1998-1999 season, first round of the playoffs.
Boston Celtics vs. New York Knicks.
It rained in Boston the morning the matchups were released.
A hazy, damp mist rose up the Charles River, and the flags outside the New Garden drooped.
On the television, the ESPN anchor's voice was hoarse as the screen displayed the two teams' playoff stats from last year: 0-3, a three-game sweep. Footage of the overtime loss, the departing crowd, and former coach Pitino frequently waving his hand to call timeouts during crucial moments were edited together and played repeatedly.
The New York Post's front page featured two lines of black text. "Can't beat them last year, can't beat them this year."
Lin Qi sat in the CEO's office, his right hand pressing down on the newspaper, his five fingers curling up, before he crumpled it into a ball and threw it into the wastebasket.
He looked at the phone on the table, his hand hovering in the air for two seconds before finally bringing it back.
With Doc Rivers on the team this year, the locker room shouldn't need him or any motivation.
Gary Payton chewed his gum, leaned back, and banged his heels against the cabinet door, making a series of dull thuds.
Garnett, standing next to him, had his arms crossed over his chest, his broad shoulders resting against the wooden panel of the locker, his gaze fixed on the team emblem in the center of the locker room floor.
They've seen it all before: Charles Oakley taunting him with his hands on his hips last year, Patrick Ewing using his elbow to push aside the defense and force his way to the basket in a physical battle.
No one will forget the image of Gary Payton ripping off his towel and throwing it on the ground after Game 3 of the series, and Garnett walking over and putting his arms around him.
Mutombo sat deep in the locker room, tearing off layers of duct tape from his ankle, the rhythmic ripping sounds of his movements creating a rustling effect.
Pierce stood with his knees apart, hands supporting his knees, occasionally glancing up at his teammates, his chest heaving more rapidly than usual.
The locker room door was pushed open. Head coach Doc Rivers walked in, carrying a tactical board, and stood directly in the middle of everyone.
"I know you've waited a year." Doc Rivers tossed Mark into the tray and stepped aside to make way. "Let's go."
First round, first match.
Lin Qi didn't go to the VIP box, but stood in the shadows at the exit of the players' tunnel.
He replaced the short film on the big screen before the game. When he was editing the film, the young editor in the broadcast room was shaking. He turned to him and asked, "Mr. Lin Qi, is it really okay to show this?" Lin Qi only replied, "Just show it. I'll take responsibility if anything goes wrong."
The stadium lights went out.
The four large screens overhead lit up simultaneously. There was no rousing music, only the original soundtrack from last year's sweep: the whistle for a traveling violation, Pitino's roar from the sidelines, and the hysterical celebrations of Knicks fans in the center of Madison Square Garden. The image finally focused on a fat New York fan who was giving the middle finger to the camera, his chubby face all scrunched up.
The editor strictly followed Lin Qi's instructions, freezing that frame for a full three seconds.
The clamor from the stands was instantly silenced, as if doused with ice water.
Boston don't need mobilization or empty slogans; they can simply pour saline solution directly onto the wound.
A few seconds later, tens of thousands of people roared simultaneously, the sound waves crashing against the breakwater and reverberating down the floor to the soles of the players' feet.
Gary Payton stood with his hands on his hips, his foot on the center circle, chewing his gum with a loud cracking sound.
Charlie Ward stood opposite him with a sullen face, tucking his jersey into his pants until it was perfectly tucked in.
The referee walked up with the ball and threw it into the air.
In the first possession, Gary Payton dribbled past half-court without even gesturing, and directly used his back to ram Ward into the basket. The sound of the basketball hitting the floor was dull and powerful. After a couple of back-to-the-basket moments, he sensed Ward's weight shifted to the right. Gary Payton then suddenly faked to the left, forced a turn, pulled up, hung in the air, and released the shot.
The ball bounced off the front edge of the rim.
Charles Oakley was just about to box out for the rebound when Garnett's long, thin, black arm had already passed over his head, flicking the ball back to the perimeter with one hand. The ball fell back into Gary Payton's hands, and without hesitation, he changed direction and backed down Ward, forcing him back half a step, before turning and shooting a jump shot.
Swish.
As Gary Payton retreated past the Knicks' bench, he turned his head, chewed his gum, and spat at Jeff Van Gundy, "Did you buy tickets for the game, [beep] guys?"
In the second quarter, New York revealed its true colors.
Patrick Ewing's post-up positioning deepened with each shot, using his powerful lower body to push Garnett towards the basket and sinking two consecutive hook shots. Allan Houston, using Charles Oakley's screen that seemed to cut the wall, slipped out to the baseline, caught the ball, jumped, and drained a mid-range jumper.
In the next possession, Charles Oakley was boxing out for the basket when a sneaky elbow slammed into Garnett's ribs with a loud thud. The referee didn't whistle. Garnett didn't even glance at the referee, rubbed his ribs, and continued boxing out.
The score is close.
Then they were overtaken.
