In early February, the Boston Celtics flew to Denver to challenge the Nuggets.
This is a team that gives all coaches a headache. Not because they are particularly strong...
The Nuggets have had a bumpy season with a lackluster record. What's truly troublesome is the African Mountain looming over their paint.
Dikembe Mutombo.
Standing at 2.18 meters tall with a terrifying 2.31-meter wingspan, in an era before the three-second violation was enforced, he could rightfully and permanently anchor his massive frame below the Hoop. In this old era where dominance in the paint meant dominance, he was a black iron gate welded to the paint, the undisputed defensive ceiling of the era, capable of turning the area under the basket into a no-fly zone single-handedly.
In the pre-game meeting, Adelman's strategy was conventional—use Radja's mid-range shots to draw Mutombo outwards, creating space under the basket for the young players who were driving to the basket. This is the standard the Answer to dealing with rim-protecting centers.
But Lin Qi sat in the corner, barely listening to the tactics.
His eyes were fixed on a highlight reel of Mutombo on the projector screen for a long time.
What Lin Qi was watching wasn't how Mutombo blocked shots, but what he did afterward.
After every block, the giant would do the same thing: wag his signature index finger, then turn to the scorer's table or the TV camera, and mouth a smile.
Mutombo will be a free agent this summer. His agent is David Falk, the most greedy and shrewd bloodsucker in the league, who is demanding a long-term contract worth tens of millions of dollars per year. The problem is that the Nuggets ' parent company is currently mired in a serious debt crisis, and the board of directors has given a strict order that, in order to ensure clean books and cash out the team in the summer, Mutombo must not be offered a contract worth more than ten million dollars.
So this season, Bernie Bickerstaff, who serves as both general manager and head coach, is now a living, breathing madman driven to the brink of a mental breakdown. In his office, Bernie has to resort to underhanded tactics, publicly spreading rumors in the media that " Mutombo falsified his bone age and is too old" to lower his price; back on the court, for the sake of results and his job, he has to beg Mutombo to play for forty minutes every game, like serving an ancestor.
Mutombo, a brilliant student fluent in nine languages and a graduate of Georgetown's Department of Diplomacy, was as arrogant as a Congo the Chief.
He was all too aware of the management's predicament and despicable behavior.
Tonight, with each block he made, he yelled "300,000," using data to slap his own general manager across the face with a multi-million dollar annual salary offer.
Therefore, Mutombo's average blocks per game this year reached a terrifying 4.5, which is also the highest average blocks per game in his career.
"A person who's obsessed with boosting stats just to spite the manager... a person who has to 'play and rest intermittently' in the paint area just to force themselves to last forty minutes... these two things combined..."
Halftime.
In the visiting team's locker room at McNichols Sports Arena, it was so quiet that the only sounds were the rustling of ice packs hitting each other and the piercing hiss of several medical oxygen cylinders.
Sam Cassell, Jones, Anderson, Radja, Johnson were gulping down oxygen. Their temples were throbbing with pain from mild cerebral hypoxia, and every time they swallowed, their throats were filled with the distinctive, heavy, rusty taste of a mile-high city. This was the physiological damage caused by the dry, thin air at high altitude, which had damaged their capillaries.
At halftime, Boston trailed 38-53, a deficit of 15 points.
Mutombo delivered four blocks in the paint in the first half. Every time he swatted the ball away, he would raise his finger high towards the stands and the Nuggets' bench, yelling in his hoarse voice, which sounded like a broken sand mixer, "The fourth one!"
"Don't hang your head. Being down by 15 points at halftime was entirely within our plan."
Adelman slammed his whiteboard on the table, the tactical mastermind surveyed the crowd, and issued his decisive order for the second half, " Denver's biggest weakness is their lack of bench depth. Tonight we're going to play a long rotation. Pull Mutombo out of the paint and create space!"
Lin Qi, who had been leaning against the door, suddenly called out to Garnett.
Kevin.
Garnett turned around.
Lin Qi looked at him and said only one sentence:
"Get the ball, don't hesitate. From beyond the three-point line, shoot directly. Mutombo won't come out to defend."
"Clear."
In the third quarter, under the usual pressure of Boston's 12-man rotation of big men, the Nuggets players' stamina began to decline.
In the fourth quarter, Boston's "all-three-point matrix," which seemed extremely bizarre and unorthodox in 1996, completely revealed its true colors.
David Wesley, Wesley Person, Michael Finley, Tracy Murray, and Garnett at center. The five players stretched out completely at the three-point line, leaving the paint completely empty. Mutombo guarded his empty paint, watching helplessly as these perimeter madmen launched three-pointers with unbelievable decisiveness.
"Pass the ball!"
Garnett delivered a wide cross-court pass, and the ball landed precisely in the hands of Person was lurking in the right corner. Facing the Nuggets ' guard's hasty help defense, Person raised his hand and launched a three-pointer like a cruise missile, accurately piercing the net!
The next possession, the exact same routine. Murray received a fake shot pass from Finley in the left corner, used his 2.01-meter height advantage to pull up for a three-pointer over the defense, and the entire McNichols Sports Arena fell into a deathly silence.
Garnett also stood outside the three-point line.
Garnett received the ball, faced the empty, undefended three-point line, and took a deep breath.
He rose from the ground and swiftly brought his knife down!
Swish! A three-pointer swished through the net!
The final whistle blew through the arena, and the score was set. The away team won by 5 points!
Boston Celtics ' six-game losing streak comes to an end!
In the locker room, the young people were howling and hitting each other like madmen.
The dark cloud that had been hanging over them for a whole month, called "almost," was washed away that night by a refreshing three-minute downpour.
Garnett was the first to rush over, sweating profusely and excitedly exclaiming incoherently, "It went in! I sank a three over Mutombo!"
"Mr. Lin Qi, how do you know that Mutombo definitely won't defend against it?"
"Because," Lin Qi said softly, as if speaking to Garnett, but also as if talking to himself, "He wasn't thinking about how to win."
"What he was thinking about was his multi-million dollar contract."