December 5, 2000, New Garden.
At nine o'clock in the morning, the locker room was unusually quiet except for the sound of tearing sports tape.
A line of text was written on the whiteboard: 20 days until the Christmas battle.
Gary Payton shoved his foot into his boot, shaking his head as he tied the laces. "Look at this awful atmosphere. I bet those workaholics at Rick Carlisle have already planned how to train us to death."
"Don't even mention it." Pierce yawned widely, pulling a black VHS tape from his closet with a frustrated look. "That madman Rick Carlisle was calling my landline nonstop at 3 a. m.! The answering machine was filled with his yelling, saying he'd cut out the Lakers ' key plays and put it in my closet first thing this morning. Who the hell cuts tapes at 3 a. m.? Doesn't he sleep?"
"I suspect he might be a vampire," Doug Christie added, while applying medicine to her knee. "Only vampires would be so energetic at three in the morning."
" Casey isn't normal either." Artest pointed to the stack of videotapes on his chair. "He brought me ten Lakers games this morning! He insisted I memorize Lamar Odom's high-post playmaking habits and driving routes. I could watch them until my eyes went blind and still not finish them!"
"So how many games are you planning to watch?" Bowen glanced at him, expertly bandaging his ankle.
"Three games at most!" Artest argued confidently. "What's the point of watching so many? Aren't the rest all the same?"
"During training later," Rasheed Wallace clicked his tongue, "If Casey finds out you don't even know which way Odom usually turns, he'll skin you alive."
Ben Wallace sat in the corner, silently wrapping a thick bandage around his wrist. He listened to his teammates' complaints, expressionless, but the bandage he wrapped grew faster and faster.
The door was pushed open, Lin Qi walked in.
The locker room fell silent instantly, even Artest obediently shut his mouth.
Lin Qi walked straight to the whiteboard and tapped the countdown line with his knuckles.
"It seems the coaching staff has already given you your 'welcome gift'," Lin Qi said calmly, taking over the conversation naturally. "I know you feel it's unnecessary to make such a big fuss. But Los Angeles is riding high right now, and the entire league's media is hyping it up, thinking that this season's championship is basically going to be between us and the Lakers."
Lin Qi pointed towards the court. "The videotape is just the first step. Over the next 20 days, the coaching staff will dissect the Lakers ' tactical system step by step. Your task is to thoroughly understand it."
"The first and second units will be each other's hypothetical opponents from today onwards, playing full-court scrimmages like in the playoffs. Get on the court."
Twenty minutes later, the training hall was filled with the sharp sound of sneakers rubbing against the floor and the heavy breathing of the players.
"Stick close to him! Don't give him the eye to look at the weak side!" Rick Carlisle yelled from the sidelines.
At the top of the arc, Gary Payton received the ball, and Billups immediately closed in like a shadow. Gary Payton lowered his center of Kidd, shielding the ball while trash-talking. "Too slow, Chauncey Billups. If he guarded me like this, I could get 30 assists in a single game."
He had barely made a subtle crossover dribble past half a body length when Artest on the wing relentlessly double-teamed him, his long arm swinging out to slash hard at Gary Payton's arm, nearly knocking the ball out of his grasp.
"Leave the ball, old man!" Artest growled, his eyes blazing.
"Foul!" Gary Payton complained to his assistant coach on the sidelines, "His hand slashed my wrist!"
But the whistle never blew. Casey stood on the sidelines, expressionless. "At Staples, the referees won't call this kind of physical contact. Get used to it, Gary."
"Then I won't hold back either," Gary Payton muttered, continuing his defensive retreat.
Pierce received the highest level of treatment in the entire game. As soon as he received the ball a step inside the three-point line, Bowen's close guard and Artest's fierce double-team from the weak side would immediately surround him.
As soon as Pierce received the ball, Bowen's knee was already pressing against the outside of his thigh, while his other hand subtly tugged at the hem of his jersey, attempting to disrupt his start.
But Pierce, who had undergone extensive special training, was no longer afraid of this meat grinder-like defense. Facing the impending double-team, he skillfully turned around and used his broad, sturdy back and hips to trap Bowen behind him.
Just as Artest lunged at him from the side, Pierce suddenly exerted force, using his shoulder to forcefully "lean" back against Bowen. Using the half-step space created by the impact, he quickly turned around and made an extremely realistic feint of lowering his shoulder and raising his hand.
Artest was completely thrown off balance by the feint and flew right past Pierce. Pierce, as if taking a leisurely stroll, used this perfect timing to calmly strike just a second before Bowen could pounce on him again to cover his face, leaning back slightly.
"Whoosh!"
The basketball arced high and swished through the net.
"And-1 (additional free throw)! And they didn't call a foul?! He almost ripped my jersey!" Pierce complained loudly, spreading his hands at Casey, who was acting as the referee, after landing, but a smug smile couldn't help but appear on his lips.
