June 3, Dallas, Reunion Arena.
Amidst deafening boos from the crowd, the red backboard timer light illuminated. The scoreboard displayed 98 to 96.
After another grueling seven-game series, the Los Angeles Lakers narrowly won the Western Conference championship. However, there were no scenes of players wildly embracing or tossing basketballs high into the stands.
The moment the final whistle blew, Jason Kidd bent over, hands on his knees, staring at the wooden floor, breathing heavily. He played for 46 minutes, marking his fifth appearance in the past two weeks with more than 45 minutes of playing time.
Shaquille O'Neal O'Neal didn't celebrate with his teammates. He slowly walked to the bench, sat heavily on a folding chair, and stretched out his right foot directly to the team trainer. The trainer skillfully knelt down on one knee, cut the laces of his shoe with scissors, released the swollen and deformed big toe from the pressure, and then quickly applied an ice pack.
In the away team's locker room, several players leaned against their lockers, too exhausted even to take off their sweat-soaked jerseys.
With less than 48 hours left until Game 1 of the NBA Finals, they still have a four-hour flight to Boston, crossing half of the United States.
At 2 a. m., the Lakers ' chartered plane was flying smoothly at an altitude of 30,000 feet.
The main lights in the cabin were off. Apart from the regular hum of the engine, the only other sound was the occasional muffled clatter of ice cubes hitting the pressurized ice packs. Most of the players were already asleep, wearing blindfolds.
Head coach Phil Jackson sat in a window seat in first class, wide awake. By the dim light of the overhead reading lamp, he flipped through the Boston playoff scouting report that his assistant coach had just compiled.
On the other side of the aisle, Jason Kidd was also awake. His legs were encased in air pressure recovery boots, and the machine was making a soft inflation sound, helping to compress the already stiff muscles in his calves.
Jackson glanced at Kidd and handed him a sheet of data.
Kidd reached out and took it. It was a shot heat map of the Boston Celtics' interior players during the playoffs.
"Look at the three-point shooting percentage above." Jackson took off his reading glasses, pinched the bridge of his nose, and lowered his voice to avoid waking the players in the back row.
Kidd's gaze swept over the data on the paper, and his brows furrowed instantly.
This statistic shows that Kevin Garnett averaged 3.5 three-point attempts per game in the playoffs, with a 38.5% success rate. Meanwhile, Rasheed Wallace, coming off the bench at power forward, averaged an even higher 4.2 three-point attempts per game, with a near 40% success rate.
"Except for Ben Wallace, all their big men are now standing outside the three-point line." Jackson picked up his paper cup and took a sip of warm water. "They're using three-pointers as a regular weapon, and their production and efficiency even exceed half of the starting shooting guards in the league."
Kidd didn't speak. He knew very well what those few lines of dry data meant in a real game.
Traditional defensive thinking dictates that big men of Garnett and Rasheed's height should engage in physical battles in the low post. But Boston has completely changed its playing style this season.
Kidd turned his head and glanced at the back seat. Shaquille O'Neal O'Neal was leaning back in his chair, snoring heavily, his swollen and deformed right leg stretched straight out in the aisle, with an ice pack tightly wrapped around it.
"We just went through that in Dallas." Kidd looked away and handed the stat sheet back to Jackson. " Shaq was forced to run back and forth between the three-point line and the paint for seven whole games just to delay Nowitzki. That's how he ruined his toe."
"And Boston's situation will be even worse." Jackson closed the report and tossed it onto the small table beside him. "If Shaq goes to guard Ben Wallace, they'll have Ben setting screens for Billups at the three-point line. If Shaq goes to guard Garnett or Rasheed, he'll have to keep diving to the three-point line like he's guarding a guard."
Kidd's gaze darkened. He could even mentally rehearse the suffocating scene: Boston's four players spread out beyond the three-point line, tearing the Lakers' heavy and clumsy defensive formation to shreds.
