2 PM, Celtics headquarters, Lin Qi's office.
On the desk lay a latest media voting tracking chart. PR Director Jeff's in-depth column last week, "Sacrificing Data to Achieve a Great System," had indeed impressed some old-school journalists, successfully concentrating a significant portion of the Celtics' previously scattered votes onto Garnett.
But Iverson's "lone hero" narrative still holds sway in public opinion across the United States.
Head coach Rick Carlisle walked in and sat down in the leather chair opposite the desk.
"Did you see the voting predictions this morning?" Lin Qi closed the folder, his expression calm.
"I saw it. The splitting of votes is an unavoidable issue for super teams." Rick Carlisle leaned back in his chair. "In the locker room this morning, everyone saw the TV program, and the atmosphere was a bit tense. But Gary and Chris Paul took the initiative to talk to KG, and everyone opened up. The team's consensus is clear... a three-peat is above all else."
Lin Qi picked up his black coffee, took a sip, and smiled slightly. "KG is an extremely competitive person, but he never lacks a sense of the big picture."
"Aren't you worried?" Rick Carlisle asked. "Our PR department is putting in a lot of effort to build momentum. If KG still loses to Iverson in the vote in the end, won't that dampen his enthusiasm?"
" Rick, being in management is like hedging risks; you have to calculate all possible outcomes." Lin Qi put down his coffee cup, his tone calm and rational.
"Going all out to campaign for KG is a necessary gesture from the management. He's the cornerstone of our defense and crucial to our offensive system. Moreover, at his age, he's in the prime of his career, establishing his historical standing. By pouring resources into promoting him, we're telling him: the team recognizes his sacrifices, and the management will always stand behind him."
Rick Carlisle nodded; Lin Qi's move had indeed given the star players a strong sense of security and belonging.
"But objectively speaking, Iverson's performance this season, averaging 31 points per game and leading the team to a top-two finish in the Eastern Conference, is indeed amazing. Coupled with the splitting of votes, we'll likely lose." Lin Qi's eyes flickered slightly. "What kind of mentality do you think this team aiming to defend their title will have?"
Rick Carlisle's expression shifted, and he instantly grasped Lin Qi's deeper strategy.
"They'll feel frustrated, like their sacrifices have been underestimated," Lin Qi said calmly. " The Celtics have won too many games this season, they've had it too easy. The biggest fear for a defending champion on a winning streak is complacency and relaxation in April."
"If they enter the playoffs with the frustration of being underestimated by others, and with a hunger to prove themselves..." Lin Qi tapped the table with his knuckles, "Then in the tough games in May, this team's defensive pressure and focus will be devastating."
Rick Carlisle looked at Lin Qi, a hint of approval in his eyes.
Regardless of who wins the awards off the field, Lin Qi has already transformed all the byproducts of this media battle into the internal driving force for the team's pursuit of a three-peat.
"So, the press releases keep going?" Rick Carlisle asked.
"Keep pushing, build up the momentum as much as possible." Lin Qi stood up. "Leave the spotlight and pressure to Philadelphia. What we need to do is prepare our playoff arsenal."
That evening, in Philadelphia, at the Philadelphia 76ers' home training facility.
The only sound in the empty arena was the echo of the ball hitting the ground. Allen Iverson, soaked to the bone, was doing extra practice with the help of his assistant coach.
The teaching assistant stepped forward and handed over a newly printed evening newspaper. The headline on the front page was particularly eye-catching.
"MVP Battle: Boston's Internal Strife Splits Votes, Iverson Leads the Nation?"
Iverson stopped dribbling, glanced down at the headline, and his face instantly darkened. He didn't even read the contents; he simply crumpled the newspaper into a ball and tossed it into the pile of equipment next to him.
"Internal strife? Vote splitting?" Iverson sneered, his breathing rapid. "It's as if this MVP award was a handout from Boston."
He took the basketball back, stood beyond the three-point line, pulled up for a jump shot, and flicked his wrist with remarkable fluidity.
"Swish!" The ball went into the net cleanly.
"I'm leading the MVP race because I played with dominance, not because anyone gave it to me." Iverson turned around, his eyes revealing a resolute determination born from anger.
