Trailing by seventeen points at halftime, Gregg Popovich walked out of the locker room with a calm expression.
The game had 48 minutes left. He had seen too many teams squander a big lead, only to throw it away with a series of missed shots or a loss of composure. All he had to do was wait, wait for these young men in their early twenties from Boston to get carried away.
At the start of the third quarter, Popovich freed Tim Duncan from the physical battles in the low post. He had Tim Duncan constantly move off the ball, going around screens from the weak side baseline to the high post, and then immediately cutting to the basket, trying to shake off Garnett's close defense with tactical movement. This was Popovich's most pragmatic adjustment in a desperate situation.
But Garnett didn't get cocky at all tonight.
Wherever Tim Duncan ran, Garnett followed. When Tim Duncan circled around the baseline, Garnett's footwork was always half a beat ahead, blocking his position. When Tim Duncan cut inside, Garnett immediately lowered his center of gravity and used his body to delay him laterally. When Tim Duncan finally got the ball, Garnett immediately provided plenty of physical contact.
In the first four minutes of the third quarter, Tim Duncan asked for the ball six times, but only managed to take three shots, making one.
Popovich didn't get the relaxation he expected from Boston, but instead got Robert Horry.
This man, who's been waiting for the final five minutes all season, fired up early tonight.
With six minutes left in the third quarter, Gary Payton drove to the basket, drawing a double team, and passed the ball to the corner. Horry received the ball without hesitation. He accepted the role of a substitute precisely to handle these kinds of balls that others struggle with.
Make a move.
Swish.
In the next possession, Garnett orchestrated the offense from the high post, Horry used a screen to circle out from the weak side, receive the ball, and shoot.
Swish.
In the next possession, Mutombo stood at the free-throw line, made a handoff, and Horry slipped out using the screen.
Swish.
One minute and twenty seconds, three three-pointers.
The 20,000 people at the New Garden rose and fell with the three balls, their cheers rising in waves. Horry didn't celebrate once; he simply turned and retreated to defense with a blank expression, as if he were doing something perfectly routine.
Popovich called a timeout. He stood on the sidelines, watching the scoreboard show the rapidly widening gap. All the tactical maneuvers here boiled down to one outcome: loss.
The third quarter ended with the score at 86-60.
The Boston Celtics lead by 26 points.
The fourth quarter was more than halfway through.
The Spurs ' starters were still on the court. Popovich stood on the sidelines, watching Tim Duncan struggle to score a basket in the low post. On the other end, Pierce immediately responded with a pull-up jumper over the defense on the perimeter.
The point difference remained firmly in the twenties, refusing to budge.
With three and a half minutes remaining in the game, Boston leads 88-62.
Time was running out. Popovich walked to the scorer's table and gestured for a substitution.
Tim Duncan, off the court. David Robinson, off the court.
Popovich took the Twin Towers off the court. The game officially entered garbage time.
As Tim Duncan walked toward the bench, he deviated from his usual route. He circled around Boston's half of the court and stopped in front of Kevin Garnett, who was bent over and panting.
Garnett straightened up.
Tim Duncan shot 8-for-23 tonight, scoring only 18 points, his lowest in the NBA Finals.
The two people stood there, looking at each other.
Tim Duncan extended his hand.
Garnett gripped it.
"See you next season," Tim Duncan said.
Garnett nodded.
Tim Duncan let go of her hand, turned around and walked back to the bench, sat down, and took a towel to cover his head.
On the court, young players like Pierce and Billups took over the final few minutes, widening the gap significantly.
On the bench at New Garden, everyone was standing and watching the game.
There are three minutes left in the game.
Doc Rivers walked to the end of the bench. Dominique Wilkins was sitting there.
Throughout the playoffs, he barely played, spending most of his time on the bench or in the training facility demonstrating techniques to younger players.
" Dominique." Doc Rivers nodded to him.
Dominique Wilkins stood up and took off his training clothes.
When the technical staff announced the name, all 20,000 people at the New Garden stood up.
Dominique Wilkins.
The Human Highlight Film. Scoring champion. Nine-time All-Star. The man who played professional basketball for seventeen years, whose trophy cabinet has everything except a championship ring.
He walked onto the court.
In the next possession, Gary Payton controlled the ball on the perimeter, slowing the pace. Seeing Dominique Wilkins slip out from the baseline, Gary Payton suddenly bounced the ball and shoved it through the gap in the defense.
Dominique Wilkins received the ball half a step below the free-throw line, with no defender in front of him.
He took a step and jumped with both feet.
His legs could no longer allow him to hover in mid-air and look down at the basket like before. But he still leaped up, his body stretched out in the air, his right arm swung in a wide arc, with a violent aesthetic unique to old-school players, and slammed the ball into the basket!
Bang!
A clean one-handed slam dunk. He can't fly as high as he used to, but the movement is still clean and crisp.
The New Garden erupted in cheers. Twenty thousand people chanted his name like a tidal wave.
Dominique Wilkins landed smoothly.
A relieved smile appeared on that weathered face.
He turned and ran back to the backfield.
Throughout his life, he heard countless cheers like this and had a legendary career.
He lacks almost nothing.
There are two and a half minutes left in the game.
He was about to get the one thing he was missing.
The final whistle blows.
The Boston Celtics defeated the San Antonio Spurs 112-82.
The score is 4-2.
The Boston Celtics won the 1999 NBA championship.
Green and white ribbons cascaded down from the New Garden, and the roar of 20,000 people shook the floor.
In the era of rising stars after Jordan's retirement, Boston reclaimed the throne.
The substitutes all rushed onto the field.
Garnett was the first to cross the halfway line, scooped up Pierce, lifted him off the ground, and yelled at the ceiling while perched on Pierce's shoulders. His voice was instantly drowned out by the massive roar.
Gary Payton stood in the center circle, head tilted back, letting the confetti fall on him, and slowly closed his eyes. Finally, he had obtained the only thing he wanted.
The outermost edge of the crowd.
Mutombo walked alone to the free-throw line, the very spot where he made two mid-range jumpers tonight.
He bent down, placed his hands on the ground, and kissed the hardwood floor deeply.
Meanwhile, at the away team's tunnel entrance.
Popovich stopped and looked back at the shaking arena and the confetti raining down on the sky.
He was silent for a few seconds, then turned and walked into the passageway.
The door closed behind him.