The Boston night breeze carried a hint of coolness, but the New York Knicks, staying at the Four Seasons Hotel, felt as if they were in the crater of a volcano.
In the presidential suite on the top floor of the hotel, Knicks general manager Scott Layden held the phone, cold sweat dripping down his face onto the carpet. On the other end of the line was LeBron James Dolan, the tyrant of Madison Square Garden.
" Scott, have you read today's the New York Times and the Boston Globe?" Dolan's voice was unusually calm, but those who knew him well knew that this was the calm before the storm.
"I saw it, LeBron James..."
"The front page headline is that damn 57 points!" Dolan's voice suddenly rose eight octaves, his roar almost shattering Layden's eardrums, "57 points! We're an NBA team, not some damn church girls' high school basketball team!"
" LeBron James, let me explain. Jeff's strategy was originally intended to slow down the pace..."
"I don't want to hear tactics! Don't talk to me about tactics!" Dolan rudely interrupted Layden. "I'm a ticket and broadcasting rights boss! New York fans paid thousands of dollars to sit in the front row to see Allan Houston and Sprewell throw that damn basketball into the basket, not to watch them wrestle with each other on the court and only score 57 points!"
Dolan, panting heavily, gave his final, absolute order, "I don't care what methods Jeff Van Gundy uses, in the next game, even if we lose, you have to pick up the pace! Let Houston shoot! Let Sprewell run the fast breaks! If they play like this in the second game, you and that bald guy are going to be fish food in the Hudson River!"
The phone slammed down.
Layden slumped helplessly onto the sofa. After a long while, he sighed, got up, and headed downstairs to the head coach's room.
Ten minutes later, in Jeff Van Gundy's room.
After listening to Layden's relay of Dolan's "supreme instructions," Van Gundy sat on the bed covered with videotapes, remaining silent for a long time. His heavy dark circles under his eyes appeared particularly deep in the light of the bedside lamp.
"Speed up? Play a fast break game?" Van Gundy chuckled dryly, his voice filled with deep sorrow and helplessness. " Scott, tell me, what do we have to play a fast break game against Boston? Mark Jackson is already 36 years old, and Larry Bird Johnson's back injury makes it difficult for him to even bend over. If we abandon our prized defense and try to compete with Chris Paul Pierce and Chauncey Billups Billups in transition speed, this aging roster has no chance of winning!"
"I know, Jeff, I know," Layden said, covering his face in anguish. "But it was Dolan's order. If you don't do as he says, he really will fire you right away."
Van Gundy fell silent.
He looked at the whiteboard on the wall, a defensive system he had spent countless days and nights tailoring to the characteristics of this team. Though ugly and slow, it was the Knicks' only weapon that allowed them to survive in this league.
Now, an entertainment tycoon who doesn't even understand pick-and-roll tactics wants him to destroy all of this simply because he thinks "57 points is too embarrassing."
"I understand." Van Gundy suddenly loosened his clenched fist, as if all his strength had been drained away. He didn't argue anymore, because he suddenly realized that Patrick Ewing left, this Metropolitan team no longer belonged to him, a coach who firmly believed in defense.
"Tell Mr. Dolan, as he wishes."
Two days later, Game 2 of the Eastern Conference Semifinals will be held at the New Garden.
Five minutes into the game, Lin Qi sat in his box, watching the Knicks ' sudden change in style on the court, and raised an eyebrow slightly.
Mark Jackson stopped controlling the pace, and Allan Houston started forcing shots as soon as he crossed half-court, even against the defense. Sprewell was like a wild horse, constantly trying to launch fast breaks.
"What are they doing?" Rick Carlisle frowned on the sidelines. Knicks suddenly abandoned their physical battles and started trying to engage in a fast-paced offensive war with the Celtics?
Lin Qi took a sip of coffee, glanced at Jeff Van Gundy on the sidelines whose face was ashen, and quickly understood the underlying meaning.
" Van Gundy couldn't be that stupid; it's probably Dolan's idea." Lin Qi shook his head, a mocking smile playing on his lips. He knew LeBron James Dolan, that idiot boss, all too well.
"Since they want to run..." Lin Qi picked up the walkie-talkie, " Rick, grant them their wish."
Rick Carlisle understood immediately.
In the latter part of the first quarter, the Celtics immediately substituted in Artest, Pierce, and Michael Redd.
The following match turned into a brutal massacre, completely different in style from the first one.
The Knicks tried to speed things up, but the aging Mark Jackson made a turnover in transition, allowing Artest to steal the ball and roll across half-court like a tank for a powerful dunk. Allan Houston missed a tough shot, Garnett grabbed the rebound and immediately passed it to Pierce, who easily caught the ball and made a layup.
The Knicks ' veterans, dragging their injured legs, were like horse-drawn carriages trying to catch up with a sports car in front of Boston's young players in their prime—they tried their best but could only watch the other's taillights get further and further away.
Speed up the pace? Go all out? Against a team with the talent of Boston's caliber, abandoning defense to engage in an all-out offensive game is tantamount to suicide.
At halftime, the score was 68-45.
The Knicks did get the "high score" Dolan wanted, but at the cost of Boston easily scoring 68 points.
In the third quarter, when Billups hit a fast break three-pointer to extend the lead to 30 points, Jeff Van Gundy, sitting on the bench, didn't even have the desire to call a timeout.
He looked at the Knicks players on the court, panting and scattered, his eyes becoming utterly empty.
Van Gundy knew this game was doomed to be lost.
Even more tragically, he knew perfectly well that his era in New York, that of Jeff Van Gundy, was coming to a complete end.
Inside the private room, Lin Qi looked at his easily defeated opponent and listlessly put his coffee cup back on the table.
"Internal strife, and an amateur trying to instruct a professional. Thanks to LeBron James Dolan, he saved us a lot of trouble."