The hot, humid air in Orlando Arena was thick with the cloying sweetness of popcorn and coconut oil.
Pregame warm-ups were not even over, but the roar from the Magic fans in the stands already threatened to blow the roof off the arena.
They were cheering the return of "Shark."
Shaquille O'Neal, who had missed the first 22 games of the season with a fractured right thumb, was now wearing the Magic's black-and-white-striped number 32 warm-up jersey, mercilessly abusing the rim at center court.
Boom-
Another thunderous two-handed dunk sent the backboard shaking violently under the beast's weight.
Landing beneath the basket, O'Neal casually turned and bared his teeth at the Celtics, who were warming up their shots on the other half of the court.
He had been pent up for two months, and every cell in his body craved the most brutal low-post bullying to crush this young Boston team.
On the sideline, Magic head coach Brian Hill looked relaxed.
On the tactical board he had prepared before the game, the strategy against Boston could not have been simpler.
O'Neal would establish a meat-grinder defense inside, All-Defensive Second Team selection Horace Grant would clean up what remained, and "Penny" Hardaway would handle strangling Sam Cassell on the perimeter.
By the defensive logic of the nineties, this system was impregnable.
On the Boston Celtics' bench, Adelman glanced down at the sheet covered in red tactical lines, a faint cold sweat seeping into his palms.
"Lin," Adelman's voice was swallowed by the overwhelming noise in the arena, forcing him to lean close to Lin Qi's ear and growl. "We've practiced the different screens and backdoor-cut variations in this system countless times. But in a real game, against the defensive intensity of Shaq and Horace, nobody can say for sure whether it'll work."
"With this system... tonight, on a national broadcast, we're openly defying this era's conventional defensive wisdom."
Lin Qi sat calmly in his chair with his legs crossed, his gaze traveling across the court to O'Neal, who ruled the paint.
"Rick, we didn't come here tonight to accommodate them. We came to bury them."
Lin Qi turned to look at the nineteen-year-old in front of him, who was adjusting his knee pads.
Garnett's face was as dark as iron. Both hands twitched and clenched at empty air as he muttered under his breath.
"Kevin," Lin Qi called.
Garnett turned his head stiffly.
"Tonight, this stage belongs to you." Lin Qi reached out with both hands and gripped his shoulders.
"We've practiced the tactics. Be patient and execute the plan. And... those thirty thousand threes you've shot over the last two months? It's time to let them see."
In Garnett's slightly bloodshot eyes, two long-suppressed wildfires suddenly blazed to life.
Tweet-
The whistle sounded.
The Celtics changed their starting lineup: Sam Cassell, Eddie Jones, Willie Anderson, Kevin Garnett, and Magic Johnson.
When the skinny, 2.11-meter-tall nineteen-year-old rookie, built like a utility pole, stood in front of the Magic's starting power forward, Horace Grant, Orlando's courtside commentator could not resist a shrill sneer.
"What is Boston doing? They're starting a high school kid at power forward?"
"Horace is going to snap that beanpole in half in the paint tonight."
Wearing blue protective goggles, Grant did not even give Garnett a proper look.
Smack!
Johnson barely managed to tip the ball back over O'Neal's head.
Boston's first possession.
Sam Cassell dribbled over half court, while the Celtics' starting power forward, Garnett, stayed at the right forty-five-degree spot beyond the three-point line as naturally as a small forward.
Grant glanced at him, his body honestly following its instincts as he sagged half a step toward the paint.
His defensive instincts told him that all he needed to do was stay inside, ready to double-team Sam Cassell with Shaq.
As for the perimeter? Who the hell would guard a 2.11-meter rookie at the three-point line?
Sam Cassell signaled at the top of the arc.
Center Johnson quickly came up, using his solid frame to set an extremely firm screen on one side for Sam Cassell.
Sam Cassell drove off it, shielding the ball with his bulk and body as he plunged straight into the flank of the Magic's defense.
That drive made the Magic's defense instinctively collapse inward.
O'Neal guarded the basket, while Grant unconsciously shifted toward the paint as well, preparing to stop Sam Cassell's floater.
"Now!" Adelman slammed a fist into his palm on the sideline.
Garnett, who had been preparing to set a screen, suddenly reversed course in a highly unusual move the instant the Magic's interior defense fully collapsed, quickly retreating beyond the three-point line to the right of the top of the arc!
While he was still moving, Sam Cassell's pass had already sailed over two defenders' heads and arrived precisely at the top of the arc.
Garnett caught it.
In front of him lay a vast, completely empty space a full two meters wide.
Grant, the nearest defender, still had his feet on the edge of the paint and froze where he stood.
Garnett did not hesitate.
The muscle memory from the tens of thousands of threes he had shot late at night in Boston over the past two months took control of his body at that instant.
He jumped, extended his long arms, and released high overhead.
His fingertips gave the ball a soft, gentle flick.
The ball traced an extremely high, almost illogical, deadly arc through the air of Orlando Arena.
Swish!
The opening basket was a three!
3-0.
On the Magic bench, head coach Brian Hill sprang straight out of his chair, loudly berating the defense on the court.
"Horace! What are you doing? Why did you leave him open?!"
Grant tugged at his goggles, his expression sour, and muttered.
"That was a fluke... the rookie got damn lucky."
But on the sideline, Lin Qi gave a cold smile.
A fluke? This is only the beginning.
At the other end, O'Neal unleashed the unstoppable brutality he had held in for two months in the low post. With nothing but savage bulk, he almost knocked Johnson clear out of his defensive stance and answered with a one-handed slam.
3-2.
Orlando's roar erupted again.
But a second later, Boston's offense came pushing back with extreme efficiency.
Sam Cassell dribbled over half court without even changing his tactical signal.
In a flash, the same defensive choice confronted Grant again.
The All-Defensive Second Team veteran stared hard at Sam Cassell driving with the ball, catching sight of Garnett rapidly retreating toward the top of the arc again out of the corner of his eye.
He can't make two in a row.
How could a 2.11-meter rookie possibly keep shooting threes from outside?
And so his body honestly followed its instincts once again, sagging back to trap Sam Cassell with O'Neal.
Smack.
Once again, the instant Grant closed in for the trap, Sam Cassell delivered his pass precisely to the top of the arc.
Garnett caught it.
An undefended void.
He jumped and extended his long arms.
Muscle memory made Garnett's form in the air even softer than on the first shot, his fingertips giving a gentle flick.
The ball traced a perfect parabola through the air and, as fans throughout the arena held their breath, dropped into the net again.
Swish!
Two in a row!
6-2.
Beyond the three-point line, Garnett stumbled slightly as he landed.
As the ball fell through the net, Orlando Arena sank into an eerie, deathly silence.
Garnett turned and strode back on defense.
At the other end, Grant established position in the low post and held out a hand for the ball.
That three had clearly angered the All-Defensive Second Team power forward.
He lowered his center of gravity, caught the ball with his back to the basket, and drove his shoulder into Garnett's chest.
The impact knocked Garnett back half a step.
Grant did not rush his shot, instead backing down once more.
After the second collision, Garnett's footwork was already a little disordered.
O'Neal grinned beneath the basket, and someone on the Magic bench stood up too.
Grant dipped his shoulder and pivoted, about to launch a hook.
This was exactly what Garnett had been waiting for.
The instant Grant released, Garnett used the half-step gap the collision had created and sprang straight up.
"Smack!"
A long arm forcibly stopped the basketball in midair.
Garnett caught the ball with one hand...
And plucked it down securely.