"Flank them half a step faster!" Casey shook her head. " Ron, don't let him make a move!"
Rick Carlisle roared from the sidelines, "Even if he makes those damn shots, he has to feel like he's being skinned alive every time he takes a shot!"
The competition inside the penalty area was even more intense.
Brad Miller, positioned high up, lobbed the ball to Rasheed in the low post.
Rasheed caught a glimpse of Ben Wallace coming from the weak side of the paint to double-team him. In desperation, he had no choice but to force a break from his back-to-the-basket move and hastily unleash his signature straight-arm fadeaway jumper.
But Garnett seized the opportunity, springing up like a spring and swatting the ball away with his long arms.
After landing, Garnett pounded his chest, staring at Rasheed with eyes blazing with fury, and launched into a tirade.
" Rasheed! You were so limp just now, like you had no bones! Were you sleepwalking?"
"Stop talking nonsense, Kevin!" Rasheed angrily shook his arm. "That was Miller's timing on the pass! If you're so capable, try guarding me one-on-one without calling Ben ( Wallace ) to double-team you, and see how I tear you apart!"
"Fine, I can stop you by myself!"
On the sidelines, Brad Miller innocently shouted, "Hey! How can you blame me? Rasheed, you were clearly scared by Ben and acted hastily!"
During this team training session, everyone was pushing their physical and mental limits.
At 5:30 p. m., the first day of sparring finally came to an end.
In the locker room, a group of players were sprawled out on chairs, their knees and shoulders covered in ice packs.
"I feel like my arm is going to break." Pierce struggled to pull off his completely soaked practice clothes, pointing to Artest and Bowen drinking water not far away. "Honestly, being tortured by these two freaks, Ron and Bruce, here, I feel like playing the regular season is like a paid vacation."
" Chris Paul, it's your own fault for having weak legs today. You lost three balls to me because you were too slow."
"My legs are weak?" Pierce's eyes widened. "Every time you defend me, it's like you're trying to knock me flying! This is training, not the UFC octagon!"
"Training should be like real games," Artest said confidently. "Once you get blown out by Marion at Staples, you'll know how gentle my defense was today."
In the corner, Billups silently applied ice to his legs. He had been guarding Gary Payton all day, getting outplayed and barely managing to get the ball back.
"Don't be discouraged, Chauncey Billups." Miller walked over and patted him on the shoulder. " Gary Payton is a top point guard in the league. You've already done a great job keeping up with his pace."
"I'm not discouraged," Billups said firmly. "I'm just thinking, if I can't guard Gary today, how am I supposed to guard Kidd at Staples?"
Gary Payton's lips curled slightly as he heard the conversation. He turned to look at Ron Harper, who was wrapping ice packs around his knees. This veteran had won three consecutive championships with Michael Jordan on the Chicago Bulls and witnessed the true pinnacle of the league.
"Hey, Ron," Gary Payton asked, panting, "Back when you guys were in Chicago, when Michael was coaching, was the team's training this intense?"
The locker room fell silent for a moment. Pierce, Billups, and Artest all looked over curiously.
Harper leaned against the wardrobe, thought about it carefully for a moment, then shook her head with a wry smile.
"Very close. Back then, Michael and Scottie would trash talk each other on the court every day, pushing the intensity to the limit," Harper's voice was hoarse. "But to be honest... even in Chicago back then, the defensive resources weren't as outrageous as they are here."
"That's right," Bowen said, removing his protective gear. "Most teams have mediocre defense."
"So we are the defending champions." Garnett stood up and patted the ice pack.
A tired but confident laugh rang out from the locker room.
Lin Qi, standing at the door, listened to these words.
This is why this group of players suffer so much in training. The defensive intensity and level of competition they face every day far exceed the "starting lineup level" of most teams in this era.
Lin Qi raised his hand and knocked on the door frame.
The locker room immediately fell silent.
"Take a shower after you're done with the ice pack." Lin Qi glanced at his watch. "Get some rest early tonight. Tomorrow morning at nine, Rick Carlisle will add two more sets of tactical runs, Casey will increase the full-court press."
"No way..." Several desperate cries came from below.
"Lin, could you give us a day off?" Pierce asked tentatively. "Just one day, so we can have a break?"
"No." Lin Qi said expressionlessly, " The Lakers won't give you a break. Anyone who's late will have to run ten laps around the arena."
After saying that, Lin Qi turned and walked into the corridor.
"Ten laps?" Artest's eyes widened. "How many meters is one lap around this arena?"
"Just don't be late," Garnett said.
As he stepped out of the locker room, Lin Qi revealed a satisfied smile.
These guys, who've been holding back their frustrations in practice and pushing their limits every day, will give the Los Angeles Lakers a Christmas they'll never forget.