May 23, 2000, 5 PM, Conseco Fieldhouse
The team training session has ended, and most of the players are heading into the tunnel to the locker room to shower and freshen up.
On the vast court, only Reggie Miller continued shooting. He started from the right wing, feigning to go around an unseen screen, receiving the ball, and jumping. Swish. Then the left wing, the corner, the top of the key. He would relentlessly take ten shots from every sweet spot on which he depended for survival in the game.
This is a habit he's maintained since high school: always staying a little longer than others, always being ready at all times.
This almost obsessive habit stemmed from that life-changing night in his sophomore year of high school. David Myers, the starting point guard at the time, inexplicably forgot his home jersey, and the coach had no choice but to temporarily put him in the starting lineup. That night, he scored a crazy 35 points, achieving his first double-digit score in his career, and never gave up his starting position again.
"Be prepared at all times, and wait for the opportunity to arise."
Down 0-2 in the series, the outside world was filled with talk of " the Pacers are finished." But Reggie Miller listened to the sound of the net swishing in the empty arena, feeling incredibly calm. He knew that now, his chance had come again.
6:30 PM, home team locker room
Reggie Miller sat in front of his wardrobe, slowly and methodically putting on his gear as if performing a solemn religious ceremony.
Put on the left Socks first, then the right sock.
Next are the knee braces, again prioritizing the left leg.
Next came the jersey, which was pulled down over the head, and every single wrinkle was carefully smoothed out.
Finally, there were his combat boots. The way he tied the laces was extremely complicated... First, he tightened them tightly, to the limit, and then carefully loosened them a little bit, ensuring that he could lock his ankles in place without stopping the blood flow.
These strict, almost neurotic little gestures are his unique pre-match rituals, which he has repeated for over a decade.
Jalen Rose was already used to it, and while wrapping tape around his wrist, he laughed and said, "The same old routine?"
Reggie Miller looked up, his eyes focused. "Of course. Only after doing all this will my body know that I'm ready."
"So, are you prepared to make those Boston kids run themselves ragged?"
Reggie Miller didn't speak, but instead curled his lips into a chilling smirk.
Mark Jackson, who was doing high knees to warm up on the sidelines, turned around and said, "You don't need to worry about ball possession tonight. I'll feed you the ball comfortably. You just need to run."
"That's good." Reggie Miller stood up, vigorously cracking his skinny, veiny wrists. "I want them to understand that defending me in Boston and defending me in Indiana are two completely different things."
The usually taciturn power forward, Dale Davis, walked over and slammed his massive hand on Reggie Miller's thin shoulder. " Reggie, tonight my screens will be as hard as brick walls. Any guy who dares to chase you, I'll smash their ribs one by one."
Reggie Miller looked at him and nodded seriously. "Then I'll leave it to you. When I make my first basket, I'll prepare a special gift for Eddie Jones."
Rick Smits quipped from the side, "Trying to do that choking gesture again?"
"Maybe," Reggie Miller shrugged, "Depending on my mood."
At that moment, the locker room door was pushed open. Larry Bird Larry Bird walked in.
The once noisy room instantly became so quiet you could hear a pin drop.
"Gentlemen," Larry Bird's voice was deep and calm, yet carried an undeniable air of authority, "Tonight is our home game. There are 18,000 people waiting for us in this new arena. They didn't pay to see us admit defeat; they paid to see us tear the Boston Celtics apart."
He fixed his gaze on Reggie Miller: " Reggie, tonight you only need to do one thing... run. Run like a madman. Don't hesitate, draw your gun when you see an opening, that's your only job tonight."
Reggie Miller nodded emphatically.
"Listen up, everyone else," Larry Bird said, surveying the team. " Reggie will be like a magnet, drawing away the defense. You guys need to be more decisive, more aggressive! We're down 0-2 right now, and the whole nation thinks we're done for. But if we win tonight, it'll be 1-2. As long as we're breathing, this series is far from over."
The whole team was like a powder keg that had been lit, and their breathing became heavy.
"So," Larry Bird turned and walked toward the door, stopping at the doorframe, and coldly tossed out, "Get out, fight, and win."
7 PM, players' tunnel.
The players from both teams were lining up in the tunnel. The noise outside was so loud that dust was falling from the ceiling.
Reggie Miller stood at the back of the line, eyes closed, performing the final muscle activation.
Squats, three times. Jumps, three times.
Cross your arms and press down on your shoulders, three times on the left shoulder, three times on the right shoulder.
Finally, take three deep breaths.
Everything is about "three times." This is his way of finding absolute order under the pressure of the playoffs.
The DJ's screams pierced the dome. "Ladies and gentlemen... your Indiana Pacers!!!"
Cheers surged into the tunnel like a tsunami. Reggie Miller followed his teammates into the blinding spotlight. Flashes of light illuminated the stands, turning them into daylight, and 18,000 fans rose to their feet, shouting themselves hoarse.
But Reggie Miller didn't respond. Like a precision instrument programmed with a set procedure, he walked straight to the corner and picked up the basketball.
Right wing, receives the ball, jumps. Swish.
Left wing, receives the ball, jumps. Swish.
The top of the arc. Swish.
Amid the fervor of 18,000 people, he remained expressionless, focused as if he were practicing in his own backyard.
At the other end of the court, the Celtics were also warming up.
Eddie Jones stared at Reggie Miller, his brow furrowed, and whispered to Garnett beside him, "He looks different."
"What's the use?" Garnett scoffed dismissively, slamming the ball into the basket. "He barely scored in the first two games because we defended him so well, does that mean he can fly just because we're back at home?"
"This is Indiana, Kevin. This is his territory," Jones reminded him.
"So what if it's home court?" Garnett grabbed the backboard, his eyes fierce. "I'll still knock his teeth out tonight!"
At that moment, Reggie Miller hit another three-pointer.
As he turned and ran back, his gaze swept across half the court and locked onto Eddie Jones with unmistakable accuracy.
Reggie Miller raised an eyebrow at Eddie Jones, then grinned, revealing an extremely exaggerated smile.
Years ago, Reggie Miller looked at Parker Lee on the sidelines with this same smile when he single-handedly saved the day at Madison Square Garden.
Confident, arrogant, and full of nauseating provocation.
It's like saying: You're dead tonight.
Eddie Jones's face changed instantly, and his eyes became as sharp as knives.
Reggie Miller then slowly turned around and walked towards the technical table.
He picked up the water glass, took a small sip. Two sips. Three sips. He put it down.
Everything is proceeding according to his countdown.
Mark Jackson walked over and bumped him on the shoulder. "Ready?"
Reggie Miller looked at the green-clad figures in the away team's half, his tone as cold as ice. "I've been prepared for this for eighteen years."
"Then tonight, let's show them what the real Reggie Miller is like." Jackson raised his fist. The two men bumped fists heavily.
The referee blew his long whistle, signaling for the starting lineups of both teams to come to the center circle for a jump ball.
Reggie Miller took off his practice clothes and walked towards the court. As he passed the Celtics' bench, he deliberately slowed his pace. Instead of looking at the defenders on the court, he turned his head and stared directly at Boston Celtics head coach Doc Rivers.
Then, Reggie Miller raised his right hand, pointed two fingers at his eyes, and then slowly pointed at Doc Rivers.
... Watch closely.
Doc Rivers ' heart sank, and his brows furrowed tightly.
Reggie Miller had already turned and strode into the center of the court. Spotlights followed him closely, and the roar of 18,000 fans was deafening.
This is Indiana. And Reggie Miller has never bowed his head to anyone on his own turf.