It was a bitterly cold night in early December.
After a dismal away game where the entire team struggled offensively and missed every shot, the Boston Celtics' 18-game winning streak came to an abrupt end in a dull and lackluster performance.
In the locker room, everyone sat in their seats, silently applying ice packs to their knees and ankles.
Lin Qi pushed open the door, glanced at the group of dejected players, and then chuckled.
"Heads up, all of you. Losing one game isn't the end of the world." Lin Qi walked to the middle of the room, hands in his pockets. "Eighteen consecutive wins is a good number, but it almost made you forget who you are. It's better it's over; it saves you from going out every day with those newspapers praising you, grinning like idiots."
He paused, his tone turning serious. "From today onwards, the burden of the winning streak is lifted, and we need to get down to business. Forget about the regular season standings; find all the potential pitfalls in the playoffs and eliminate them one by one!"
Lin Qi's words dispelled the restlessness in the locker room, replacing it with a cool and pragmatic atmosphere of preparation.
After their winning streak ended, the team began a series of targeted adjustments.
The first person to show a significant change was Rasheed Wallace.
In the following games, fans and commentators were surprised to find that the " Rasheed Wallace " who used to be full of resentment in Portland had become increasingly cheerful in Boston this season.
Under the tutelage of shooting coach Chip Engelland for months, starting at the Europe Combined Training Camp, Rasheed's shot selection became extremely rational. He maintained solid low-post back-to-the-basket play and inside production, while decisively cutting out those laborious and unrewarding long two-pointers, shifting all the saved firepower to the three-point line.
In a game against the Hawks, when Rasheed, coming off the bench, hit three consecutive three-pointers in just four minutes, he excitedly retreated on defense, casually patted his teammate Artest on the backside, and wore his signature nonchalant smile.
" Rasheed's in an unbelievably good mood this season," the commentators couldn't help but joke. "He's playing with such ease and comfort."
Rasheed's prolific three-pointers completely opened up space for the second unit. Whenever the starters went to the bench to rest, the second unit, led by Rasheed, was always able to maintain the advantage, and even occasionally unleashed a barrage of three-pointers, completely crushing the opponent.
The second person who seemed to have changed was Chris Paul Pierce.
Ever since Ron Artest joined the team, he's been relentlessly battling Pierce. Pierce used to use his strength to overpower his opponents and then slowly find his offensive rhythm, but Artest never gave him that breathing room. Every time he received the ball, it turned into a physical fight, and every probing step was met with a thud from that mad dog's chest.
Everyone knows that Pierce is the core of this team's wing for the next decade.
But Artest wouldn't admit it; he was always holding back. One time, he finally managed to snatch something.
Something else that Pierce cared about even more: his qualification to remain on the court for the final five minutes of the fourth quarter.
"Scoring 20 points in a game doesn't mean you'll be on the court in crucial moments," Doc Rivers said to Pierce after a film session. "In the playoffs, whoever can perform on both ends of the court deserves to be on the court in those critical moments. Right now, Artest is more reliable than you on defense. I'm not asking you to improve your defense to an unrealistic level, but you can try to think of ways to improve your offense."
From that day on, Pierce practically lived in the training facility.
He approached the team's offensive consultant, Dominique Wilkins, hoping to learn a few more new moves to get past defenders. Dominique Wilkins watched his training videos and then declined all his requests.
"You've gone too far, Chris Paul," Dominique Wilkins shook his head. "You should simplify things."
He took the basketball, positioned himself on the wing, and adopted a triple threat stance.
"A truly great scorer isn't defined by having many options, but by always finding the right one the fastest. The defender takes a step forward with his left foot? Attack that foot. He takes a half step back? Pull the ball out. A second guy dares to take a step this way? Pass the ball out. Don't wait until they've written the Answer in your face before you react."
The coaching staff then imposed a harsh training rule on Pierce: within three dribbles, he must cause a substantial change in the opponent's defense.
Shooting, driving, forcing help defense, passing – at least one of these four outcomes must be achieved. If, after three dribbles, Artest remains firmly in front of him, with the defensive formation unchanged, Pierce loses the possession.
In the first few days, Pierce suffered heavy losses.
His first step was never top-notch; he tried to overpower Artest, whose lower body was as solid as a concrete block. What was even more deadly was that whenever Pierce struggled to get to the free-throw line, Gary Payton's double-team would suddenly appear from the weak side, not waiting for him to stop the ball, but rather the ball should be out of his hands as soon as the second defender took his first step.
