The second game of the series between the Philadelphia 76ers and the Boston Celtics has ended.
The flight back to Philadelphia took off Late Night. After the cabin lights were dimmed, most people put on their headphones, closed their eyes, and pretended to sleep.
Iverson sat by the window, not asleep, his forehead pressed against the cool porthole, looking at the lights of Boston below the clouds.
He could still hear the deafening cheers from the New Garden three hours earlier. His mind kept replaying the Celtics' 12-0 run in the final three minutes of the fourth quarter that sealed the game.
He gritted his teeth.
The second loss was even more humiliating than the first.
Larry Bird Brown stayed up half the night before the game to revise the strategy. He suggested that Iverson relinquish ball possession to play off-ball, with Eric Snow taking over the ball-handling and playmaking. The defense would collapse entirely, focusing on protecting the paint, and hoping for Boston's outside shooting to find its rhythm.
However, this targeted tactical change failed just eight minutes into the game.
What broke down Philadelphia's defense was the basic high pick-and-roll between Gary Payton and Kevin Garnett at the top of the key.
Whenever Philadelphia's interior defense collapsed to protect the rim, Garnett would shoot from beyond the three-point line and make it. The big men were wary of Garnett's mid-range and long-range shots and would defend him out, so Gary Payton would just stick his butt out and drive Snow into the paint, then finish with a simple turnaround hook shot for a clean score.
That night, Philadelphia discovered something even more devastating than their inability to break down their offense... they couldn't even stop Boston's offense.
105 to 88.
Series score: 0-2.
It was almost 3 a. m. when the plane landed. Iverson was the last to step off the gangway, his hood pulled down low.
Game 3 of the series, Philadelphia home court.
With ten minutes to go before the game started, the arena was already in a frenzy.
As the lights went out before the match and came back on, all 20,000 fans were already standing. Ten minutes before the tip-off, the stomping of feet in the stands never stopped, and the dull tremors traveled down the concrete, making the floor shake.
Someone in the front row was holding up a piece of cardboard with only one word on it: The Answer.
Gary Payton emerged from the away team's tunnel, met with a deafening chorus of boos. Chewing gum as he walked, he glanced at the section of the stands that was hurling the most boos and slightly raised his chin. The boos immediately rose another decibel. He shrugged nonchalantly, displaying the composure of someone accustomed to such scenes, and strode onto the pitch.
On the other side of the bench, Iverson was tying his shoelaces. He tightened the laces one by one, then put on his wristbands, elbow pads, and knee pads. Amidst the deafening roar of the crowd, he seemed oblivious to everything around him. He was only concerned with finishing these tasks, then stood up and tucked the hem of his loose jersey tightly into his shorts.
Doc Rivers gave Gary Payton a brief instruction from the sidelines, and Gary Payton nodded, his gaze already fixed on the number 3 across the halfway line.
The referee blows the whistle and tosses the ball. Possession belongs to Philadelphia.
Round one.
The ball crossed half-court and was passed to Iverson. Gary Payton immediately closed in, his defensive moves exactly the same as in the previous two games... his body weight pressed down on half of Iverson's shoulder, his right forearm firmly braced against his waist to block the shot, and his left hand constantly harassing the ball's landing point.
"Back home," Gary Payton said, leaning close and chattering incessantly, "Remember to avoid the cameras when you lose later, don't let the national broadcast see you cry."
Iverson remained silent.
He kept his center of gravity low, the basketball bouncing back and forth on his fingertips, skimming the floor. He dribbled it once, then twice. Then, his right foot suddenly lunged outward.
Gary Payton defended this probing step in Game 1. Iverson took the same step, then flicked his wrist to pull the ball back to his left, trying to counter with his center of gravity, but Gary Payton blocked him with a misstep. Gary Payton's muscle memory is faster than his brain: feint, don't chase, keep your center of gravity.
He did manage to hold his ground. But this time, Iverson couldn't pull back at all.
The moment his right toe touched the ground, he was propelled forward by inertia. There was no change of direction, no recovery, just pure straight-line acceleration. His sneakers screeched against the floor.
By the time Gary Payton realized something was wrong and tried to follow, he was already a beat too late.
Just a fraction of a second later, Iverson squeezed past him from the right, their shoulders colliding heavily, causing Gary Payton to stagger. When he turned around, only his back was visible.
Garnett, who had switched onto the defense, stepped in from the weak side to cover the area, his long arms immediately blocking the path of the drive.
Iverson stopped abruptly. His spurt screeched again as the ball slipped between his legs from his right to his left. Garnett's weight shifted forward by the movement.
Taking advantage of this fleeting opening, Iverson stepped back and jumped. Before Garnett's long arms completely blocked his view, he released the ball.
The basketball grazed Garnett's fingertips. Swish. It swished through the net.
The stadium erupted instantly, with 20,000 fans standing up at the same time, the enormous roar making the front partitions vibrate.
Gary Payton stood still, squinting as he watched Iverson retreat on defense.
He defended that step-back fake for two games. Iverson used two whole games to make him develop muscle memory for that move.
Then, in the first round of the third game, he used the most direct method to turn his defensive habits into a fatal flaw.
Philadelphia regained possession of the ball.
This time, Iverson didn't wait for the play to be set up; he called Hill to set a screen as soon as he crossed half-court. Hill solidly blocked Gary Payton, Iverson used this wall to drive hard to the right, accelerating instantly.
