Mid-January, 1996.
The Chicago Bulls are about to arrive in Boston with a ten-game winning streak.
The Chicago Bulls ' record at that time was 33 wins and 3 losses.
The Celtics, on the other hand, have a record of 20 wins and 16 losses.
When these two lines of numbers appeared side-by-side on the front page of the Boston Globe, it was more like a cynical black joke. The newspaper didn't even need any sarcastic commentary; the two numbers alone silently told everyone: Don't dream, these two teams are simply not on the same level.
Boston's scalper market has gone completely mad. Regular season tickets at TD Garden are being resold for eight times their usual price. Celebrities and politicians from New England are frantically pulling strings to secure a single ticket to this game. The media and fans aren't here to see how the Celtics will fight back... they're Boston to witness how this Chicago behemoth, with its 33-3 record, will crush Boston as well.
Throughout Boston, and even the entire league, a late-stage form of mental illness is raging—"cow phobia."
"I heard that last week, a strong team in the Western Conference played the Chicago Bulls, and their two starters were waiting for Michael in the hallway after the game. Not for anything else, but to get a pair of his son's new black and red signature shoes." David Wesley rolled his eyes at his teammate while adjusting his knee pads. "You know, the game hasn't even started yet, and the starters are already fans. What's the point of playing?"
"That's nothing," Wesley Person exclaimed in amazement. "I've also heard about a strong Eastern Conference team that led the Chicago Bulls by several points in the first half. During halftime, one of their All-Stars was bragging in the locker room that Michael was getting old. But as soon as the third quarter started, the Chicago Bulls suddenly put on a full-court press and went on a 10-10 run in six minutes. That guy was forced into a series of turnovers and almost cried on the court."
Person lowered his voice, his face mysterious. "Right now, the entire league is calling the Chicago Bulls ' sudden acceleration in the third quarter ' Chicago's massacre.' Anyone who was stubborn in the first half is doomed in the third quarter."
Listening to these half-true, half-false gossips, filled with legend and fear, 22-year-old rookie Michael Finley curled his lip, and while changing into his training clothes, shouted at the top of his lungs, " The Chicago Bulls are great, and Jordan is great too. But a 33-3 record is probably just from bullying weak teams with no backbone, padding their stats. Our defense is strong too, we might not lose."
"Stop bragging, kid."
Starting point guard Sam Cassell sat casually on the bench, slowly wrapping the bandage around his ankle while giving a sly, slightly arrogant grin. "When you're guarding them in a couple of days, just make sure your legs don't tremble. I'm not backing down. Just wait and see how I take them down with my mid-range jumper... What team are they? They're just two shoulders and one head, what's there to be afraid of!"
Sam Cassell's big mouth lightened the atmosphere in the locker room a little, and several young rookies joined in the laughter.
" The Chicago Bulls won't even say hello," Mitchell coldly concluded, turning and walking into the treatment room. "They'll just... tear you to pieces."
In the dead silence, Kevin Garnett remained silent throughout.
Ever since Barkley's comment in the tunnel, "a dog-eat-dog slaughterhouse," has made him much calmer. He didn't join in his teammates' arguments; he just kept his head down, watching the Chicago Bulls' game replay on TV, his brows slowly furrowing.
He didn't quite understand it.
The Chicago Bulls on TV didn't win intensely; in fact, it was a bit... uneventful. Like a sophisticated industrial machine, they methodically disassembled their opponent's parts, one by one. No matter who the All-Stars were, by the third quarter, as long as those four arms, each over two meters long, started switching on defense, the opponent struggled to even dribble the ball across half-court.
Garnett couldn't quite put his finger on what was so scary about this team, but he just felt that it was different from the other strong teams he had faced.
This Chicago Bulls is a terrifying, unpredictable force... that leaves you wondering where to direct your strength.
What terrified him even more was number 91, who had fluorescent green hair.
In the video, during pre-game warm-ups, Dennis Rodman wouldn't shoot or dribble. He would just stand with his hands on his hips at center court, staring intently into the eyes of the opposing power forward for a full fifteen minutes without uttering a word, like a vulture searching for the scent of carrion.
There's a saying among the league's interior players, "Never make eye contact with number 91; he can smell fear."
Garnett instinctively clenched his fist.
My palms were covered in sweat.
The next day, in the team's video room.
Instead of explaining his team's tactics as usual, Adelman had the videographer play footage of the Chicago Bulls ' games from this season.
"I've heard some of you think the Chicago Bulls ' 33-3 record is just inflated by beating weaker teams," Adelman said bluntly, standing by the screen. "Today, I'll show you what this team is all about."
The screen lit up, showing a clip of the Chicago Bulls ' offense.
"Watch their offense," Adelman pointed at the screen. "This is called the Triangle Offense. It's okay if you don't remember the name, just watch... none of their five players are standing still. The ball moves, the players move, and every pass creates three or four options."
On the screen, the Chicago Bulls ' ball flowed smoothly through the hands of their five players. Jordan established position, Pippen cut to the basket, Kukoč moved to the perimeter, Kerr lurked in the corner... Each player appeared precisely in the most appropriate position.
"The offense of a typical team relies on one or two stars creating their own opportunities," Adelman said. "But the Chicago Bulls' system is about letting the ball pass and finding the most comfortable shooting spot for each player. If you guard Michael, Scottie is open; if you shut down Scottie, Steve's three-pointer comes along. This isn't just about star players; it's about the system."
The young people fell completely silent.
Next, Adelman to a shot of Jordan in isolation. On the screen, Jordan was seen pushing his opponent down in the low post and then unleashing a beautiful fadeaway jumper.
