December 28, Boston, 8:00 AM.
The entire Celtics team was in the meeting room.
The curtains were drawn, and the projector beam shone onto the whiteboard.
The footage repeatedly showed Big Ben being dominated and crushed by O'Neal in the low post on Christmas Eve, and then falling heavily in Dallas the next day due to exhaustion in his legs.
The room was deathly silent, save for the hissing sound of the videotape playing.
Lin Qi and Rick Carlisle stood beside the screen.
"You all saw what was in the newspapers this morning." Lin Qi turned off the projector and turned on the lights. The blinding white light made the players squint. "People are saying our interior defense is made of paper, that you were ruined by Shaq alone."
Lin Qi leaned against the tactics board, his gaze sweeping over Ben Wallace sitting in the front row. " Big Ben, you guarded him for 41 minutes. Tell me, what was it like guarding that fat guy?"
Big Ben's legs were still wrapped in thick ice packs. He rubbed his face and gave a wry smile, "Lin, do you want to hear the truth?"
"Certainly."
"It's like..." Big Ben hesitated for a moment, "Like you've got your hands on a heavy truck that's reversing at full speed. With every step you take back, your internal organs are shaking. When I jumped in Dallas last night, I felt every ligament in my knee cramping."
Sitting in the back row, substitute power forward Rasheed Wallace sighed deeply, echoing the sentiment, and continued the conversation.
" Big Ben isn't exaggerating at all. Those laymen in the media have no idea what that means." Rasheed, a veteran who had faced O'Neal many times, looked at the team with extreme seriousness. " Shaq is tough to deal with. He's the most terrifying athlete on the planet... 7'1", 340 pounds, but fucking agile! And his hook shot feels so soft."
Rasheed pointed to his chest and chin. "When I was defending him, I didn't even know how many elbows he hit me with. And those elbows weren't even intentional; it was just a natural movement when he turned around, and they could just knock you over."
Brad Miller couldn't help but click his tongue in amazement upon hearing this.
In last season's NBA Finals, he faced off against that unstoppable big man...
In that match, he was struck in the face by O'Neal's elbow, resulting in a disfigurement that caused him to bleed on the court. He needed several stitches after the game.
Miller had personally experienced the suffocating feeling of being run over by a heavy truck that Big Ben described.
"You guys think Big Ben's leg weakness in Dallas was an accident?" Rasheed shook his head, a hint of lingering fear in his voice. "Back when I was with the Trail Blazers, there was a time I played for about twenty minutes just to keep up with Shaq in the low post. After that game, I sat in the locker room with ice packs wrapped around both knees and ankles, feeling like my whole body was falling apart."
"Those twenty minutes drained the last bit of energy from my body," Rasheed said, looking at Big Ben. "I developed a high fever the next day. I was really sick; my body was completely exhausted. It took me a full week to recover. Big Ben could hold out for 41 minutes, and he was still able to play against Mutombo the next day. He's an iron man."
After Rasheed finished speaking, the conference room fell silent.
"So," Lin Qi coldly, looking at everyone, " Big Ben carried him for 41 minutes in Los Angeles. Do you think that's normal?"
Head coach Rick Carlisle stepped forward, his expression extremely candid. "This is not normal. This is my responsibility. In order to achieve that damn 27-game winning streak, I made the mistake that all coaches make... I didn't trust the rotation and overused the starters."
Rick Carlisle looked at Rasheed and Miller: "From today onwards, this won't happen again. Rasheed, Brad, you two need to be ready to step up and play center. Big Ben, KG, for the rest of the regular season, if we encounter a heavy center, I won't let you carry the team alone anymore."
"Coach Casey has revised the defensive rotation principles. If the opponent's interior players position themselves too deep, the forwards must immediately collapse and double-team them. Even if it means leaving the opponent's three-point shooters open, we cannot allow our core interior players to be worn down."
Garnett frowned. "But what if their outside shooters get hot?"
"Then we'll accept defeat." Lin Qi interrupted him without hesitation. "Losing a few regular season games due to three-pointers is better than both of you getting injured. Remember, we're a two-time champion team. Winning streaks are just vanity; a three-peat is the real goal."
Just then, Chris Paul Pierce, who was sitting in the corner, slowly stood up.
"Coach," Pierce glanced at the clipboard, his tone as calm as when he hit the game-winning shot on Christmas Eve, "The issue of fatigue in the paint definitely needs to be addressed by increasing the rotation. But in that game in Dallas, the offense stalled severely, and that's my fault."
Pierce watched the video. " Big Ben and KG couldn't run anymore, the screen quality dropped, I couldn't pass the ball out in time, and it turned into an inefficient forced isolation play."
He turned his head and looked at the other players... Chauncey Billups Billups, Michael Redd, Türkoğlu.
"Next time we get bogged down in that kind of quagmire, I'll reduce my ball-handling and over-involvement," Pierce said earnestly. " Chauncey Billups, Michael, if I get double-teamed, or if the screen isn't set properly, you guys need to be more decisive when the ball comes out wide open on the perimeter."
Billups and Redd nodded solemnly.
Lin Qi looked at Pierce, a barely perceptible hint of admiration flashing in his eyes. This was a true leader—no shirking responsibility, no making excuses, and even proactively giving up ball possession and space for his teammates after adjustments to the tactical system.
"Very good." Lin Qi clapped his hands, refocusing the team's attention. "Leave the noise outside and the media's ridicule in this conference room. The 27-game winning streak is in the past. From today onwards, treat our regular season record as 0 wins and 0 losses."
After saying that, Lin Qi walked out of the conference room, leaving the locker room to the coaches and players.
Rick Carlisle picked up the tactical board, blew the whistle around his neck, and said crisply, "Everyone change into your training uniforms. Assemble on the field in five minutes!"
The oppressive atmosphere in the meeting room instantly dissipated.
A few minutes later, accompanied by the dull thud of a basketball hitting the floor and the sharp screeching of sneakers rubbing against the wooden floor.
The defending champions, fresh from their first defeat, began their preparations for the next day.