"Too late again!" Gary Payton slammed the ball back to him after a steal. "A double team doesn't mean two players are glued to you! The moment the second player takes a step towards you, the ball should be passed out! Right now, you always wait until someone touches your shoulder before you think about finding a teammate. In the playoffs, that's enough for the opponent to launch a fast break!"
The training content then became very precise.
Dominique Wilkins was responsible for refining Pierce's first-shot decision-making: upon receiving the ball, look at the basket first; if the defense retreats, shoot; if the center of gravity shifts forward, attack the front foot; no further probing is allowed. Gary Payton taught him to hide the ball behind his hips, using his shoulders and hips to separate the defender, ensuring that any attempt to steal the ball could only reach his back. Garnett repeatedly practiced two-on-two double-teaming with him, forcing him to make instantaneous judgments between switching, double-teaming, and dropping down.
The coaching staff banned dribbling that did nothing to change the defense, such as repeatedly crossing over in place, unnecessary pullbacks after gaining position, and hasty shots after being blocked by help defense.
Changes began to emerge two weeks later.
Pierce's movements became less frequent. He no longer focused on completely shaking off his defender. A jab step that could only force a half-step back was enough for him to jump and shoot. A screen that could only lock onto Artest's shoulder would allow him to drive along that half-body distance into the paint. The second defender had barely moved when the ball was already out of Pierce's hands, passed to Garnett was cutting in, while Pierce himself cut back from the weak side, waiting for the ball to be passed back.
His dribbling became more valuable.
Previously, Pierce needed seven or eight dribbles to confirm he had beaten the defender; now, he only needs two or three to force the entire defense to make a choice. Statistically, there haven't been many changes; his scoring average even dipped slightly for a brief period, but his assists have started to rise. The most fatal mistake—turnovers at the top of the key that directly gift the opponent a fast break—is decreasing game by game.
A top-tier wing player is truly beginning to mature.
That mad dog named Ron Artest is starting to lose his rhythm.
To prevent the team from becoming complacent during the long regular season, and also to hone the team's outside shooting, Lin Qi and Doc Rivers suggested adding some competitive prizes to the team after practice.
"Starting today, after each day's practice, the whole team will pair up and have a three-point shooting contest," Doc Rivers said, clapping his hands. "Fifty shots in total. The losing team will stay behind to practice shuttle runs and shooting."
The suggestion immediately stirred up the whole team, with everyone scrambling to find reliable teammates, fearing they might end up being the unlucky ones.
However, the team's biggest black hole soon surfaced... Ben Wallace.
With the help of the shooting coach, Big Ben managed to improve his free throw percentage to 60% this season, but three-point shooting is a complete blind spot for him. His three-point shots often hit the side of the backboard and even nearly hit the camera at center court.
Big Ben became the social isolation target on the team. Whenever the teams were divided into groups, the moment he approached, everyone within a three-meter radius would scatter and shout, "Don't look for me, go find someone else!"
Amidst a chorus of disapproval, Rasheed Wallace strode over and grabbed Big Ben around the neck.
"Come on, Big Ben, let's team up," Rasheed said with a laugh, chewing gum. "I want to see just how badly your lousy shooting can screw me over."
Rasheed's three-point production and accuracy have actually been quite good this season under the guidance of his shooting coach, and he was quite confident in each group assignment. However, he clearly underestimated Big Ben's abilities.
As long as Big Ben receives the ball beyond the three-point line and shoots an absurdly airball in an extremely contorted posture, no matter how well Rasheed shoots beforehand, he can't stop Big Ben's bottomless pit of total points from dragging the score down.
The result was predictable. For the next two weeks, the " The Wallace Duo " duo almost exclusively took last place.
Every evening at sunset, as his teammates finished showering and boarded the bus to leave the training facility, these two muscular men could always be seen standing listlessly on the empty court, repeatedly doing extra training sessions accompanied by the thud of basketballs hitting the floor.
"Fuck... Big Ben, if you airball again tomorrow, I'm throwing your shoes down the toilet." Rasheed cursed through gritted teeth as he wiped the sweat from his brow and picked up the ball.
Big Ben Wallace dribbled the basketball expressionlessly and muttered, "Shut up, Rasheed, the next shot will definitely go in."
On the sidelines, Lin Qi held a coffee in his hand, watching the two big men in the paint who were teasing each other during extra practice, yet training incredibly hard, and a satisfied smile appeared on his lips.