Outside the New Garden in Boston. Midnight.
Two hours had passed since the NBA Finals, but Causeway Street outside the arena remained congested. Thousands of fans in green jerseys lined both sides of the street, waving flags with shamrock designs.
There was no exaggerated spraying of champagne; instead, it was mostly Boston locals holding Samuel Adams Sam Beer.
"Beat LA!"
"To hell with the Purple and Gold Legion!"
Fueled by the buzz of beer, the fans' boisterous chants and slogans echoed in the night air. At the exit of the underground parking garage, every car that drove out honked in response to the clamor from the street. For this sports city, dormant for over a decade and desperately yearning for revival, a 2-0 start to the NBA Finals was enough to keep Boston awake all night.
June 10, 2:00 AM. Los Angeles, Los Angeles Lakers training facility.
In stark contrast to the celebrations in Boston, only the faint sound of videotapes rewinding could be heard in the Lakers ' video analysis room.
Phil Jackson sat in front of the whiteboard, reading glasses perched on his nose, his eyes glued to the replay of the fourth quarter of Game 2 of the NBA Finals on the screen. Next to him sat Tex Winter, the Lakers' lead assistant coach and the originator of the " Triangle Offense." Winter held a thick stack of statistics, his brow furrowed.
" Shaq didn't even have the energy to post up in the fourth quarter." Winter pressed the pause button on the video, the screen freezing on the moment O'Neal was panting heavily with his hands on his knees. "Those guys in Boston were wearing him down with fast breaks and endless pick-and-rolls."
"And Kobe," Phil Jackson rubbed his temples. "5 for 18. Gary Payton, that old fox, has completely gotten into his head. He's too eager to respond on defense, which has caused him to lose all rhythm on offense."
The two looked at each other and saw the seriousness in each other's eyes.
Trailing 0-2, this elite team has been pushed to the brink of elimination.
June 10, 8:00 AM. Boston, Celtics training facility.
Lin Qi stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling window of his second-floor office, holding a cup of black coffee, quietly watching the shimmering morning light on the Charles River outside.
The 2-0 lead did not ease his brow in the slightest. As a seasoned player, he knew the strength of the OK Duo better than anyone else. In this league, never underestimate a Big Shark driven to the brink, and never underestimate that young man in the number 8 jersey, whose obsession bordered on the madness.
"Still not resting?"
Head coach Doc Rivers walked in, his eyes bloodshot. Clearly, it wasn't just the Lakers coaching staff who stayed up all night reviewing the game.
"Thinking about the third game." Lin Qi walked to the sofa and sat down, his tone utterly rational. " Los Angeles will definitely not sit idly by."
Doc Rivers nodded. " Phil Jackson will definitely make adjustments. In the second game, we won by using our roster depth and extreme defensive tactics to wear them down."
"But this tactic might not work at Staples." Lin Qi put down his coffee cup. "Next, we have three consecutive away games in Los Angeles. Without the hassle of long flights, the Lakers will have two full days of rest, and Shaq's physical condition will be much better than in Boston."
Lin Qi paused, picked up the data sheet on the table, and said, "Besides, Kobe can't possibly be this bad throughout the entire series. Gary's defense was indeed superb, but a scorer of that caliber can bounce back at any time under the stimulation of the home crowd. We must be prepared to deal with a fully-fledged OK Duo."
Doc Rivers nodded emphatically.
"Get ready to board, Doc." Lin Qi looked out the window. "The real battle is about to begin."
June 10th, 12 noon.
The headlines of major sports media outlets across the United States have been completely dominated by Boston's "green storm".
Los Angeles Times Sports Section: "A desperate battle! Staples has no room for retreat!"
"0-2. The Lakers suffered a crushing defeat in Boston. Shaq dominated in the third quarter, but that also led to his Big Shark in the fourth. Now, the Purple and Gold Legion are on the brink of elimination, and the upcoming third game will be a do-or-die battle that will determine their fate."
NBC's NBA Showtime NBA Finals Special.
Top presenter Bob Costas and legend Isiah Thomas are sitting across from each other on the studio table.
"Down 0-2, Isiah. Do you think Los Angeles still has a chance to turn things around?" Costas asked the camera, posing the question that fans across the country were most concerned about.
Isiah Thomas shook his head, his expression unusually serious. " Bob, if the Lakers can't solve their extremely fatal structural problems, this series is practically over. The Lakers ' current rotation is like a giant black hole. Look at the stats for Game 2... apart from Shaq and Kobe, everyone else combined only scored a paltry 22 points!"
Thomas spread his hands, speaking faster, "Yes, I know Los Angeles has Peja and O'Neal Jr., and those two young men are undeniably talented. But in a game like the NBA Finals, they're still too inexperienced. You can't expect two greenhorns who haven't seen the big stage to save the OK Duo in a desperate situation."
"And what about Boston?" Thomas slammed his fingers down on the table, raising his voice. "They not only have Garnett and Gary Payton as the cornerstones of their offense and defense, but also Eddie Jones! This season, he's been quietly making blue-collar sacrifices throughout the regular season, to the point that the whole league has almost forgotten that he's essentially a top-tier shooting guard who excels on both ends of the court! Last game, he truly showed his fangs!"
"And then there's Chris Paul Pierce, a player with a clutch gene who dared to take over games on the NBA Finals stage in his second year!" Thomas shook his head repeatedly, sighing, " Boston's seemingly bottomless roster depth is delivering an extremely brutal crushing blow to the Lakers."
At 8 p. m., at an altitude of 10,000 meters, the Celtics ' private plane was smoothly flying towards the West Coast.
The cabin was very quiet, and most of the players were wearing headphones and resting with their eyes closed.
Lin Qi sat in a window seat in first class, the laptop screen in front of him emitting a faint glow, playing recordings of the first two games of the NBA Finals.
A 2-0 lead is enough to make most teams start fantasizing about their championship parade route. But in Lin Qi's mind, the image of O'Neal dunking over three people in the paint kept flashing, as well as the suppressed bloodlust in the eyes of that young man wearing the number 8 jersey.
In Los Angeles, the City of Angels, an even more violent storm is brewing.
Lin Qi closed his laptop and rubbed his dry eyes.
The next three games at Staples will be the real ordeal of this NBA Finals.