As the draft progressed into its later stages, after the first round, the television broadcasts lost much of their appeal.
The commentators were still discussing where Dirk Nowitzki had gone and analyzing the unseen power struggle between Don Nelson and Lin Qi.
At the bottom of the screen, a line of inconspicuous small text suddenly scrolled by.
The Boston Celtics traded Wall McCarty, a second-round pick, and cash to acquire the 31st overall pick in the 1998 NBA draft.
The host didn't even look up, flipping through the documents, and casually read out, " The Celtics made a small trade."
No one questioned it, the New York headquarters didn't show it on camera, and no one was willing to waste time analyzing a small, peripheral trade on the edge of a second round in a live broadcast.
Vice President Rod Thorn took the stage to host the second round.
Thorn opened the envelope and read out the name of the 31st pick, " Boston Celtics select—Rashard Lewis."
Upon hearing the name, the tall, thin high school student in the Vancouver stands suddenly covered his face.
For those three hours, he and his family sat in ordinary seats in the stands, watching helplessly as names went by one by one. Just minutes earlier, 18-year-old Lewis had even broken down on the spot in front of the live television cameras, bursting into tears and becoming the unlucky guy in the eyes of the entire American audience.
Only when his name was called did he wipe away his tears and stand up, trembling. The hall was already mostly empty, and his family members beside him had red eyes, shouting and holding him tightly. This high school student from Houston had finally fallen into Boston's clutches at his most pathetic and frustrated moment.
The morning after the draft night, in a private meeting room near Logan Airport.
Every few minutes, the deafening roar of passenger planes taking off and landing could be heard outside.
To avoid suspicion, Lin Qi did not choose the conspicuous FleetCenter as the meeting place.
At this point in time, the league officials, the Players Association, agents, and various media outlets are all on edge, like steel wires about to snap.
Once the major shutdown begins on July 1st, any premature overstepping of boundaries will be magnified.
We chose a location near the airport for easy access and departure.
When Dominique Wilkins walked in, he looked tired, as if he had just gotten off a plane.
"Lin." Dominique Wilkins pulled out a chair and sat down without even glancing at the coffee. "I flew halfway around the world from Italy. I hope you really have something important to say."
Lin Qi pushed the cup half an inch towards him. "Have a sip of coffee, clear your head."
"Don't give me that." Dominique Wilkins glared at him with bloodshot eyes. "Just say what you mean. I don't spend my time having afternoon tea with you."
Lin Qi smiled, withdrew his hand from the coffee cup, and leaned back in his chair.
"Okay, then I'll get straight to the point. After the lockout ends, Boston will offer you a formal contract to join them."
Dominique Wilkins raised an eyebrow. "What level of contract?"
Lin Qi looked at him and uttered four words: "Veteran's base salary."
For a moment, the only sound in the meeting room was the roar of passenger planes taking off outside.
Dominique Wilkins stared at Lin Qi for a full two seconds, then suddenly laughed in exasperation, "Minimum salary? Lynch, are you kidding me? I flew halfway around the world back, and you're just going to verbally offer me a minimum salary? I have a tax-free contract in Europe, and I just won a championship last month. I'm doing pretty well; I'm not at the point where I have to come back to the NBA to beg for food."
Lin Qi looked at him and said, slowly and deliberately, " The Boston Celtics have only one goal for next season... the NBA championship."
Dominique Wilkins ' smile slowly faded.
Lin Qi followed his gaze, his tone calm yet unusually confident. "You've won the scoring title, the dunk contest title, and been a nine-time All-Star. Now you've even won the Europe Championship and the World Championship gold medal. Your career is perfect. But if you could add an NBA championship ring to your resume, you would truly have no regrets."
For a moment, the only sound in the meeting room was the roar of passenger planes taking off outside.
Dominique Wilkins looked down at the still-steaming cup of coffee, rubbed his throbbing temples, and remained silent for a long time.
When he looked up again, the fatigue and numbness from the long flight seemed to have dissipated somewhat, and his eyes held less of the playful tone they had before, and more of a fierce look.
