In the third week of the shutdown, Lin Qi took a break.
His official explanation to the public was very perfunctory: the regular season was indefinitely postponed, and there was nothing for the team to do.
After a year of hard work and dedication as the president of basketball operations, he planned to go fishing in Europe to relax.
Nobody thought there was anything wrong with it.
At that time, many people thought the shutdown would end soon, and the general consensus was that it should be over in about two months.
No one would go to Europe to watch football during such a dull suspension period.
Except for Lin Qi.
The Boeing aircraft landed smoothly on the Italy tarmac. Lin Qi didn't go to the tourist-filled Rome or the fashion capital Milan, but instead took a rented vintage car and drove west into a Tuscany seaside town called Livorno.
There wasn't even a decent tourist attraction here, and the sea breeze carried a faint salty smell. Lin Qi sat in an open-air restaurant by the sea, slicing the most authentic seafood and drinking local white wine, looking as content as a wealthy Asian businessman on vacation.
Only he knew that his true destination was a dilapidated municipal stadium in a remote corner of the small town, where even the lights were intermittently working.
Because in real basketball history, this summer, there was a fat guy who was considered a scumbag by the whole world, and he was working hard in that dilapidated arena to pay next month's rent.
The fat man's name is Brad Miller.
A Purdue University graduate, a 2.11-meter-tall white giant. In the recently concluded 1998 NBA draft, his name was read from the first pick all the way to the last pick, the fifty-eighth pick, but he was never called by any NBA team.
In all the NBA scouts' evaluation reports, the assessment of this white big man was surprisingly consistent: too high body fat percentage, too slow lateral movement, and practically no jumping ability. A typical workhorse big man who couldn't make it in the league and could only drift along in the G League.
So, with no team to play for and his job in jeopardy, Miller had no choice but to travel across the ocean to Italy, a minor league, to make a living, waiting for opportunities while earning a meager temporary wage.
In reality, Miller did take many detours in the first half of his career. During his time with the Hornets and Chicago Bulls, he was always a chubby, heavy-weight center. It wasn't until he went to the Pacers, and especially after being transferred to the Sacramento Kings in 2003 and truly taking over the mantle of center Divac as the core axis of the Princeton offense, that he successfully lost weight and became the well-proportioned, shooting, and passing All-Star center he is today.
At that moment, in the summer of 1998, Miller, who had just graduated from Purdue University, had already weighed over 270 pounds (about 123 kilograms), with loose fat covering his belly.
But Lin Qi, sitting in the restaurant, knew very well that this fat guy, who was disliked by scouts across the United States, would not only be selected as an All-Star twice in the future, but would also become one of the very few players in the entire league who could defend Shaquille O'Neal O'Neal one-on-one in the low post.
More importantly, what Lin Qi needs is not his physical post-up game, but the passing button in his head.
High-post playmaking, a smooth mid-range jumper, top-notch passing vision and basketball IQ. This is practically the perfect backup pivot for Kevin Garnett's "high-post playmaker" role.
A seven-footer who can distribute the ball high up the post like a point guard is already a headache for the entire league. What if the Boston Celtics had two such monsters in their frontcourt rotation?
Lin Qi picked up his wine glass, took a sip, and couldn't help but smile.
Those idiots who only use stopwatches and vertical jump testers to evaluate players can't see this diamond in the rough. But Lin Qi sees it clearly.
That afternoon, at the Livorno Municipal Stadium.
An insignificant Italy league friendly match was underway. Fewer than two hundred local spectators sat sparsely in the old stands, and for most of the game, the only sound was the squeaking of cleats against the floor.
Wearing large black sunglasses and a baseball cap, Lin Qi sat discreetly in the corner of the top floor, looking like a foreign tourist who had just happened to pass by and come in to escape the Suns.
On the court, that tall white guy in the cheap Livorno was instantly recognizable without even needing a scouting report.
Among a group of short and agile Italy players, Miller is over 2.1 meters tall, stands out like a conspicuous white tower. In the first few rounds of the game, Miller did struggle a bit. As the scouting report said, his steps were heavy, and the fat on his belly jiggled with each run. On the defensive end, he was somewhat embarrassed by the opposing small defenders who managed to break through his defense through switching.
Lin Qi, watching from the stands, didn't even flinch; his gaze was fixed intently on Miller's offensive move.
When Livorno got possession of the ball, Miller moved to the high post on the perimeter. He raised his hand to call for the ball, his massive body moving almost imperceptibly, only glancing briefly at the baseline in the instant he received it. The next second, he delivered a powerful, concealed, and precise bounce pass, just past the defender's fingertips, to his teammate cutting to the basket.
Score easily.
In the very next possession, Miller used the same trick again, receiving the ball at the top of the key. The opposing interior defender came out to defend, and Miller used both hands to shield the ball and made an extremely realistic passing fake, directly fooling the opponent into shifting their weight to the right. In that instant, the big man deftly took a small step back, raised his center of gravity, and gently twisted his wrist.
Swish.
A textbook mid-range jump shot, swishing through the net.
Lin Qi squinted behind his sunglasses.
This is exactly what he wants. In this new era of basketball, Brad Miller's skillful hands and passing mind are more valuable than any pure muscle. If he could shed that flabby body, his potential would be even greater.
The forty-minute warm-up match ended quickly. Miller wiped the sweat from his neck with a towel and walked with his head down toward the somewhat dimly lit players' tunnel.
Lin Qi stood up and followed them slowly from a blind spot in the stands.
The tunnel of the Livorno Arena had a musty smell that seemed to have been there for a while. As Miller walked out, he saw an Asian man in a casual suit, exuding an air of authority, leaning against the mottled wall with his hands in his pockets, seemingly waiting for him.
"Beautiful pass," Lin Qi said in fluent American English, "Especially that no-look high bounce pass in the second quarter, very skillful."
In this small Tuscany town where almost no one speaks English, Miller was taken aback when he suddenly heard a familiar American accent. He stopped and looked at the young man in front of him with a somewhat blank expression. "Thank you... May I ask who you are?"
"Just an ordinary tourist visiting Europe for the summer," Lin Qi smiled, reaching down to remove his sunglasses to reveal a pair of deep-set eyes. "And incidentally, an ordinary spectator who enjoys watching basketball."
Miller gave a wry smile. Although the man in front of him looked unfamiliar, he could vaguely sense the shrewdness that only NBA management possessed.
"Your high post playmaking and mid-range shooting are a complete waste of your talent in a league that doesn't even have a defensive system." Lin Qi looked at him, his tone as if he were having a casual chat.
Hearing this, the light in Miller's eyes dimmed, and he shook his head with a self-deprecating smile, "There's nothing I can do, sir. In the eyes of general managers across the United States, I'm just an undrafted player who can't even make the second round of the draft. Nobody in the NBA wants me."
"They're blind," Lin Qi replied calmly.
These words, though not spoken loudly, struck Miller like a needle, piercing precisely into the most sensitive and resentful spot in his heart. As a former star center who had thrived in college, now abandoned by the world and exiled to the Apennine Peninsula across the ocean, he longed to prove himself more than anyone else.
Miller abruptly looked up, staring intently at Lin Qi: "Which team are you a scout for?"