OAKA Olympic Indoor Stadium, Athens, Greece.
Five minutes remained in the first half. A faint blue haze filled the stadium, the air thick with the pungent smell of cheap tobacco and lingering gunpowder from the smoke generators. More than ten thousand Greece extremist fans in the stands pounded on the railings, their deafening shouts echoing under the dome.
On the field, Chris Paul Pierce received the ball at the top of the penalty area. He spotted an opening in his marking defender, quickly lowered his shoulder, accelerated, and burst into the penalty area.
However, just as Pierce gathered the ball and jumped to prepare for a layup, the opposing center, who weighed over 260 pounds, rammed into him like a wall of flesh. In mid-air, the Europe center subtly raised his elbow and slammed it into Pierce's chest.
"Bang!" Pierce lost his balance and fell heavily to the floor, the basketball going wide of the basket.
The referee did not blow his whistle.
"What are you looking at?! That's a blocking foul!" Pierce, clutching his chest, scrambled to his feet, roaring at the referee, then pointed to the trapezoidal paint area at his feet, "That guy wasn't even marking anyone, he was just camped out in the middle of the paint! Why didn't you call illegal defense?!"
The referee gave Pierce a cold look, made no comment, and simply gestured for the game to continue.
" Chris Paul, come back!" Dominique Wilkins, sitting on the bench, stood up and shouted.
Taking advantage of a brief pause in the game, Pierce walked to the sidelines with a dark expression. " Dominique, are these Europe referees blind? That was absolutely illegal defense! That guy wasn't even marking me; he was just standing under the basket waiting to bump into me!"
"You still haven't figured out the rules here." Dominique Wilkins handed Pierce a towel. He had led his team to EuroLeague in this arena three years ago, so he was used to the environment. "FIBA doesn't have the concept of 'illegal defense.' They allow zone defense. Even if that center pitched a tent under the basket and took a nap, as long as he didn't intentionally foul, the referee wouldn't call it."
Pierce was stunned. Accustomed to the NBA's mandatory man-to-man defense and the ability to break through one-on-one as long as there was space, he felt a strong sense of frustration looking at the five Europe players who were tightly packed inside the three-point line, blocking the paint completely.
"As for fouls?" Dominique Wilkins pointed to the fans in the stands who were frantically giving the middle finger. "When playing away games in the Balkan Peninsula, unless the opposing team stabs you with a knife, the referee doesn't really call fouls. Complaining on the field is not only useless, it will also attract food."
The words had barely left his mouth when a muffled "smack" sounded.
A banana, half-crushed and crushed, was precisely dropped from the dark stands, its yellow flesh shattering on the floor less than ten centimeters from Pierce's shoes.
Pierce's face darkened instantly as he looked at the bananas at his feet. He abruptly looked up at the stands and asked Dominique Wilkins in a low voice, "What does this mean? Is this what I meant?"
Dominique Wilkins followed his gaze and glanced at the stands, his expression equally grim, but he still reached out and tugged at Pierce's arm, his voice low and serious. "That's exactly what you mean. Chris Paul, calm yourself down. Don't get caught out on their turf. Putting the ball in their basket is the most effective response."
Immediately afterwards, more than a dozen blinding green laser beams shot out from the stands, sweeping back and forth across Pierce's face without any attempt to conceal their presence.
"[Beep...]! These barbarians!" Ron Artest, at the end of the bench, stared at the puddle of banana puree on the ground, his eyes instantly turning bloodshot. He suddenly stood up, clenched his fist, and was about to charge onto the court, but Lin Qi quickly pushed him back into his seat.
"Sit down, Ron. If you barge into the stands and start a fight, you'll be in Greece jail. And since you're in a completely unfamiliar place, I don't have much confidence I can get you out of there."
Without turning his head, Lin Qi's gaze pierced through the noisy crowd and landed on the young man panting heavily on the field. He said calmly, "If he can't even handle this kind of trash, what will he be the core player when he goes back to Boston?"