"Lin, I'm already 38 years old. When I was winning big contracts and trophies in Europe, I felt like my life was over. But you, with just one sentence, have brought back all the resentment I had back then."
Lin Qi said, "How about it, think about it?"
Lin Qi pushed a page of information over.
The image above shows the Celtics' projected roster for next season: Gary Payton, Eddie Jones, Robert Horry, Dikembe Garnett, Kevin Mutombo, Ron Harper, P.J. Brown, Bo Outlaw, Ben Wallace, Bruce Billups, Chauncey Billups Pierce, Chris Paul Bowen, Rashard Lewis...
Dominique Wilkins looked at the list of names and tapped his fingers lightly on the table a few times. "The roster is pretty good... So what do you need me for?"
Lin Qi cut to the chase. "I need an old guy who can shut the young people up as soon as he walks in."
Dominique Wilkins raised an eyebrow. "Old man?"
A respected senior.
"Too late, I just heard it."
Lin Qi smiled.
Dominique Wilkins was silent for a moment, then turned the list around in his hand.
"I'd consider it, but I won't sign anything right now."
"I wasn't planning on having you sign it. I won't make any promises that could cause trouble until the shutdown ends."
"Can."
"I'll go check out your team first. After I've seen them, I'll decide."
Lin Qi nodded. "Of course. But... whether this team can win the championship depends on who can unite them as a cohesive unit."
Upon hearing this, Dominique Wilkins picked up his coffee, took a sip, and frowned at the bitterness. "So what? Which unlucky guy did you find to be the head coach for this bunch of troublemakers? Pitino just left, who dares to take on this mess?"
Lin Qi didn't answer directly, but instead took out a second document from his bag and pushed it in front of him.
Dominique Wilkins glanced down at the cover; a name he knew all too well was printed in bold: [ Doc Rivers ].
Dominique Wilkins nearly choked on the coffee he had just swallowed, then grinned widely and burst into laughter.
" Doc?" Dominique Wilkins picked up the file, flipping through it like it was a joke. "Lin, you want this guy to be the Celtics ' head coach?"
"Hmm." Lin Qi nodded.
Dominique Wilkins threw the documents on the table, leaned back in his chair, and burst into laughter.
"I was his teammate in Atlanta for seven years, I know him too well. That guy's a good guard on the court, and he's a decent commentator on TV, but he's never even been an assistant coach! You want him to manage Gary Payton?! Gary Payton would tear him apart!"
Lin Qi looked at him, his expression remaining calm, until Dominique Wilkins had finished laughing, at which point he casually added a comment.
That's why I went to all the way back from Italy.
Dominique Wilkins ' laughter stopped abruptly.
Lin Qi pointed to Doc Rivers's file on the table and looked at Dominique Wilkins: " Doc alone can't control him. But what if you're standing behind him?"
Dominique Wilkins stared at Lin Qi for a few seconds, rubbed his throbbing temples, and chuckled in exasperation, "So, after all this time, you not only want a commentator to be your head coach, but you also want to drag me along, using my old face as his backing?"
Lin Qi stood up and slowly buttoned his suit jacket. "You can understand it that way. So I need you to come with me to Atlanta tonight to do me a favor and meet your old teammates."
The reception room fell silent for a moment.
Dominique Wilkins remained seated in his chair.
The roar of passenger planes outside rattled against the window, and his large, thick fingers unconsciously rubbed against his knees.
He was weighing his options.
Returning to the NBA to work as a babysitter on a minimum salary was already a somewhat undignified decision, but now he's getting caught up in the Boston management's even more outrageous gamble with a "rookie head coach"...
A full minute passed before Dominique Wilkins finally let out a long sigh of relief.
He seemed to have finally given in, or perhaps he had finally made up his mind to take another gamble, and muttered a self-deprecating curse under his breath.
" Boston have absolutely no shame when it comes to business."
He propped himself up on the table, his broad shoulders once again standing tall and straight.
What time is your flight?