In mid-January 1999, the shutdown came to an end.
With Michael Jordan's retirement, the once invincible Chicago Bulls completely disintegrated.
All 29 teams in the league are eyeing that vacant throne.
After purchasing the arena in Boston, Lin Qi generously renamed it " New Garden Arena ".
At this moment, Lin Qi was sitting in the conference room of the New Garden Arena, looking at the fifteen-man team roster in his hand, without a trace of a smile on his face.
The roster depth is indeed sufficient, but he knows in his heart that the real hidden danger lies with the coaching staff. Doc Rivers and Tom Thibodeau are, at their core, coaches who will push their starters to the limit for the sake of winning. If they don't correct their bad habit of shortening the rotation, this top-tier bench depth in the entire league will be wasted sooner or later.
On the long table sat a thick stack of green folders, each with a player's name affixed to its cover and different colored dots in the upper right corner: red, yellow, green, and two striking small black circles.
Doc Rivers sat to one side, coffee in hand, and after watching for a while, finally couldn't help but speak up, "Lin, are you sure you want to show this stuff to those guys on the first day of team training camp?"
Lin Qi didn't look up, his finger turning the first page. "If we don't take it on the first day, when will we? When they've won ten games and think they're invincible?"
Doc Rivers was speechless. Tom Thibodeau, standing beside him with his arms crossed, looked even more displeased. This defensive assistant coach, who always championed a tough, physical style of play and wanted the starters to play the full 48 minutes every game, said, "I only care about one thing: don't let all the players who can defend sit on the bench in suits and watch the show."
Lin Qi opened the first folder, which contained Dikembe Mutombo's file, marked with a red dot in the upper right corner.
The team doctor pushed a stack of newly printed joint mobility and muscle fatigue reports to the center of the long table. Doc Rivers, a former player, glanced at the densely packed medical records and his brows furrowed deeply.
Mutombo remains the league's top rim protector, but he has been battling O'Neal, Mourning, and Patrick Ewing in the paint for nearly a decade. While he hasn't suffered any major structural injuries, he still has quite a few hidden ailments throughout his body.
Lin Qi tapped the red dot with the tip of his pen. "There are only 50 games this year, the schedule is extremely dense. Mutombo will, in principle, rest for the second game of a back-to-back. In the third game of the road trip, his playing time is strictly limited to 28 minutes. During the regular season, no one is allowed to play more than 32 minutes in three consecutive games. Tom, cut his low-post physicality in training in half."
Thibodeau stood up abruptly. "Are you kidding me? If you don't let him play, who are you planning to let cover the paint?"
" P.J. Brown and Ben Wallace." Lin Qi didn't even lift his eyelids, his voice unusually calm, "I assembled this frontcourt for you not so you could waste your core big man in the regular season. Tom, you need to change that bad habit of only trusting a seven- or eight-man rotation."
Upon hearing this, Thibodeau's face darkened.
Lin Qi tapped his fingers on the table, his tone leaving no room for argument. "When Dikembe is resting, P.J. Brown can definitely match up against the starters of strong teams. Whether it's defensive positioning or mid-range shooting, he's good enough. Ben Wallace has been working out long enough in the gym; it's time to give him a chance to shine. His muscles are perfect for wearing down Mourning and O'Neal. When the game needs to speed things up and someone needs to be aggressively rebounding in the paint, Bo Outlaw's lateral movement and jumping ability will come in handy. Brad Miller can create space at the high post, and his passing skills make it easy for Pierce and the others to cut to the basket. Tom, I brought you all these hard-working big men not so you could be a farm owner, grinding two or three starters to death."
Upon hearing the word "farmer," Thibodeau's expression changed.
Doc Rivers slowly put down his coffee cup, his expression turning serious. "Lin, this isn't something you're discussing with the coaching staff. This is a hard target set by management?"
"Yes, there's no room for negotiation on the red list."
Lin Qi pulled out the second red folder: Ron Harper, 35 years old. His right ACL and meniscus were completely ruined when he was young. He won three consecutive championships with the Chicago Bulls in recent years, relying entirely on his defensive awareness and shrewd experience.
