Doc Rivers ' motivational speeches did indeed work.
Two days later, in Game 2 of the first round at TD Garden, the Orlando Magic threw away their whiteboards from the moment the tip-off, dragging the game into a quagmire and turning it into a pure physical battle.
Darrell B. J. Armstrong relentlessly guarded Gary Payton from the backcourt, gripping his jersey tightly. Bo Outlaw and Ervin Johnson in the paint went to extremes, engaging in blatant Crash and elbows in every positioning maneuver.
The referee's whistle was extremely lenient at the start of the game. The Celtics ' passing lanes were brutally cut off, and every shot they took was met with several hard blows, but the whistle never blew.
At the end of the first quarter, the score was 22-20. Through relentless play, the Orlando Magic had surprisingly taken a two-point lead.
"Well done! Get physical! Let them know Orlando isn't here to get beaten up!" Doc Rivers yelled from the bench. The Magic players were panting heavily, their eyes bloodshot, radiating a desperate excitement.
In the VIP box on the top floor, Lin Qi glanced at the score. "A cornered beast is still fighting." He took a sip of coffee, his expression devoid of emotion.
In the second quarter, the rotation players came on. The Orlando Magic were still keeping the score close.
In the fourth minute, Wang Zhizhi received a pass from Billups outside the three-point line, faked out his opponent, and drove into the paint to prepare for a layup. Ervin Johnson, who was helping on the weak side, rushed straight at him and collided directly with Wang Zhizhi.
"Bang!" Wang Zhizhi lost his balance and crashed to the floor, curling up in pain.
"Beep--!" The whistle finally blew. But the whistle couldn't quell the fire; the Boston bench erupted.
Ron Artest was the first to burst onto the court, his face taut with anger. He roared and shoved Johnson aside, sending him stumbling back three steps. Pointing at Johnson's nose, he cursed, "You fucking only know how to play dirty, huh?! If you touch him again, I'll twist your two skinny legs off and shove them in your mouth!"
Ben Wallace followed closely behind, his furious roar echoing throughout the arena. He charged forward, his chest pressing firmly against B. J. Armstrong's chin as Armstrong tried to rally around him, spitting in his face. "Want to fight? Come on!"
The two groups instantly became entangled, pushing and shoving, hurling insults at each other, and it looked like they were about to come to blows.
Rick Carlisle, his face grim, told his assistant coach to quickly pull the man up. Rasheed Wallace ignored everyone else, walked over to Wang Zhizhi, and forcefully dragged Wang Zhizhi up.
Should we call the team medic?
"It's nothing, a piece of cake." Wang Zhizhi twisted his waist, wincing in pain, but waved his hand dismissively.
The referee reviewed the video and called a Flagrant Foul 1 on Johnson, and gave Artest, who initiated the push, a technical foul. Wang Zhizhi was substituted after his free throws to rest.
Doc Rivers breathed a sigh of relief on the sidelines. He felt it was worth it to commit a flagrant foul, disrupt Boston's rhythm, and establish his authority. But he forgot who was sitting opposite him. Playing hardball against Boston was tantamount to unleashing a monster's seal.
The game continued. As soon as Mercer received the ball in the corner for the Orlando Magic, Artest closed in.
Face to face, eye to eye.
Just as Mercer was about to drop the ball, Artest slammed his chest into his shoulder.
"Bang!" The two collided violently. Mercer staggered, and the ball slipped from his grasp.
Artest suddenly reached out and snatched the ball right out of his arms!
With red eyes, Artest charged toward the Magic's half of the court. Facing the retreating guard, he jumped up and slammed the ball into the basket with a powerful swing of his arm!
"Boom!" The basketball hoop shook violently.
Upon landing, Artest didn't immediately return to defense. He strode to the Orlando Magic's bench, glared at Doc Rivers, pounded his chest with his fists, and roared at the entire Magic team, "Is that all the strength you have? Didn't you guys eat dinner?! Come on! Come at me! You bunch of cowards who only know how to use dirty tricks!"
The referee rushed over to warn him, Artest then retreated on defense with a cold smile.
The Orlando Magic's nightmare had only just begun. Enraged, the Celtics abandoned their relaxed attitude and raised their defensive intensity to a normal level.
In the next possession, Outlaw feigned a screen on the weak side, while secretly observing the ball handler's path. Just as the defender's attention was drawn to the ball and their center of gravity shifted, Outlaw suddenly accelerated!
He used a clean cut to shake off his defender and drove straight to the basket. His teammate's pass was perfectly timed, and Outlaw caught the ball and used the momentum to jump.
But Garnett, who was in position to help defend, didn't give him any chance. The moment Outlaw jumped, Garnett slammed the ball down, precisely interrupting his jump and power.
The basketball eventually slipped from his grasp and flew out of bounds.
Possession changed hands. Billups crossed half-court, faced B. J. Armstrong's relentless defense, turned his back to him, and used his back and shoulder to force his way to the free-throw line before turning and hitting a jump shot.
After scoring, Billups stared blankly at the panting B. J. Armstrong, his voice low but chilling like ice water. "You're not only short, but you're also weak. Don't waste your energy; you're leaning on me like a woman, I can't feel a thing."
The next five minutes were a public execution.
Artest, Rasheed, Big Ben, and Garnett —these four players wove an impenetrable net on the defensive end.
Darrell B. J. Armstrong finally broke into the paint and made a layup...
Big Ben leaped into the air and plucked the ball from the air with both hands!
On the final possession of the second quarter, Garnett chased down half-court, jumped alongside the Magic guard, and slammed the ball against the backboard. After landing, he pounded his chest, roaring at the ceiling and running all the way to center court, barking wildly at the Magic's bench.
"That's it?! Where's your toughness?! Doc! Look at the bunch of useless trash you brought out, they don't even have the courage to look me in the eye!"
Halftime whistle blows. 53:36.
In the latter part of the second quarter, the enraged Celtics went on a 24-4 run. The Orlando Magic's so-called "toughness" looked like a childish joke in front of Boston. The Magic players all walked to the tunnel with their heads down, Mercer's eyes were unfocused, Outlaw was panting heavily, as if he had just been pulled out of the water.
Inside the private room, Lin Qi watched this scene unfold.
" Doc Rivers has committed a grave error." He picked up his glass. "In the face of an absolute disparity in strength, resorting to underhanded tactics will only make your end more miserable."
Lin Qi's gaze swept over the Artest and Wallace brothers, who were covered in sweat and still had fierce eyes, in the player tunnel.
"Besides, when it comes to the ancestor of scoundrels..." he smirked, "It's Boston."
The suspense of the series has been sealed. What remains is only a one-sided crushing victory.