Pierce stared down at the mangled mess of bananas at his feet, then looked up at the laser pointers flying all over the court. This utterly absurd and ridiculous away game treatment made him laugh in exasperation.
After his extreme anger subsided, Pierce's mind calmed down remarkably.
On the offensive and defensive transition, Pierce once again called for the ball on the right side beyond the three-point line.
The Greece team's home fans immediately erupted in even louder boos, and laser pointers were shone into his eyes again. The Europe forward who had been defending Pierce wore a sneer, deliberately sticking close, even putting his hand on Pierce's waist and pulling him repeatedly.
Under the basket, the heavyweight center remained firmly stationed in the center of the restricted area, like an immovable iron tower.
Pierce held the ball with both hands, lowering his center of gravity. Facing close marking, he astutely exploited the Europe forward's weaknesses: slow lateral movement and a high center of gravity.
He first used a steady dribble in front of his body to force his opponent to slightly raise their center of gravity, then lowered his right shoulder slightly, using his body to protect the ball, and slowly took a half step forward. Pierce's first step wasn't particularly fast, but this style of play, which used ball protection and rhythm differences to forcefully block the opponent's position, precisely exploited the weakness of the defender's recovery.
Pierce broke through the first line of defense and drove into the free-throw line.
Seeing that the outside shot had been beaten, the Greece's power forward immediately and decisively collapsed from the wing, moving laterally to block Pierce's driving route.
Five minutes ago, Pierce would have definitely chosen to carry the explosive charge and force a foul. But now he knows very well that the referee won't blow the whistle.
Faced with a defensive intervention, Pierce, who was moving, suddenly slammed on the brakes, instantly going from extreme motion to complete stillness!
Immediately afterwards, he grabbed the ball with one hand and pushed it sharply to his left, his non-dominant hand, his shoulder and eyes perfectly coordinated... " The Whip!"
This was exactly the move that Dejan Bodiroga had taught him without reservation a few days ago in Milan. The defending striker was unable to react to this strange rhythm for a moment, instinctively thinking that Pierce was going to make a strong breakthrough from the left, and instantly handed over his center of gravity completely.
Just as the opponent slid, Pierce flicked his wrist, rhythmically pulling the ball back to his right, easily passing by the power forward's stiff body.
With American-style explosiveness, he tore through the defense; with Europe -style rhythm, he shook off the help defense. After beating two players in succession, Pierce penetrated deep into the paint, facing the final barrier... that 260-pound center.
The center forward sneered, raised his arms high like a wall, and charged forward, ready to repeat the physical battle from before and knock him and the ball down again.
Pierce sought contact, his broad shoulder slamming into the center's chest.
"Bang!"
The two collided. But this time, Pierce didn't lose his balance. Using the huge reaction force from the center's forward push, he smoothly executed a difficult fadeaway jumper.
At the highest point of his body, almost lying flat in mid-air and avoiding the center's block, Pierce gently flicked his wrist.
The basketball soared past the desperate fingertips of the Europe center, tracing an extremely high arc under the dome.
"Whoosh!"
The basketball swished through the net without even creating a ripple.
He dribbled past three players in a row with fluid, effortless skill. The entire noisy arena seemed to have its vocal cords abruptly cut off, falling into a deathly silence for half a second.
Pierce landed smoothly. He glanced coldly at the Europe center who was still standing there in a daze under the basket, and pointed to his head as he retreated on defense.
"You want to play this game?" Pierce's tone was icy. "Then use your brain, big guy."
On the sidelines, Dominique Wilkins watched this unbelievable goal and couldn't help but gasp.
"He perfectly blended his original playing style with Dejan's feints." Dominique Wilkins leaned back in his chair, his eyes filled with awe. "This kid... he's a genius."
"That's the core of what I need." Lin Qi picked up the water glass beside him, took a sip, and smiled slightly. "Give him enough pressure and nourishment, and he can bloom even in the most stagnant conditions."