Doc Rivers was somewhat worried. " Ron is a three-time champion veteran with a very strong sense of pride. He won't like the management bringing up his right knee every day; he'll feel it's a sign of distrust."
Lin Qi said expressionlessly, "He'll accept it. Because he played in the NBA Finals in June, he knows better than anyone what kind of physical condition is needed to compete for the championship in the last two weeks."
Lin Qi neatly wrote on Harper's file: Back-to-back games must be rested.
The third red folder contains the story of Dominique Wilkins, 39 years old, with a history of Achilles tendon rupture. Lin Qi's attitude was simpler. "He can't be in the regular rotation, he can't play consecutive games. I brought him back not so he could go out in garbage time and perform dunks for the home fans."
Lin Qi pushed three red folders to the front: Mutombo, Harper, and Dominique Wilkins.
"These are people on the red list, people who must be protected."
Lin Qi didn't stop, then pulled out several yellow folders: Robert Horry, Chauncey Billups Billups, Ben Wallace...
"Yellow list, control consumption, and avoid unnecessary rest days."
Horry isn't injury-prone, but Lin Qi knows very well that his value lies in the playoffs, not in playing 38 minutes every night during the regular season.
When it was Chauncey Billups Billups' turn, Lin Qi tapped the table deliberately. "Twenty-two years old, young. But the players' training rhythm was completely disrupted during the suspension. With this kind of high-density competition, young guards are most prone to groin and hamstring problems. We can't let him play while injured."
However, Ben Wallace's folder was the thickest.
Doc Rivers took a look and saw that the team doctor had drawn a glaring circle on the back of Big Ben's right wrist.
"His wrist?" Thibodeau frowned. "How did he get his wrist injured?"
The team doctor sighed and spread out several test results, " Big Ben has been doing an alarming amount of extra practice on his free throws every day. His right wrist has developed severe early-stage overuse injury and muscle stiffness."
In real history, Big Ben's abysmal free throw shooting, with a success rate of less than 30%, was not only a psychological issue, but also a lifelong ailment left by his reckless and ruthless training in his early years.
"Immediately halt his current training," Lin Qi ordered directly. "Free throw practice is mandatory, but the protective gear, power generation, and training volume will all be revised by the medical team. He's not allowed to push himself to the limit anymore."
Finally, Lin Qi took out the two folders that had no color markings, only small black circles.
Rashad Lewis and Chris Paul Pierce.
Doc Rivers' heart skipped a beat. "What does this black circle mean? Are they injured?"
"It's not an injury, it's off-court risk," Lin Qi's voice turned cold. "Especially Pierce."
Pierce was only twenty-one years old. He had slipped from the top three to tenth pick on rookie night, and he was seething with resentment. He was eager to prove himself. Young men like him, once they receive a million-dollar check in Boston, are easily tempted to cause trouble by the media's excessive praise and the city's vibrant nightlife.
Lin Qi couldn't possibly write in the file that this kid would be stabbed eleven times in a bar in the future. He simply pushed over the management terms that had already been set up: a dedicated team driver for transportation, strict prohibition against going out alone at night, commercial security escort, and rookies must be accompanied by staff when going to any public entertainment venues.
Doc Rivers couldn't help but chuckle wryly, "Lin, you're treating an NBA team like a boarding school. If those millionaires knew, they'd absolutely tear you apart."
"They can complain," Lin Qi said, turning Pierce's file face down. "I don't care. As long as they can safely extend their careers and earn more money, it's only good for them."
Just then, the meeting room door was pushed open, and the team's training camp ended, with players pouring in one after another.
Gary Payton, walking at the front, was completely at ease, strolling over and immediately noticing the row of colorful folders on the table. Gary Payton reached out and pulled out his own file, only to see a yellow dot stuck to the upper right corner.
Gary Payton raised an eyebrow and turned to Lin Qi and the team doctor beside him. "Wait, what does the yellow dot mean? I'm thirty, not seventy! I'm perfectly fine."
The team doctor quickly pulled out his medical records and explained in a low voice, " Gary, you're in excellent health; all your indicators are the best on the team. It's just that the manager is considering the tight schedule after the lockout..."