"And then there's him. The Michael who used to rely on his athleticism to fly and leap is gone. This year's Michael is even more terrifying. He doesn't compete with you on speed anymore. He uses his body to push you into the position he wants, and then uses that fadeaway jumper that you can't defend against to beat you to a pulp." Adelman shook his head and sighed, "A Jordan has learned to use his brain and play with his back to the basket is ten times more terrifying than the Jordan who could only fly."
But what Adelman really wanted these young men to see was the Chicago Bulls ' defense.
He switched to the defensive replay, and his voice lowered.
"Here's the key point. You all think the Chicago Bulls won because of Michael. Wrong. The most terrifying thing about this Chicago Bulls is their defense. Look at their switching!"
Adelman pointed at the screen, his eyes revealing a kind of awe only found in those of a fellow professional. " Harper, Jordan, Pippen, Dennis Rodman... from point guard to power forward, they were almost engaging in an unreasonable lateral matchup. If the opponent set a pick-and-roll, they didn't need traditional double-teams or delays; they just switched, leaving no one open! With their superior arms and mobility, they literally shrunk the court. I don't know if you can understand what I mean."
"You won't find another team in the entire league doing this," Adelman said, turning around and emphasizing each word. "This defensive chemistry and instinct is simply art."
The video recording room was completely silent.
Garnett stared at the screen and suddenly understood what that inexplicable "something was wrong" he'd felt when watching the video yesterday was.
The guys on the screen were tall and muscular, yet as agile as guards. They switched positions relentlessly, disrupting the opponent's offensive organization. That feeling was strikingly similar to his own experience playing center in Lin Qi's Death Lineup, guarding both point guard and center...
However, the Celtics are only conducting limited experiments, while the Chicago Bulls have all five players on the court capable of doing the same thing.
"This..." Garnett's Adam's apple bobbed as he murmured, "Isn't this... the ultimate version of our lineup?"
Adelman turned around and gave the perceptive young man a deep look.
"Yes, Kevin, you read that right. We're still figuring things out, while the Chicago Bulls have already perfected it. That's why they're 33-3."
After the video finished playing, the relaxed "we can have a bite too" look on the young people's faces vanished. In their place was a solemn feeling, a realization for the first time of truly understanding just how high the "ceiling" at the top of the world really is.
Outside the video recording room, the only person who hadn't watched the recording— Lin Qi —was sitting alone in the CEO's office.
Beside him was a Chicago Bulls game replay. But he didn't watch the offense or the defense. His gaze was fixed on that freak with fluorescent green hair and wearing a Chicago Bulls jersey with the number 91.
Dennis Rodman.
Adelman explained the Chicago Bulls ' offense, Jordan's fadeaway jumper, and that amazing switching defense to the young players. But Adelman overlooked one person... or rather, given the limitations of this era, local coaches haven't realized just how crucial that person's existence is.
Lin Qi knew. He knew it all too well.
Adelman believed that the Chicago Bulls ' defense was unmatched in the current meta. But Lin Qi, sitting in his office, knew perfectly well... it wasn't just that they couldn't find another like it.
This defensive logic was ahead of its time, for a full twenty years.
Jordan, Pippen, Dennis Rodman, Harper... this team, with their incredible wingspans and ability to switch from point guard to power forward, was essentially the ultimate defensive template for the era twenty years from now, arriving ahead of time. Phil Jackson and the Chicago Bulls weren't playing the kind of half-court physical game of the 90s... they were using the logic of future basketball to deliver a devastating blow to the natives of this era.
Most importantly, it's Dennis Rodman.
It was this madman who didn't participate in the offense, only grabbed rebounds, did all the dirty work, and was responsible for disrupting the opponent's morale, who single-handedly elevated the Chicago Bulls ' rebounding and defense from "top-tier" to "unique in history." It was he who took on all the dirty work in the paint, completely freeing up Jordan and Pippen, allowing those two to focus wholeheartedly on scoring and relentlessly attacking the perimeter shooters.
He was the final gear that made the Chicago Bulls machine run perfectly.
What made Lin Qi's stomach ache even more was that this gear... was delivered by him personally.
Lin Qi leaned back in his chair, staring at the fluorescent green figure on the screen. After a long while, he managed to squeeze out a silent, bitter laugh.
Six months ago, in that three-team trade to acquire the Spurs ' 1997 draft pick, he traded Elliott to the Spurs for Dennis Rodman, and then without batting an eye, he used Dennis Rodman as a bargaining chip to send him to the Chicago Bulls.
At that time, all he saw was the sign that held Tim Duncan. Dennis Rodman was just a piece to be thrown out and discarded in this grand scheme. He even comforted himself with the thought that... in the original history, Dennis Rodman was going to the Chicago Bulls anyway, and he was just going with the flow.
But now, as he watched with his own eyes, the madman he had traded away as a bargaining chip had become the cornerstone of the Chicago Bulls ' historic defense, the final piece of the puzzle for this Mountain that was about to win 72 games...
The indescribable feeling in Lin Qi's heart resurfaced.
" Lin Qi, oh Lin Qi," he muttered to himself, looking at the empty office, "You personally filled in that piece of the puzzle for Michael Jordan —the piece that would allow him to win 72 games—for a draft that wouldn't be cashed for another year."
"You've built yourself an insurmountable mountain."
But amidst his self-deprecation, Lin Qi's eyes, hidden in the darkness, slowly became incredibly clear, even carrying a hint of the ruthlessness unique to gamblers.
Without that desperate, dominant, fully-developed Chicago Bulls in 1996 as a whetstone, how could Garnett have transformed?
Lin Qi stood up, walked to the window, and looked down at the training hall below, where the lights were still on.
Those young people were indeed terrified by the Chicago Bulls in the video.
But Lin Qi knew that this might not be a bad thing.
A person must first see how high the ceiling is before they will develop the ambition to climb over it.