" Shaq can't get out of there. His stamina and knees no longer allow him to make any long lateral movements." Kidd looked at the recovery boots inflating his legs, his tone devoid of complaint, only the coldness of stating a fact.
"I know." Jackson leaned back in his chair, his gaze fixed on the dark night sky outside the porthole. " Boston doesn't need him to dive out. They're just using this spacing system, forcing us to choose: either keep Shaq in the paint and watch them shoot threes, or let Shaq run out and open the paint for them to cut in."
Silence fell over the cabin. Only the sound of the recovery boots inflating and O'Neal's heavy breathing echoed alternately. There were still two hours of flight time to Boston, but this enormous tactical cage had already enveloped the weary private jet.
The following morning, sports media across the United States were completely flooded with previews of the NBA Finals.
This time, however, the focus of public opinion was surprisingly unified. No media outlets discussed any "feuds among the wealthy" or "tactical maneuvering" anymore; all the front pages of newspapers and television broadcasts were coldly looping two sets of comparative data.
The Boston Globe's sports section headline consisted of just one huge table.
Boston Celtics' highest total playoff minutes played: Chris Paul Pierce, 38 minutes per game. Team rest time: 7 days.
The Los Angeles Lakers' highest total playoff playing time: Shaquille O'Neal O'Neal, 45.5 minutes per game. Team rest time: 1 day.
ESPN's morning news commentator stated in an almost judgmental tone. "This is not a fair matchup. The Lakers have just played two Game 7s, while the Boston players even had time to go to the barbershop to trim their beards."
June 4th afternoon, Boston New Garden, NBA Finals media day.
The visiting team's interview room was packed with reporters carrying cameras and microphones. Jason Kidd, wearing a gray Lakers training uniform, sat in front of the microphone. He spoke slowly, his voice visibly tired.
" Jason, everyone's talking about your stamina disadvantage. After fourteen high-intensity Western Conference playoff games, do you think you still have enough stamina to deal with Boston who switch the fastest on defense in the league?" a Los Angeles beat reporter asked.
Kidd slightly adjusted his posture, trying to find a more comfortable angle for his aching back.
"I don't care about these things, we just focus on playing basketball," Kidd said calmly, looking at the camera.
Ten minutes later, O'Neal walked into the interview room.
As soon as he sat down, the chair made a dull creak. Sharp-eyed reporters immediately noticed that even while sitting, O'Neal's right foot was not fully on the ground, but rather slightly raised on his tiptoes.
" Shaq, Ben Wallace, and Kevin Garnett have practically shut down the Eastern Conference's interior defense in the last few series. Are you ready to face their double-teams?"
O'Neal pulled the microphone in front of him, his chin slightly raised.
"I've faced double teams my whole life. One or two people can't stop me, Boston is no exception." O'Neal's voice was still deep, but it clearly lacked the arrogant confidence he used to have when he wanted to devour his opponents.
A Boston local reporter immediately threw out an extremely pointed question, "But you just battled Mutombo for seven games in Dallas. Boston's interior rotation will only be more aggressive Dallas'. Can your body really still support you destroying the paint like before?"
The interview room fell silent instantly.
O'Neal stared at the reporter who asked the question and remained silent for two seconds.
"We beat every team in the Western Conference," O'Neal said, slowly rising to his feet, his hands gripping the edge of the table. "Now we stand here. That's my answer."
He ignored the rapid clicking of camera shutters and the questions swirling behind him, and turned to walk towards the locker room corridor. As he walked, his massive body habitually leaned to the left, trying to shift his weight off his right foot, which was covered in blisters and inflammation.
In the shadows at the end of the tunnel, Lakers head coach Phil Jackson leaned against the wall. He watched Shaquille O'Neal walk heavily and limped towards him, then turned to look at the green dome of Boston's home arena outside the tunnel.
There are 16 hours left until the start of the first game of the NBA Finals.