The roar of the crowd at the New Garden gradually subsided, turning into a kind of suppressed unease.
The memory of last year's sweep is still fresh; every basket the Knicks score serves as a reminder of what happened last year.
The Knicks ' veteran players still possess a seasoned and sharp defensive style.
As the young Billups dribbled forward, Ward gave him a hard shove. Frustrated, he forced a shot, but the ball bounced off the metal.
Pierce was surprised to find that the home crowd could be so quiet, a quietness that was like a frog being slowly boiled in water, even more unsettling than the boos from away games.
"Beep--"
Doc Rivers called a timeout.
As Garnett walked back onto the court, he spat out his mouthguard and held it in his mouth. He then deliberately bumped into Charles Oakley's shoulder as he passed by. The two burly men exchanged a glance, neither of them flinching.
The Knicks are on offense, Patrick Ewing continues to call for the ball on the left low post. Mutombo lowers his center of gravity and uses his broad chest to firmly block Patrick Ewing's back.
Patrick Ewing received the ball and leaned back sharply, trying to use his weight to create space, but Mutombo didn't budge. Seeing Patrick Ewing Mutombo wouldn't move, Ewing could only rely on his experience, lowering his shoulder, feinting a turn, and hooking the ball with one hand in a very small gap.
Patrick Ewing thought he had dodged Mutombo's block route, but he underestimated one person.
The instant Patrick Ewing turned and collected the ball, Garnett, who was originally on the right side of the penalty area, had already left his defender behind and stepped out to the side. At the moment Patrick Ewing hooked the ball, Garnett took off with one foot, his slender arm fully extended in the air.
Snap!!
The ball was swatted towards the third row of spectators.
Mutombo stood under the basket, raised his right index finger, and slowly shook it at Patrick Ewing, one stroke at a time.
Garnett did the work, but Mutombo was forced to pretend.
The sight of that finger waving in front of Patrick Ewing's eyes sent his blood pressure soaring more than any trash talk.
Ewing's temples bulged with veins Patrick Ewing he turned to glare at the referee, who turned his head away.
The roar from the stands instantly lifted the roof off...
The unease vanished, replaced by the explosive release of a year's worth of pent-up anger finally finding an outlet.
In the next defensive possession, Allan Houston had just raised his wrist in the corner when Eddie Jones ' long arm was already right under his nose. Throughout the second quarter, Jones was like a human obstacle with legs. Houston would run against him, and Jones would run against him. Houston would go around screens, and Jones would squeeze through the gaps in the defense.
Houston hesitated for half a second before shooting, and the ball went wide.
Garnett grabbed the defensive rebound, and before he even landed, he delivered a long, one-handed pass straight up the court.
Gary Payton received the ball and easily scored a layup.
The Celtics' familiar rhythm is back.
In the latter part of the third quarter, both teams were at their physical limits and their movements became increasingly aggressive.
Larry Bird Johnson pressed his chest against Pierce, unleashing a barrage of trash talk.
Pierce dribbled against the ball on the right side of the three-point line, then suddenly stepped forward with his left foot, making a fake move.
Johnson immediately moved to block, and the two collided.
Pierce was thrown back a large step by the momentum of the impact, creating distance between them.
Johnson lunged forward with all his might.
Pierce leaned back, using his thighs and core strength to maintain his balance in mid-air, and flicked the ball with his wrist before losing his balance.
"Whoosh."
Goal! Penalty awarded.
Pierce landed with a squeak on the wooden floor, stumbling back two steps before regaining his balance.
The point difference was widened significantly by the end of the third quarter.
Billups drove into the paint, drawing a double team, and flicked the ball to the left corner.
Eddie Jones caught the ball in an open spot and, without even adjusting his motion, shot.
The basketball slammed into the inner circle, creating a white wave in the net.
The Celtics lead by 14 points.
In the fourth quarter, the Knicks launched a final counterattack.
Patrick Ewing scored 6 consecutive points, narrowing the gap to single digits at one point.
But the Celtics also started to step up their game, with Mutombo and Garnett's teamwork becoming increasingly refined.
With two minutes remaining in the game, the Knicks trailed by 13 points and began a full-court press.
Ward and Houston pounced on Gary Payton like two mad dogs, almost cornering him and the ball.
Before losing his balance, Gary Payton passed the ball through the gap between the two defenders to the bottom corner.
Horry received the ball in the left corner, jumped, flicked his wrist, and the basketball drew an absurdly high arc, piercing the Nets from directly above.
"Beep--!!"
The final buzzer sounded, 90-74.
It was an ugly, drawn-out fight, every point incredibly difficult.
The Boston Celtics won.
When the final whistle blew, the New Garden erupted not in cheers.
It was the entire city that finally released the pent-up frustration that had been building up in its chest for a whole year...
He vomited it out.
Gary Payton ripped off his jersey and tossed it to the approaching assistant coach. As he passed the scorer's table, he glanced at the scoreboard.
Win the first game.
Two more games to go.