Athens, Greece, August 1999.
The OAKA Olympic Indoor Stadium was packed with more than 20,000 Greece fans. Someone lit cold fireworks in the stands, and the pungent smell of gunpowder drifted into the players' tunnel through the ventilation ducts. Accompanied by deafening war drums and unintelligible but clearly unfriendly Greece insults, even the iron doors of the locker room were shaking.
This is the Boston Celtics' first stop on their summer Europe tour, also in Athens. A month ago, they started their Europe from Athens. A month later, Lin Qi has placed the tour's final stop here.
This time, their opponents are the " Europe All-Star Team " led by Dejan Bodiroga.
Outside the stadium, the atmosphere was electric, but inside the away team's locker room, there was a relaxed, laid-back vibe.
Kevin Garnett, wearing oversized headphones, curled up in a corner chair, swinging his long legs. Chris Paul Pierce chewed gum, watching idly as the physical therapist wrapped layers of white bandage around his ankle. Rasheed Wallace and Ron Artest were arguing heatedly over the last two slices of Italy pizza in the box.
The locker room door was pushed open, and Lin Qi walked in, casually slapping a few newly photocopied English newspaper clippings onto the physiotherapy bed in the middle.
"I brought you some pre-game reading material." Lin Qi loosened his tie and pulled over a folding chair to sit down. "The team translator just got this from the hotel newsstand—summaries of your games from the mainstream Europe sports media over the past two weeks."
Pierce blew a pink bubble and asked indistinctly, "Are you praising my isolation play, or saying my fadeaway jumper is a masterpiece?"
"Not entirely, Chris Paul." Lin Qi picked up the top headline, * Milan Sports Gazette *, "' Boston brought a group of physically gifted track and field athletes. But unfortunately, they had no tactics whatsoever, still playing that dull and brutal American one-on-one style.'"
The noise in the locker room subsided by half. Garnett took off one earphone and glanced over sideways.
Lin Qi pulled out a copy of the France L'Équipe and continued reading in a straightforward tone, "'Besides going it alone and relying on physical strength, they don't understand anything about cover or tactical discipline. Europe fans want to see the art of teamwork, not a bunch of brutes who can only run and jump.'"
"A rude person? Holy shit."
Rasheed Wallace cursed and threw the half-eaten pizza back into the box. He pointed at the newspaper, his eyes wide. "Don't these Europe journalists do their research before writing? I played the most authentic college basketball in North Carolina. Do they think I don't understand tactics?"
"Obviously, that's what they think," Lin Qi said casually, as if discussing dinner plans. "Because that's how you've been playing for the past two weeks. Get the ball, spread out, use your first step to blow past your opponent, and then dunk. It's certainly easier that way, but it also makes it seem like no one's thinking. No wonder they have a low opinion of you."
Gary Payton, tying his shoelaces, scoffed without looking up, "Why would I bother with something that could be solved in one step?"
"Because when you face the Lakers and Spurs, you won't be able to blow past them in one step," Lin Qi said calmly, looking at Gary Payton.
Gary Payton paused, but didn't argue.
Lin Qi stood up, walked to the tactics board, picked up Mark, and marked the passing and cutting lines that had already been drawn on it.
"The coaching staff has spent the past month with you in the training hall refining this 'dynamic offense,' not so you could come to Europe to become track and field athletes. In your last competition in Europe, put away your individualistic habits and focus on teamwork."
Lin Qi turned around and looked at this group of notorious troublemakers in the league. "Don't these Europe think we're brainless? Then let's use their best passing and cutting skills, on their home court, to show them what real tactics are."
He clapped his hands, making a crisp sound, "The sooner we finish, the sooner we're done. If we win this match, you'll get a day off."
"Alright." Garnett put his headphones back on, stood up, and stretched his neck, which cracked slightly. "Let's teach these knowledgeable Europe a lesson."
Fifteen minutes later, the opening whistle blew.
The Europe Team deployed an extremely tight 3-2 zone defense in the first round. They applied constant pressure with aggressive physical contact, trying to force the Celtics into a state of agitation as they had two weeks earlier, ultimately forcing their star player to take an unreasonable pull-up jumper.
Gary Payton was double-teamed at the top of the key.
Two weeks ago, Gary Payton would have definitely shifted his focus, using his strength to forcefully back down the ball and then look for a one-on-one opportunity. But today, he didn't even attempt a triple threat. The moment he received the ball, he flicked his wrist, and the basketball was passed straight to Chris Paul Pierce at the right 45-degree angle.
As soon as the ball left his hands, Gary Payton immediately cut along the middle, drawing the attention of two defenders.
Pierce received the ball and dribbled a step to the right. At the same time, Eddie Jones in the corner moved up with perfect precision, setting a solid screen for Pierce.
When switching defenses, the defensive center of gravity inevitably shifts to the right.
Just then, Garnett, who had been lurking at the weak-side free-throw line, made his move. Without shouting or asking for the ball, he seized that sliver of space and swiftly cut to the basket.
Pierce made a bounce pass through the defense, Garnett caught the ball and took off, deftly lobbing the ball into the basket before the Europe big man could clumsily come to help.
"Whoosh."
The entire play lasted less than seven seconds. There wasn't a single unnecessary dribble; everyone was constantly moving.
In the commentary booth of Greece National Television, veteran commentator Yannis paused slightly, glancing at the information in his hand. "A very... exquisite Europe- style pass and cut. The Celtics seem much more patient tonight."
In the next ten minutes, the Europe Team realized something was wrong.