He looked at the assistant coach. "We're playing Boston next week, right?"
"Yes, Allen. March 27th."
"Very good." Iverson called for the ball again. "I'll let those reporters who cast their votes see for themselves who the most valuable player on the court really is."
At the same time, in Chicago, at the Chicago Bulls' training center.
The stadium's ceiling lights were only half-lit, casting long shadows on the waxed maple floors in the dim light.
Kobe Brian stood alone in the corner, mechanically repeating the motions of catching the ball, jumping, and shooting a fadeaway. The locker room was already empty. Elton Brand, once considered one of the "two cores of the Chicago Bulls' revival," expressionlessly packed his bags and left the arena the moment the final whistle blew. The two didn't even exchange a perfunctory glance or a single word.
Half an hour earlier, Kobe had seen an ESPN discussion about the MVP on the TV in the locker room. The glaring subtitle on the screen now seemed to have taken root in his mind.
[Latest MVP Prediction: Kobe averages 30.2 points per game, but his support has plummeted to 1% due to the Chicago Bulls' poor record, essentially eliminating him from the MVP discussion.]
"Drag down by poor performance?"
Kobe stopped what he was doing, gripping the rough basketball tightly in his hand, and muttered to himself in the empty arena, his voice carrying an extremely suppressed, cold laugh.
"If I were standing next to Kevin Garnett and Chris Paul Pierce, if I were in that high-flying, forgiving system, I could easily achieve the best record in the league."
Kobe gritted his teeth, and the image of Iverson's defiant face and his celebration in front of the national media flashed through his mind again.
"Or, if the Chicago management could give me a Larry Bird Brown like the Philadelphia 76ers did, along with a whole defensive roster, a team of blue-collar players who can rebound and do the dirty work, and let me shoot from the outside without restraint... I could win the MVP award while also contending for the championship."
But reality doesn't offer "what ifs." He looked around the vast arena, but he had no star-studded team, only repeated losses and a pile of impressive statistics that couldn't be converted into victories.
Kobe took a deep breath, suppressing all his resentment, jealousy, and anger. He picked up the basketball and retreated to the three-point line with a cold expression.
He jumped, hung in the air with perfect precision, and coldly flicked his wrist without a trace of emotion.
"Swish." The basketball swished through the net, making a crisp white splash.
He walked over, picked up the ball, and returned to his original position. He jumped again and shot.
"Whoosh." Another hit.
In the empty arena, there were no cheers from fans, only the dull thud of the basketball hitting the wooden floor and the echo of the ball going through the hoop. Over and over again, monotonously and resolutely.
Kobe's dark eyes were as cold as ice in the dim light. He looked at the swaying Nets and uttered a sentence in a low voice.
"Just wait. One day, I'll win my MVP."
He pulled up once more, and the basketball traced a deadly arc through the air.
"It's not based on a glamorous trio of leaders, nor on a system built by others."
"It was all thanks to myself."
March 21, Boston, Celtics training facility
Before morning practice began, Rick Carlisle gathered the entire team.
"I know the media's been talking about the MVP lately," he said. "I think everyone understands. I don't care who wins the MVP. What I care about is whether we can lift the championship trophy again in the NBA Finals in June."
The players remained silent.
He paused for a moment.
"MVP is an individual honor. The championship is an honor for all of us. If you ask me which one I'd rather have..."
He looked at Garnett, Pierce, and Gary Payton.
"I vote for the champion. I believe you all do too."
The whole team nodded.
"Very good," Rick Carlisle said. "From today onwards, I don't want to hear any more talk about MVP. Our only goal is to win the championship and build a dynasty."
"There's one more thing," Rick Carlisle added, "Next week we play the Philadelphia 76ers. Iverson is really eager to prove to us that he deserves his MVP award. So..."
Rick Carlisle looked at the whole team, a meaningful smile playing on his lips.
"Shouldn't you guys teach him a lesson too?"
The players burst into laughter.
Garnett stood up, clapped his hands, and his eyes blazed with pure fighting spirit.
Pierce and Gary Payton exchanged a smile.