There are a lot of people making tough statements in the league.
Some people do it to grab attention, while others do it to feed the media scoops.
Reggie Miller is also a player with a strong desire to perform, but what sets him apart from others is that he actually delivers on his promises, goal by goal.
In Game 2 of the Eastern Conference Finals, Miller delivered on his promise.
"I'll keep shooting until you despair."
That night, his aim was cold to the point of cruelty.
That wasn't the kind of game where you hit three consecutive baskets and the crowd gasped in amazement – that kind of shooting touch fluctuates, and the defense always thinks they can hold out until his touch cools down. Miller maintained an extremely efficient and consistent performance throughout the game. Whether it was around screens, sudden stops, corners, or wings, and even when the defender was right in his face twice, his shots remained steady.
To make matters worse, the Pacers are extremely adept at protecting that touch.
They played with incredible patience. Mark Jackson controlled the tempo of every half-court cross, pushing the ball up the court precisely and never wasting an offensive opportunity. Dale Davis and Rick Smits held down the paint tightly. The Celtics never managed to establish their own rhythm or get the game into their preferred pace. Every time Boston tried to launch a counterattack through hustle and defense, the Pacers would manage to slow the pace on the next possession and get the ball back to Miller.
The first three quarters were almost a monotonous repetition of the first quarter.
As the fourth quarter began, the roar of the crowd at the New Garden was no longer as intense as it had been at the start. The crowd was still chanting, but their shouts were starting to carry a sense of restlessness and a lack of confidence. They desperately needed a chance to gain momentum, or a signal to definitively end the game.
It was in this tense atmosphere that the Celtics began to close the gap.
There were no fancy plays, nor were they raining down three-pointers; the opportunities were all earned by each player instinctively fighting for their lives. A diving save, an offensive rebound, a defensive play that pushed the Pacers to the brink of a 24-second violation, and a hard-fought second-chance opportunity in the chaos. The point difference gradually shrank from double digits to nine points, then to seven. The whistles and shouts in the arena once again blended into a continuous roar.
Chauncey Billups Billups was substituted into the game at this crucial moment.
He didn't look at the big screen when he came on. As a backup point guard, he was well aware of the current situation. The starting lineup was nearing its physical and emotional limits, and the game was still undecided. This wasn't a do-or-die situation in the last two minutes, but rather the most grueling back-and-forth in the middle of the fourth quarter... The trailing team had just caught their breath when the experienced opponent sensed the crisis, and everything was still uncertain.
The ball ended up in Billups' hands.
He initiated a high pick-and-roll, and his first step was very successful. He used the pick-and-roll to shake off his defender by half a body length and drove directly down the middle. Near the free-throw line, the offensive options instantly unfolded: his teammates cutting to the basket had open passing opportunities, the shooter in the weak-side corner was already positioned, and he himself had space for a floater.
He saw it all.
But the problem is that I act impulsively and have too many ideas.
He jumped, intending to throw the ball. But while in mid-air, he noticed an opening in the corner, changed his mind, and flicked his wrist to try and pass the ball instead.
The kind of ball that changes course mid-air is most prone to accidents.
He froze in mid-air, with neither a shot opportunity nor a passing angle. The Pacers ' defender didn't even jump; he simply spread his arms, blocking all the passing lanes. Just as he was about to lose his balance and land, he panicked and frantically pushed the ball outwards at the last moment of his descent.
This shot was soft, slow, and aimless.
Davis, who was coming to cover, simply watched the ball fly towards him with a cold expression. He stood still, casually stretched out one hand, and easily caught the ball in his arms, as if he were casually catching a practice ball flying towards him from the sidelines.
Billups didn't even land properly, staggered a bit, and could only watch helplessly as the Pacers retrieved the ball and launched a fast break.
A somber sigh echoed through the stadium.
The Pacers secured possession, but Mark Jackson didn't rush into a fast break. He steadily controlled the ball, waiting for his teammates to get into position before starting to run a play. The ball circled around and, as expected, returned to Miller's hands. He received the ball on the wing, jumped, and shot.
A three-pointer swished through the net.
The difference has returned to double digits.
The Celtics' newly gathered momentum was completely extinguished by that three-pointer.
The timeouts, fouls, substitutions, and defense continued. But sometimes, what decides a game isn't the final buzzer, but a momentary collapse of momentum. After that play, the Celtics never posed a real threat to the Pacers again.
The atmosphere in the locker room after the game was so oppressive it was unbearable.
Nobody talked about the details of the match.
Some people were removing the braces from their thighs, while others were staring blankly at the floor with headphones in their ears.
The only sounds in the room were the rushing water from the shower, the screeching sound of tape being torn from ankles, and someone muttering a curse under their breath, clearly unable to contain themselves any longer.
Billups remained seated, barely moving.
As he walked out of the locker room, the sports channel was showing a slow-motion replay of the ball on the monitor at the end of the corridor. The commentator raised his voice, as if afraid that the national audience would miss the funny part.
"Look at this play. He clearly had many options; he wanted to shoot, he wanted to pass, and then... well, he committed a turnover."
The commentator next to me chuckled; it wasn't malicious, but it was still hurtful.
The footage was shown again. This time, it froze on the moment he lifted the ball and then changed his mind. The host looked at him as if he had discovered a toy that he could repeatedly examine.
"You need to figure out who you are, kid. Are you number one or number two? Are you jumping up to figure out how to write your resume?"
Billups stood there, looked for two seconds, then turned and left.
At the other end of the corridor, Lin Qi leaned against the wall, waiting for the reporters and staff to disperse. Lin Qi glanced at Billups, his gaze sweeping from his shoelaces down to his shoulder.
"Don't go anywhere tomorrow morning," Lin Qi said.
Billups looked up.
"I'll take you out for a bit."
He left after saying that, without explaining where he was going or why.