In November, the air in Boston is already quite chilly in the early morning, but inside the Celtics' training facility in Waltham, the temperature control system has already adjusted the room temperature to the perfect state for athletes to wake up their muscles.
The crisp sound of the ball bouncing and the screeching of sneakers rubbing against the floor broke the morning's tranquility.
Ben Wallace was the first to arrive. His grey cotton training uniform was soaked with sweat, leaving a large dark patch on the back. He was standing alone at the free-throw line.
Bang! The basketball slammed against the front of the rim and bounced high. Big Ben frowned in annoyance, rubbed his large hands vigorously on his basketball shorts twice, picked up the ball, and stood up again. He took a deep breath, bent his knees, raised his muscular arms, and shot.
Bang! Another clumsy miss. Big Ben shook his head and was about to retrieve the ball when a long arm reached out from the side and firmly caught it.
"So early, Ben?" Kevin Garnett tossed the ball back to Big Ben, a familiar smile playing on his lips.
"I have to work on that damn free throw, KG." Big Ben wiped the fine beads of sweat from his forehead, his eyes unusually serious. "I'm the starting center now, and I absolutely cannot be the weak link in this team, never."
Garnett dropped his joking expression, walked over, and patted Big Ben's broad shoulder heavily. "You've already given it your all, bro."
"Not enough." Big Ben Wallace stared intently at the basket, his eyes blazing. "I need to get stronger."
As they were talking, the glass doors of the training facility were pushed open, and Gary Payton and Chris Paul Pierce walked in side by side. Pierce still had faint white medical bandages wrapped around his left chest and left arm, but his steps were much lighter.
" Chris Paul, don't blame me for not warning you," Gary Payton glanced at his chest, "Those holes in your chest probably haven't completely healed yet, have they?"
"Relax, Gary. The doctor said my recovery speed is like a bull's; I'm not in pain anymore." Pierce smirked, revealing a roguish grin.
Following closely behind them was Ron Artest. This man, who was always like a mad dog on the court, walked over to Pierce like a child who had done something wrong.
As players such as Doc Doug Christie, Chauncey Billups Billups, Rasheed Wallace, Brad Miller, and Bruce Bowen arrived one after another, the atmosphere in the arena grew increasingly intense, with shouts of encouragement during warm-ups echoing throughout.
At the far edge of the court, Grant Hill sat quietly in a wheelchair. His left ankle was wrapped in a special bandage as thick as plaster, and a pair of crutches stood beside him.
A laptop sat on Hill's lap, its screen playing a loop of the team's last two preseason games. His eyes were intensely focused, and he held a pen in his right hand, occasionally jotting something down in the thick leather notebook beside him.
Team owner Lin Qi walked into the arena at some point, his gaze passing over the players who were warming up, and went straight to Hill in the corner.
"How are you feeling, Grant?"
Hill looked up at the sound of his voice, a helpless wry smile on his face, "I feel good physically, boss. It's just... incredibly boring. Since I can't play, I can only study the game footage to see my teammates' positioning and habits. At least I have to be prepared from the sidelines."
Lin Qi nodded, pulled up a folding chair and sat down next to Hill: " Grant, what do you think is your most important task right now?"
"Recovery," Hill answered without hesitation.
"That's true, but not entirely." Lin Qi looked at him quietly. "Studying the video is a good thing, but don't be too anxious. What you need most right now is patience."
Hill fell silent. He looked at his teammates on the court, sweating and soaring through the air, a painful sense of desolation flashing in his eyes. "Boss, to be honest, watching them fight so hard on the court while I can only sit in this broken wheelchair like a cripple... this feeling is really hard to bear. And we still have to wait for more than a year, it feels so long."
"Everything you're doing right now is preparing you to integrate into the team later. See them?" Lin Qi pointed to Garnett, Pierce, and Gary Payton, who were sprinting back and forth on the court. "They're all waiting for you."
Hill followed Lin Qi's finger, the gloom in his eyes gradually dissipating, replaced by determination. "I understand, boss. I won't let you down."
At 9:30 a. m., head coach Rick Carlisle, carrying a tactical board and a thick stack of statistics, strode to the center of the field and blew a sharp whistle.
The players quickly stopped what they were doing and gathered around. Hill also turned his wheelchair and stopped at the outermost edge of the group, spreading his notebook open on his lap.
"Guys, we won the first two games of the season." Rick Carlisle didn't waste any words, but his tone revealed no joy of victory. "Beat the Knicks and the Philadelphia 76ers. Yes, your offense was impeccable. But! Your defense was a disaster!"
He wrote two glaring numbers heavily on the tactics board: 95, 108.
