In the fourth quarter, the Boston Celtics trailed by 7 points.
When the group of young people stepped back onto the floor, the fear in their eyes had completely vanished.
Leading by 8 points at halftime was a miraculous moment for them, forcing the Chicago Bulls to take the game seriously with their relentless attack.
The Chicago Bulls' single-quarter surge in the third quarter reversed their fortunes, shattering their dreams once again.
But when they were truly backed to the edge of a cliff with no way out, these young mad dogs became completely unafraid.
At the start of the fourth quarter, the Celtics immediately deployed a do-or-die lineup consisting of Wesley Person, Eddie Jones, Michael Finley, Kevin Garnett, and P.J. Brown.
This is by no means the most conservative rotation, but at this crucial juncture where a comeback is needed, it is the Boston Celtics' lineup with the most open spacing and the most potent outside firepower.
During the timeout, Thibodeau gripped the whiteboard tightly, his throat hoarse from yelling, but his eyes were sharp as a knife.
"Listen! Don't let them get comfortable into one-on-one positions! As soon as Michael and Scottie receive the ball on the wing, double-team them immediately, use your bodies to force them into the corner of the sideline, forcing them to pass the ball! Don't worry about leaving anyone open, as soon as the ball goes out, the rest of the players on the court immediately use your wingspan and lateral movement to rotate and help defend like crazy, shut them all down!"
The young men listened with their chests heaving, already mentally rehearsing defensive rotations and teamwork.
Just as Thibodeau put away his marker, Lin Qi, who was sitting to the side, suddenly stood up. He ripped off his tie, which was already soaked with sweat, and stared intently at the faces of the group of young people with red eyes.
"Did you all understand?" Lin Qi's voice wasn't loud. "How the Chicago Bulls defended you in the third quarter, now, you use the same endless rotations on them, exactly the same!"
"Stop them!"
This final mobilization ignited the tense atmosphere in front of the bench, and the young men let out a beast-like growl, stomping back onto the field with murderous intent.
The basketball was forced out of the hands of the Chicago Bulls' two stars in a very awkward situation.
Kerr received the ball and launched a three-pointer, Jones was a fraction of a step too slow in his retreat. But under this suffocating defensive pressure, the league's most accurate shooter's wrist visibly stiffened the instant he released the shot. With a thud, the basketball bounced high off the front of the rim!
"Mine!!" Garnett roared, colliding violently with Dennis Rodman had been battling him all game, in mid-air. With a dull thud from the impact, the 19-year-old, using his terrifying core strength, forcefully snatched the defensive rebound right over Rodman's fluorescent green head! The instant he landed, Garnett didn't even look at the defense, delivering a precise long pass across half the court to Finley, who was cutting down the court. Finley caught the ball, soared into the air, and slammed it home with one hand!
In the very next possession, P.J. Brown moved up to the high post and positioned himself at the edge of the right paint, blocking the defender who had been closely marking Person.
It was that tiny sliver of space that was torn apart in that split second!
Person displayed the instincts of a top shooter, using an extremely quick lateral movement to circle around the screen behind P.J. Brown. The instant he shook off the defender and stepped onto the right wing three-point line, Garnett's pass was delivered to him with perfect precision.
Catch the ball, turn, jump, and shoot.
Before the Chicago Bulls' long-armed defender arrived, the basketball flew through the air in an extremely smooth arc.
Swish!
Three-pointer goes in!
This three-pointer, which perfectly showcased the power of spacing in basketball, completely punctured the Chicago Bulls' tense nerves.
The entire stands of FleetCenter Arena seemed to be struck by an earthquake at that moment, and the 20,000 Boston fans who had been holding back their frustration for the entire quarter were completely engulfed in a near-frenzied roar.
In the next possession, Jones's fingertips grazed the ball just as Jordan changed direction. That slight hesitation was enough! Jones grabbed the loose ball and launched a fast break layup!
The scoreboard numbers were slowly chipped away at. The entire FleetCenter erupted in cheers, with 20,000 Boston fans rising to their feet and roaring wildly for these reckless young men, their voices nearly lifting the roof off the stadium.