The Team USA that relied solely on talent and brute force is gone. In its place is an extremely precise and ruthless tactical machine. When a defender tries to steal the ball, the Celtics immediately cut to the basket; when the Europe team tries to collapse the defense, the ball is always moved to an open spot on the weak side within a fraction of a second.
In the second quarter, the rotation players came on.
Rasheed Wallace received the ball at the free-throw line. Facing the provocative defense of the Europe big man, he gave him a cold glance, slightly lowered his shoulder, and made an extremely realistic shooting fake.
As soon as the defender shifted his weight, Rasheed immediately gathered the ball, flicked his wrists, and delivered a surgical through ball to Artest, who had slipped in from the byline.
An easy layup, two points in.
As Rasheed retreated on defense, he passed the Europe center, tapped his temple with his index finger, and casually uttered a trash talk. "Use your brain, big guy."
The point difference was silently widened to fifteen points.
The last part of the third section.
Mutombo inbounded the ball from the baseline, and Billups had just pushed it across the halfway line when the Europe team launched a desperate half-field press. Billups then passed the ball across to Pierce on the left.
Rasheed immediately moved up to set a screen, and Pierce took the opportunity to break through to the middle, drawing three defenders to collapse in, before finally managing to throw the ball to Garnett, who had positioned himself at the free-throw line, through the crowd.
Two heavy Europe centers, one on the left and one on the right, surrounded Garnett like two iron gates.
With his back to the basket and facing the closing double team, Garnett suddenly raised the ball overhead with both hands. His eyes were on the left corner, but his hands casually slammed it down behind his head.
Bang!
A behind-the-back pass, precisely piercing the gap between two defenders, bounced towards the unmanned right side of the penalty area.
Just as the basketball bounced up, Eddie Jones burst out from the baseline like a green lightning bolt. He caught the ball in mid-air with one hand and slammed it down towards the rim!
"Boom!"
The basketball hoop made a dull thud.
Six passes, the ball never touches the ground, flowing smoothly like clouds and water.
Inside the stadium, the 20,000 enthusiastic Greece fans fell unusually quiet at that moment.
In the commentary booth, Yannis watched the replay on the broadcast screen, his brows furrowed tightly. He remained silent for a few seconds, then shook his head into the microphone.
"There weren't any unreasonable forced shots; every pass was aimed at finding a better opportunity." Yannis's voice echoed throughout Europe via the broadcast. "They didn't rely on explosive drives or jump shots. The most terrifying thing happened..."
"These guys, whose athletic talent far surpasses ours, have started playing with their brains."
The final whistle blew, 108-82. Without suspense or twists, the Celtics effortlessly won this final game.
In a corner of the stands, a few Greece fans silently stood up and began to applaud. Like a contagious disease, the applause gradually spread. Although they lost the game, Europe fans have always respected truly good team basketball.
Lin Qi sat on the sidelines, listening to the applause that gradually rose around him. Satisfied, he stood up and straightened the hem of his suit jacket.
"Book me a plane ticket," Lin Qi said, turning to his assistant beside him.
Ten minutes later, in the away team's locker room.
The ruthless "tactical machine" on the field has vanished, and the locker room now resembles a high school students' pre-field party.
Artest shrugged with two ice packs on his head, while Pierce and Billups were already having a heated discussion about which nightclub in Athens had the prettiest girls. Rasheed Wallace even managed to get his hands on a pair of sunglasses and put them directly on his nose.
"Slap! Slap!"
Doc Rivers clapped his hands, his voice booming out of the locker room noise. "Quiet down, guys! Listen to me!"
Everyone stopped what they were doing and turned to look at the head coach.
Doc Rivers pulled a tourist map from who-knows-where out of his pocket and flicked it around.
"The grueling training camp is over." Doc Rivers ' serious expression vanished, replaced by a wide grin. "Starting tomorrow morning, no more video analysis, no more damn defensive drills, and no more tactics classes! The next week, we're going to have some fun! Sunshine and beaches! Wine and food!"
A deafening cheer erupted in the locker room.
"But let me make this clear," Doc Rivers raised his voice, "I'm your tour guide for the next week. I don't care how much you drink or which beach you go to, the only thing I want to tell you is... don't cause me any trouble! Anyone who dares to get themselves into trouble with the police will have their bile ducts bulging during next season's shuttle run. Got it?"
"Understood, Mr. Tour Guide!" the players responded with laughter.
Garnett slung the towel over his shoulder, turned his head, and saw Lin Qi sitting in the corner.
Lin Qi was looking down as he neatly folded the Europe sports newspapers that had mocked them on the table and carefully stuffed them into his black leather briefcase.
"Hey, Lin!" Garnett yelled, pointing outside, "Aren't you coming with us? You need to see Gary in a floral shirt and beach shorts—it's a disaster. And our tour group needs someone to pay the bill!"
"You earn over ten million dollars a year, and you still want to take advantage of me? You have no shame."
Another burst of laughter erupted in the locker room. Gary Payton, laughing, grabbed a crumpled-up deodorant and threw it at Garnett.
Lin Qi zipped up his briefcase, looked up at the completely relaxed players, and shook his head with a smile.
"I'd love to hang out with you guys, see you all getting sunburnt on the beach, Kevin. But you guys go have fun, put all the bills on the team's tab." Lin Qi picked up his briefcase, stood up, and straightened the hem of his suit jacket. "I have some other things to take care of, I have to go now."
Doc Rivers stepped forward, somewhat surprised. "You're not coming with us? Planning to go back to Boston early?"
No, to New York.
Lin Qi patted the briefcase full of newspapers in his hand, a glint of shrewdness and ambition typical of a businessman flashing in his eyes.
"I have something to discuss with David Stern."