelson never plays by the rules.
He had long been eyeing the Milwaukee Bucks ' heel... The Milwaukee Bucks wanted Robert Treller, the University of Michigan's tank-like giant nicknamed "Tractor" who was approaching 300 pounds.
This kind of dark, tough, and sturdy build was very popular in the 1990s. Coaches thought he was tough, owners thought he was solid, and fans thought he was reliable.
So Don Nelson decided to take a big gamble.
He wants to snatch Traeille from the Milwaukee Bucks with the sixth pick, and then force the Milwaukee Bucks to get Dirk Nowitzki for him with the ninth pick.
There are the seventh and eighth in between.
The vote count was done twice, for a total of eighteen minutes.
In those eighteen minutes, if even one general manager had a brain fart and suddenly called out Nowitzki's name, Dallas's team-building strategy for the next twenty years would have to be scrapped and rebuilt on the spot.
Lin Qi stopped twirling his pen and squinted at the television.
Stern returned to power.
"Sixth overall pick, Dallas Mavericks select Robert Treller from the University of Michigan."
On the screen, Treyler is seen wearing a Dallas Mavericks hat with a silly grin.
Inside the little green room, Pierce's fingers began to tap unconsciously on his knees.
The sixth pick has also passed.
He still wasn't chosen. When the camera panned back to him, Pierce's smile had become somewhat stiff. The person next to him whispered a few words of comfort, but Pierce just nodded blankly without saying a word.
The Sacramento Kings picked Jason Williams, nicknamed " White Chocolate," seventh overall.
His passing is unpredictable and his playing style is flamboyant. The Sacramento Kings need to sell tickets, they need stories, they need exposure to get the TV stations to broadcast their top 5 plays for free every day. Pierce's simple, technically-minded forward style is clearly not what they're looking for.
The Philadelphia 76ers selected Larry Bird Hughes with the eighth pick.
The experts in the broadcast booth started talking at length, saying that Iverson finally had a tall backcourt player by his side.
Lin Qi watched all of this with a cold eye.
That's draft night for you. It's never about who's the strongest going first. The team's needs, the owner's whims, the manager's audacity, plus all sorts of underhanded tactics by agents all come together to make it into the little note in Stern's hand.
After Pierce slipped to the eighth pick, the teams behind him became even more hesitant to make a move.
This is the tendency of professional managers to follow the crowd and be overly suspicious.
A rookie who was in the top five slipped to seventh; that's a lucky break.
As they slid down to eighth place, everyone started to frown.
By the time you reach ninth, the same ghost story will pop into everyone's head.
Did those eight general managers uncover some inside information we don't know about?
Does he have any hidden injuries? Is he a locker room bomb? Why didn't he come to us for a tryout before?
A barrage of questions arose, and no one wanted to gamble their job for a draft position.
Inside the little green room, Pierce's face turned completely black.
He stopped looking at the camera, lowered his head slightly, and exhaled a heavy breath through his teeth.
That wasn't nervousness.
It was a fit of rage following public humiliation.
He should have been in the top five; he should have been on par with LaFrentz.
Anyone in the league who watches the replays should know that he can score as soon as he gets the ball.
But now, those who are inferior to him are taking the stage one after another.
With each name that passed by, Pierce mentally marked that team with a deep scribbling.
Before the ninth pick, the camera focused on the Milwaukee Bucks.
If the Milwaukee Bucks make a rash decision and draft someone else, Nowitzki will slip to the 10th pick. At that point, the entire spotlight will be on Boston, and everyone will be pressuring Lin Qi to draft the German player they've been training and rehearsing for over half a month.
But Lin Qi knew that Don Nelson wouldn't give anyone else that opportunity.
Stern opened the envelope.
" The Milwaukee Bucks selected the ninth pick..."
The only sound in the operations room was the static from the television.
Dirk Nowitzki is from Germany.
The commentators on TV were already hyping it up. "Oh! How interesting! Boston just traded for the 10th pick, and the whole world thought they were going to get the German, but Milwaukee snatched him up halfway through! What are the Celtics going to do now? Who's their Plan B?!"
The scroll bar below quickly displayed the trade details between the two teams: the Mavericks and the Milwaukee Bucks each got what they wanted, completing the swap.
Don Nelson repeatedly teetered on the edge of the cliff, finally managing to firmly grasp the spark of the future.
Lin Qi looked at the screen and tapped his fingers on the table.
Inside the little green room, Pierce looked up when he heard Nowitzki's name.
The agent leaned close to his ear and whispered rapidly, "The tenth pick has been traded to Boston."
Pierce gritted his teeth, his face expressionless.
In the operations room, the alliance's direct line phone lit up with a red light.
Lin Qi casually picked up the note on the table.
There is only one name on it: Chris Paul Pierce.
There was no second option, no discussion, and no hesitation.
The scouting director swallowed hard. "Right now, the whole world thinks our German Larry Bird has been snatched away. Everyone's waiting to see us make a fool of ourselves."
Lin Qi handed the note to the staff member and buttoned up his suit jacket.
"Then let them laugh."
The staff member turned and quickly ran towards the submission channel.
On television, Stern returned to the stage, and the experts in the studio were still lamenting Boston's "lack of preparation," with all the reports focusing on " the Boston Celtics' carelessness in losing Dirk."
Then, Stern slowly opened the envelope.
"1998 NBA Draft, 10th overall pick."
" The Boston Celtics have chosen..."
Inside the little green room, Pierce clenched his fist in self-deprecation.
Chris Paul Pierce, from the University of Kansas!
The commentators' rambling came to an abrupt halt.
The next second, Pierce jumped to his feet, the chair behind him scraping against the floor with a screeching sound due to the force of his movement.
The family section erupted instantly, with everyone rushing forward, overwhelming him with cries, cheers, and hugs.
But there was not a trace of the elation of escaping death on Pierce's face.
When he took the green Celtics hat and put it on his head, his eyes were filled with a blazing murderous intent.
From the first to the ninth pick, every single team that missed out on him remembered him.
He walked onto the stage, shook hands with Stern, and was blinded by the flashes of the cameras.
With his hat pulled low, the camera precisely captured the corners of his mouth pursed into a straight line.
Only then did the broadcast staff belatedly shout it out.
"Oh my god! Chris Paul Pierce has fallen to the tenth pick!"
"This is absolutely the biggest blunder of the night! The Celtics were initially thought to have been outmaneuvered by Don Nelson, but they've snagged a top-five wing player for free!"
In the top-floor operations room at the FleetCenter, the oppressive atmosphere finally eased.
Lin Qi looked up at the young man on TV, wearing a green hat and with a face that screamed, "I'm going to kill you all on the field."
very good.
The proud genius had fallen all the way to tenth place, and this cold reception that night was nothing short of a public humiliation for him.
But for the Celtics, a Chris Paul Pierce stripped of his arrogance and pride, left only with a burning rage and a thirst for revenge...
That is the most perfect foundation.