With two minutes remaining, the game was in its final moments. In this epic battle, broadcast nationwide, both teams were completely exhausted, and the match had degenerated into a raw test of willpower.
With 40 seconds left, the Celtics trailed by only one point, 88-89, and held possession of the most crucial ball.
Sam Cassell receives the ball. This guard, who witnessed the fierce battles of the NBA Finals in Houston, takes over the game at the most crucial moment. He tenaciously defends Harper head-on, protecting the ball with his body and running down the clock second by second. Harper's long arms frantically interfere, Sam Cassell's eyes are cold. With only two seconds left on the shot clock, he suddenly exerts force, shoving his shoulder to create half a body's width of space, and turns to shoot!
Swish!
90 to 89!
There are 20 seconds left in the game.
The Celtics have taken a one-point lead!
The FleetCenter exploded instantly, Phil Jackson, the Zen Master, finally couldn't sit still any longer. The Chicago Bulls called a timeout.
Lin Qi stood on the sidelines, his shirt completely soaked with sweat, his palms drenched in sweat.
They were so close! If they could just defend that one more shot, they could have dethroned the Chicago Bulls on national television.
After the timeout, the entire arena felt as if someone had grabbed its throat, choking it completely. Everyone knew who the Chicago Bulls would pass the ball to— Michael Jordan.
Jordan received the ball at the top of the key, Jones closed in, and Garnett stood on the wing ready to double-team. Pippen tried to set a screen on one side, but the Boston Celtics executed a perfect switch the instant the screen occurred, leaving Jordan no opening for a direct drive.
Jordan didn't pass the ball. He glanced around and gestured for all his teammates to spread out.
Ten seconds, eight seconds, five seconds!
Jordan finally moved, lowering his shoulder and turning to the right, his movement so realistic it looked like he was about to dribble past Jones with the ball.
But Jones brought his defensive skills to the extreme tonight. He stayed close to Jordan, didn't fall for the bait, and kept his long arms firmly in front of Jordan's forehead.
The Celtics' defense in this possession was the epitome of 1990s positional warfare.
Jordan backed down Eddie at a 45-degree angle on the right, but Eddie didn't budge. Jordan then suddenly turned to face the basket, but Jones's center of gravity remained rock-solid, his long arm almost completely blocking Jordan's view. But in the next second, Jordan took a step toward the baseline. That step seemed slow, even somewhat deliberate, but it forced Eddie to instinctively shift his weight by half an inch.
With just that half-inch shift, Jordan gathered the ball, stepped back, and his body leaned sharply backward without warning.
That was a fadeaway jump shot that Lin Qi had seen countless times in videos.
But it wasn't until this moment, when he stood on the sidelines watching it happen, that Wizards how despairing the pressure this move carried.
Jones had pushed himself to the limit of human physiology, and Garnett, who was flying over from the wing to help defend, also spread his long arms completely. The two long arms were like a black iron net that covered the sky and blocked Jordan's way at almost the same time!
But Jordan lingered in the air for too long. It was as if he waited until both players' blocks had reached their limits and they were beginning to fall before slowly releasing the ball at its highest point.
The arc of a basketball...
It slid past Eddie and Garnett's fingertips by mere millimeters.
The entire FleetCenter fell into absolute stillness the instant the basketball left someone's hands.
They did everything right.
They cornered Jordan, double-teamed him, and didn't lose their positions or make any mistakes.
But even though everyone knew he was going to shoot, the man still managed to release the ball steadily.
That's what makes Michael Jordan so terrifying...
Swish.
The basketball swished cleanly into the net.
The glaring red lights flashed wildly at the final second.
91 to 90.
The Celtics lost by a single point.
The FleetCenter, which had been roaring like a tsunami, seemingly about to lift the dome off, suddenly fell silent the instant the basketball swished through the net.
Half a second later, the sound returned.
Screams, whistles, applause, and countless uncontrollable profanities.
"Damn*d."
