It was already late at night in Boston, but the training facility was still brightly lit.
The empty arena echoed with the extremely violent sounds of equipment colliding and iron filings striking each other.
Ron Artest was in the weight room, pushing the barbell so hard it sounded like it was going to smash the ceiling. Meanwhile, on the court, Stephen Jackson, shirtless, mechanically shot three-pointers. Exhausted, his shooting motion was completely distorted, and the basketball repeatedly slammed against the rim.
The "indefinite suspension within the team" punishment was more cruel than death for these two street thugs who saw basketball as their life and their territory as their honor. Especially seeing that skinny Russia rookie starting on the court, this mental torture brought them to the brink of collapse.
"Bang!"
The training hall door was pushed open. Lin Qi, holding two thick folders, slowly walked in.
As soon as Artest noticed Lin Qi enter, he rushed over. "Boss! How long are you going to keep us on the bench? We've calmed down! I want to play! I'm fed up with watching that skinny Russia get knocked out on the bench!"
Jackson also stopped shooting. "Mr. Lin Qi, if you feel Boston doesn't need me, you can trade me. But I absolutely will not accept this indefinite humiliation."
Lin Qi pulled up a chair and sat down, slamming the two folders in his hands onto the table with a "thud".
"You feel wronged? You feel that Boston is wasting your great defensive talent?"
Lin Qi chuckled and pointed to the two folders, "Come here, take a look at this."
Artest and Jackson exchanged a glance, then walked forward suspiciously and opened the folder. Inside were several thick pages of data statistics charts.
"This is your advanced stat analysis since the start of the season," Lin Qi tapped the table. "Look at your three-point shooting percentage curve. Stephen, your three-point percentage this season has been like a rollercoaster. Against the Magic, you were guarding Michael Redd, and you went 1-for-7 from three. Against the Knicks, you were guarding Allan Houston, and you went 0-for-5. But in games where you didn't have to primarily guard the opponent's outside shooters, your three-point percentage has remained around 38% on average."
Jackson was stunned. He looked at the glaring data and frowned.
Lin Qi turned to Artest: "You're the same, Ron. When you've been battling on defense for more than 20 minutes, your shot selection on offense becomes a disaster. You either force a pull-up jumper over two defenders, or you crash into a pile of defenders like a runaway bulldozer and make a mistake."
"That's because I'm exhausted!" Artest roared, his neck stiff. "I put all my energy into going toe-to-toe with those All-Stars on defense, my legs are completely giving out!"
"That's the fucking problem!"
Lin Qi's voice suddenly rose, drowning out Artest's roar.
"Do you think that in the NBA, just being able to defend is enough to become a starter? Do you think Coach Rick Carlisle would put two guys on the court at the same time who are no threat on offense and can't make open three-pointers?! That Russia rookie, his three-point shooting percentage is already 33%, it's average, but it's enough."
Lin Qi stood up and pointed to the clipboard. "If Coach Rick Carlisle puts both of you on the court at the same time against the Lakers or the Sacramento Kings, yes, I believe you can shut down their perimeter defense. But what about us on offense? We'll be missing two players who can stretch the floor. Our starting lineup already has a non-spacing player like Ben Wallace, so the opponent's defense will be even more unrestrained in double-teaming Garnett and Pierce!"
Artest and Jackson stared at the tactical board, filled with resentment, but faced with such straightforward data and tactical logic, they couldn't utter a single word in rebuttal.
"You guys always think that by eliminating the opponent you can monopolize the starting lineup, but your current level simply doesn't meet the team's requirements." Lin Qi took a deep breath, his tone regaining its calm. "Want to end your indefinite suspensions and wear your jerseys again? Fine. I've set conditions for each of you."
Lin Qi held up one finger.
"First, learn to balance your physical strength and develop muscle memory under extreme fatigue. Stephen, starting tomorrow, your training plan is changed. Every day after completing high-intensity defensive footwork and strength training, immediately go to the corner to shoot three-pointers. You must make them when you are completely exhausted. Note, make them. 300 corner three-pointers. I want your body to develop an absolute instinctive reaction, so that even if you are defending until you are about to vomit blood, as long as the ball is passed to you, you can make it without hesitation."
Jackson looked at Lin Qi, gritted his teeth, and nodded. He knew how difficult it was, but it was better than sitting on the bench all the time.
" Ron," Lin Qi looked at Artest, "Coach Rick Carlisle will set an offensive efficiency red line for you. In the practice lineup, you can only shoot spot-up threes and capitalize on transition offense opportunities. If you make even one rash, risky drive or take an unreasonable, wasteful shot, the entire day's practice will be forfeited."
Then, Lin Qi raised his second finger, his eyes becoming extremely serious and leaving no room for doubt.
"Secondly, and most importantly, is the point that determines when you can play."
"Every Tuesday and Thursday afternoon, the two of you must go to Dr. George Mumford's clinic together for psychological intervention."
Artest instantly exploded. "Boss! I'm already seeing a doctor! But I don't need to go through some damn syndicated therapy with this Texas bumpkin!"
"This is not a discussion, this is an order!"
Lin Qi coldly interrupted him, his gaze sweeping over the two men. "You're like two bulldogs locked in a cage. You'll only return to the court when you learn to coexist in the same space, when you learn to control your anger and point your guns at the same target, and when Dr. George Mumford issues you both 'psychological evaluation reports' to the team."
Lin Qi turned around and walked towards the entrance of the training hall.
"Until we get Dr. Mumford's signed report, you'd better sit on the bench and work on your three-pointers, and calm down."
The gate closed, leaving only two burly men staring at each other in the empty training hall.
Jackson glanced at the data report that revealed his physical weaknesses, silently walked to the corner of the three-point line, and picked up the basketball from the ground.
"Hey," Artest yelled gruffly from the side, "Pass me a few balls. I don't want to spend the rest of next year in this lousy gym, and I certainly don't want to go to some damn counseling class with you, you bastard."
Jackson didn't turn around, but slammed the ball into Artest's chest with tremendous force.
"Catch it, Queens softie. You better not drag me down in the shooting practice."
Under the dual pressure of brutal data analysis and psychological intervention, the two unruly dogs were finally forced to begin their painful evolution into top-tier "3D players".