"Don't think that winning can cover up all the problems! You gave up 95 points against the Knicks and a whopping 108 points against the Philadelphia 76ers! Compared to last season, your defense is absolutely riddled with holes. In these two games, you allowed your opponents to score an average of nearly 102 points per game! Winning can't hide your terrible defense; this kind of defensive attitude is absolutely unacceptable!"
The players exchanged bewildered glances. Garnett raised his hand. "Coach, I feel it's because our defensive system has changed; we're still adjusting."
"Smart, KG. Not just changed, but completely transformed." Rick Carlisle turned his gaze to Big Ben. "Last season, Tom Thibodeau built a defensive system around you, focusing on switching, double-teaming, and sweeping. You were always ready to pounce on the ball handler or drop back to protect the rim. Because Dikembe Mutombo anchored the paint, you could confidently sweep everywhere."
Rick Carlisle drew out last season's defensive structure on the whiteboard. "But the core of that system was you, KG. You were the only sweeper who could roam freely."
"But this year," Rick Carlisle emphasized, circling Mark Wallace's position heavily with his Big Ben, "Our starting center is Ben Wallace. Ben is shorter than most centers, but he's more agile and quicker laterally Dikembe. Most importantly, Ben can do what you can do, Kevin! He can act like a sweeping midfielder in football, intercepting the ball handler early. He can also drop back to the basket instantly to protect the rim."
Big Ben hearing this, Ben's eyes lit up instantly.
"Now we come to the core issue." Rick Carlisle looked around. "When both KG and Ben are capable of doing this, who should step up to block? Who should stay under the basket? When both of them rush out at the same time, who will protect the rim? This is the fundamental problem we need to solve today... establish a completely new defensive rotation principle."
Upon hearing this, Hill, who was on the periphery, narrowed his eyes, quickly wrote down the core contradiction in his notebook, and pricked up his ears.
Rick Carlisle quickly sketched several scenarios on the tactics board and loudly established five principles.
"First, ball possession is priority! Whoever is closer to the ball handler is responsible for the primary pressure. If the opponent is on the left high post, KG is on the weak side, and Ben is on the strong side, then Ben should prioritize pressing forward, and KG should be prepared to help defend or drop back!"
"Second, the inside players must drop back first! If both players are drawn out, the one closer to the basket must make a quick decision... either continue pressing or immediately retreat to the basket! We absolutely cannot allow the foolish sight of two big men loitering on the perimeter at the same time!"
"Third, constant communication!" Rick Carlisle slammed his hand on the tactics board. "I need you guys shouting every second! 'I'm in!' 'You back down!' 'Switch!' 'Fit!'... These commands must be as natural as your breathing!"
"Fourth, there must always be someone on the weak side! When KG and Ben are both moved to the strong side, Chris Paul ( Pierce ) Doc ( Doug Christie ), one of your forwards must drop down to the edge of the penalty area on the weak side. We can't let the opponent easily get opportunities for cuts and second-chance points!"
"Fifth, collapse the perimeter to secure rebounds! When Ben and KG are pulled out of the paint, Gary, you must immediately collapse below the free-throw line! You don't need to fight muscle-bound players for rebounds; you just need to block their offensive routes and give the big men time to drop back and grab the rebounds!"
Outside, Hill's pen flew across the paper, meticulously imprinting the five principles into his tactics notebook.
Gary Payton frowned and raised his hand. "Coach, it sounds like we're being told that everyone has to constantly monitor the defensive positions of the others."
"That's right, Gary," Rick Carlisle nodded frankly. "That's why we need a lot of practice. This system is far more difficult than last season's. But once it's in place, your defense will make every team in the league feel more hopeless than ever before."
Rasheed couldn't help but raise his hand. "Coach, if the opponent deliberately creates space, forcing both of our inside players to the perimeter, and then suddenly moves the ball wide to the weak side, will we have enough time to rotate?"
"Good question, Rasheed." Rick Carlisle's eyes gleamed. "This is exactly what we need to practice... anticipation and advance movement. KG and Ben, you two must learn to read the opponent's offensive intentions. If the ball starts to move widely, one of you must move laterally to the weak side in advance, instead of waiting for the ball to arrive and then chasing it like an idiot!"
Garnett and Big Ben exchanged a glance and nodded emphatically.
"That's enough theory." Rick Carlisle waved his hand. "Now, let's turn theory into muscle memory! Split into two groups and play full-court scrimmage!"
A sharp whistle pierced the air.
First defensive team: Gary Payton, Doug Christie, Pierce, Garnett, and Big Ben.
The second offensive team consisted of Billups, Bowen, Artest, Rasheed, and Miller.
Hill pushed his wheelchair forward, his eyes fixed on the ten people on the field.