"Holy sh*t."
"No way."
"Jesus F**king Christ."
On the most expensive floor in the first row, the Cuba cigar held between the fingers of the Kennedy family senator slipped silently to the floor. He seemed completely oblivious, as if he had lost all sense of it, and simply took off his glasses in a daze, staring blankly at the red and black number 23 on the court, his trembling lips uttering a very soft murmur.
"Oh my God..."
The applause first rose sporadically from the front row floor seats, then spread like wildfire to the media section, and further back, to the socialites and neutral fans mingling in the sea of green, all chanting in near-frenzy. "Unbelievable!"
But the true Boston die-hards in the arena didn't applaud. Instead, a large number of them held their heads in their hands, squatting in front of their chairs in agony, their faces as pale as if their souls had just been ripped out of their chests.
A local, die-hard fan with a thick beard gripped his hair tightly, his eyes bloodshot as he stared at Jordan on the court for several seconds. Finally, he spat out a curse, his voice hoarse and inhuman. "Damn it... Larry Bird really wasn't lying back then. That bastard, he's a god in basketball shoes!"
The media section erupted in a frenzy, with a barrage of camera shutters clicking away.
The live, nationwide broadcast focused intently on the center of the court.
In the FleetCenter, amidst a cacophony of applause, gasps, curses, and deathly silence, Michael Jordan landed firmly on his feet.
He calmly turned around and jogged back to the Chicago bench.
There was no hint of pride on that dark, shiny face, soaked with sweat; only an almost cold sense of entitlement.
It was as if that last-second, breathtaking game-winning shot, blocked by two legendary defenders, was nothing to celebrate for him.
That was just his daily work.
Garnett stood stiffly under the basket. He looked up at the still-swaying nylon net, then turned to look at the tall, sharp back of number 23.
He felt something explode in his chest. Resentment, shock, and a hint of admiration that he himself was unwilling to admit were all mixed together and burning wildly.
In the locker room, a deathly silence reigned over every corner.
The young people were slumped haphazardly in their chairs.
Lin Qi reached out and pushed open the door, walking in. He didn't offer any insincere comfort to anyone, but went straight to the center of the locker room and looked around.
"All of you, lift your heads." Lin Qi's voice was deep as he placed his hands on the table. The young people took a deep breath and slowly looked up at Lin Qi.
"We lost tonight, by one point. But remember, you pushed a Chicago Bulls destined for history to the very last second; remember how you were crushed in the third quarter, and then came back to take the lead in the fourth! And remember this too... what killed us tonight."
No one spoke in the locker room; only heavy breathing could be heard.
"It wasn't Chicago's system that killed us; we've already broken their Triangle Offense."
"It wasn't just their run in the third quarter; we caught up in the fourth. What killed us was Michael Jordan's last fadeaway jumper."
"That one goal represents the distance between us and the top of the world."
"It's not something that can be solved with a single tactic."
"That was a super killer, who spent over a decade honing his instincts, bit by bit, in countless life-or-death situations."
Lin Qi looked at Finley, whose eyes were red-rimmed, then at Eddie, who was bowing his head and remaining silent, and finally fixed his gaze on Garnett.
"I want you to remember this feeling."
"Remember that feeling of helplessness—when you've done everything right, yet someone else still manages to take care of you."
"Then, make it the most important nourishment for you over the next decade or so."
"Go to training."
"Go to the competition."
"Go lose, go win, go be humiliated, and then go and return the humiliation."
"Until one day in the future, in the same life-or-death moment, one of you will be able to make that shot, with the whole nation glued to their televisions, knowing he's about to shoot, a shot that allows the opponent to do everything right, leaving them only to wait for death..."
Lin Qi uttered the last two words, one by one.
"A decisive blow."
In a corner of the locker room, Garnett suddenly looked up.
That night, the Boston Celtics lost by one point at home.
But as Lin Qi turned and walked out of the locker room, a smile appeared on his lips that no one could see.
He knew that these young men had gained something more valuable tonight than a regular season victory.