Mutombo was already poised in the paint. The African Mountain stood guard deep within the paint, arms outstretched, blocking the last path to the basket. In the first two games, his rim protection had given Philadelphia's penetrators a hard time. When they drove in and saw him, they could only gather the ball, pull back, and regroup.
But this time, Iverson went straight in.
He didn't slow down at all. The instant he jumped, stepping off the edge of the Crash area, Mutombo's long arms were already looming overhead. In mid-air, Iverson tightened his core to the extreme, using his powerful abdominal muscles to forcefully fold his body, and in the hang time while dodging the block, he pulled the ball from his right hand to his left, sending it spinning out along the edge of the high-arcing backboard...
Almost simultaneously, Mutombo's forearm slammed down onto Iverson's shoulder, the force of the impact sending Iverson sprawling to the ground.
The dull thud traveled clearly through the wooden floor to the front row.
The basketball spun half a circle on the rim before falling into the Nets.
The referee blows the whistle. The goal stands; penalty is awarded.
Mutombo looked at the baseline referee, unusually without complaining, and simply lowered his arm silently.
Iverson pushed himself up from the floor, dusted off his shorts, and walked straight to the free-throw line. He didn't look at anyone.
Receives the referee's pass, taps it twice, and shoots. Goal.
He remained expressionless from beginning to end.
Three-pointer successful.
With nine minutes left in the first quarter, the roar of the Philadelphia home crowd had completely boiled over.
For the entire quarter that followed, Boston made almost no mistakes on defense.
The Celtics ' defensive system worked flawlessly.
Gary Payton was glued to Philadelphia the moment they inbounded the ball from the baseline, using his chest and arms to make every push difficult for them. Garnett's sweeping coverage extended inside the three-point line, and no matter how Philadelphia set a screen, he was always able to delay and reposition himself immediately. Mutombo stood on the edge of the paint, blocking all routes into the paint. And on the wing, Eddie Jones used his wingspan to box out his position, cutting off any possibility of passing the ball between the strong and weak sides.
The positioning and rotation of these five players compressed the offensive space in the half of the court to the point of being suffocating.
But tonight, none of that can stop that person.
Iverson is on fire.
He drove past Gary Payton, stopped abruptly against Jones, and forced his way through the gaps in Garnett's defense. On one occasion, cornered by Gary Payton and Jones with no way to retreat, he somehow managed to toss the ball high into the basket through the gap between their arms, losing his balance and crashing headfirst into the pile of cameras on the baseline. On another occasion, he drove to mid-range, was forced to stop, and then forced a fadeaway jumper over Garnett's long arms, swishing it cleanly.
Philadelphia's bench players jumped up repeatedly as if electrocuted, frantically waving towels.
But when the camera panned to other people in Philadelphia, the scene became quite ugly.
Larry Bird Hughes made only one of his first eight shots, with one three-pointer even hitting the top of the backboard in an absurd fashion. Tim Thomas's rim seemed to have a cover, missing all three of his wide-open shots. Geiger and Hill were battered and swayed inside by Ben Wallace and P.J. Brown, their several shaky layups bouncing off the rim.
One particular round best illustrates the point.
Despite being triple-teamed, Iverson forced a pass to Thomas, who was completely open in the corner. Boston was betting he wouldn't score, which is why they dared to double-team Iverson so brazenly. Thomas received the ball, jumped, and shot.
Three things to avoid.
Iverson stood there, watching the ball fly directly out of bounds. He paused for half a second, said nothing, turned around, and silently retreated to defense.
From the first game until now, the rest of the Philadelphia team has been ice cold.
The halftime whistle blew. Philadelphia led 44-42.
In the visiting team executives' box at the stadium's upper management level, Lin Qi held the newly printed halftime statistics sheet and remained silent for a long time.
As the architect of this Boston Celtics, he knew better than anyone how terrifying the roster he had built was. Gary Payton's defense, Garnett's sweeping play, Mutombo's rim protection, Jones ' help defense...
This is a defensive machine with virtually no blind spots.
But the data on the paper alarmed him: Iverson, 26 points in the first half. Philadelphia team, 44 points.
In other words, under Boston's suffocating defensive pressure, apart from Iverson, the other Philadelphia 76ers players combined only scored 18 points in two quarters.
Lin Qi put down the statistics sheet and walked to the floor-to-ceiling window of the private room to look down.
The players were leaving the court. Iverson was at the very back of the group, a white towel draped over his head, covering most of his face. His steps were heavy, and his right shoulder was slumped slightly, clearly indicating that he had suffered quite a bit in the physical battle earlier.
The Philadelphia team doctor followed anxiously beside him, never leaving his side, and several times reached out to help him up or check his shoulder. But Iverson didn't even look up, and simply pushed the team doctor's hand away.
He refused all offers of assistance. With his head down, he silently walked into the shadows of the players' tunnel, kneading his stiff right finger joints.
Looking at that slender figure from behind, a complex sense of awe flashed in Lin Qi's eyes.
He saw it clearly: Boston's defensive system was flawless. They cut off all of Philadelphia's tactical connections, forcing them into the most difficult shooting situations. Almost all of Iverson's points came from forced shots after losing his balance and facing a block.
This has nothing to do with tactics; it's purely about extreme individual ability and an almost self-destructive willpower.
Lin Qi turned and walked back to his seat. The tactical battle was essentially over; all that remained was the most primal and brutal attrition. In the second half, Boston didn't need to change their strategy; they just needed to increase the intensity of their defense.
Iverson truly fought with half his life on those 24 minutes.
But can he steal the show for the entire game?