"Health means green!" Gary Payton slammed the folder back on the table, grinning widely. "Lin, hurry up and change it for me. I'm perfectly fine now, I don't need any maintenance."
Seeing the guy's unyielding tough-guy attitude, and then glancing at the perfect medical report in the team doctor's hand, Lin Qi finally gave in, took a green dot, and changed the guy's file to green.
Lin Qi looked up at him. "Okay. But Gary Payton, you have other tasks."
"What mission?" Gary Payton's laughter subsided.
Lin Qi steadily pushed the three red folders containing Mutombo, Harper, and Dominique Wilkins' names in front of Gary Payton.
"When those old guys are resting, you'll be in charge of leading these young guys on the court."
A subtle silence fell over the room.
Gary Payton puffed out his cheeks a few times, clearly wanting to unleash a torrent of profanity, but meeting Lin Qi's unwavering gaze, he swallowed his trash talk.
His vice-captain's airs instantly kicked in; he whirled around and pointed menacingly at Brad Miller: "Hey, big guy! What's your name again?"
"Brad... Brad." Miller straightened up instinctively Miller, startled.
"Very well, Brad!" Gary Payton sneered, revealing a set of white teeth. "From now on, when Dikembe isn't on the court, if you ever get pushed around like a folding chair in the paint again, I'll personally shove the basketball into your mouth!"
Miller swallowed hard. "I'll try my best to stand firm."
Gary Payton's gaze fell on Chris Paul Pierce. The tenth overall pick in the small forward draft didn't flinch; he wore his green training cap askew and met Gary Payton's gaze with a cold, hard expression.
Just then, " African Mountain " Mutombo walked in. He immediately saw the red dot above his name, and the smile on Mountain face vanished instantly, "Lin, what does this mean? I can still play! I'm not some old man about to retire!"
Doc Rivers was about to step in to smooth things over when Lin Qi raised his hand to stop him.
Lin Qi stood up to face Mutombo, handing him the red dot folder. "I know you can play, Dikembe. But without your defense, Boston won't win the championship in June. I won't allow you to waste your precious knees in a meaningless February."
Mutombo looked down at the folder, remained silent for a long time, and finally his voice softened. "If I take a break, what will happen to our paint section?"
Before Lin Qi could speak, Gary Payton, standing nearby, spat impatiently, "Don't worry, on nights you're not here, I'll let those brats know that Boston's restricted area isn't some damn public toilet that anyone can come into!"
Mutombo looked at Gary Payton and finally let out a low laugh.
Veteran Ron Harper was the last to enter. He picked up his red folder, flipped through a couple of pages, and the striking phrase "Back-to-back matches must be canceled" caught his eye. Harper wasn't angry, not even frowning; he simply closed the folder calmly. "Okay, I'll follow orders."
Gary Payton raised an eyebrow, somewhat puzzled. " Ron, you just accept it like that?"
Harper looked at the people in the locker room and chuckled softly, " Gary, over the years I've seen too many idiots who fly in March and can only limp on the bench in June."
Ben Wallace, standing in the corner, received his brand-new training roster. Big Ben at the detailed plans, down to protective gear and subtle adjustments to his power, his rough voice sounded somewhat hollow, "I... I'm just bad at free throws."
The team doctor patted him lightly on the shoulder. "You have a minor problem that we can manage right now, and we're here to help."
"I will do as you say." Big Ben nodded firmly.
Lin Qi surveyed the entire arena, then slowly opened the green folder at the very center, which had no color markings. On the first page, in black and white, was a single, chilling line of text that sent shivers down one's spine: [Sole Goal: The Championship].
"This season only has fifty games, but the packed schedule will take a toll on everyone. By the playoffs, teams that have pushed through the regular season will find that they don't have many healthy players left on their rosters."
Lin Qi's voice wasn't loud in the conference room, but it was very clear.
"I don't want to regret it later. Take care of your health. Our goal is the championship, understand?"
"Alright. Let's go train now."
The players got up and started to leave. Gary Payton stopped at the door, turned back, pointed to the plan on the table, and grinned. "Lin, you better pray your new tricks work. If you mess things up..."
Lin Qi met his gaze and smiled calmly, "Don't worry, I never make mistakes."