Late January, Chicago.
The biting wind, carrying a dense sleet, lashed against the windshield of the Ford riot police car. Four Chicago SWAT armored vehicles, flashing red and blue lights, escorted the Boston Celtics bus, one after the other, slowly driving into the underground tunnel of the United Center.
The streets outside the bus were packed with Chicago fans wearing Chicago Bulls #24 jerseys.
When the bus, emblazoned with a green clover, appeared, a deafening roar of curses erupted from the crowd. Countless beer bottles, rotten tomatoes, and even half a brick were smashed against the bus windows with a chilling thud. Someone even held up a homemade gallows with a mannequin dressed in a suit and bearing the word "LIN" on it.
The atmosphere inside the carriage was quite oppressive.
In early 2003, the United States was still reeling from the aftermath of the 9/11 attacks, and the entire society remained on edge. In the sports world, the line between fanaticism and gang culture and violent crime was already blurred. When death threats shifted from anonymous letters to real vandalism outside car windows, the oppressive atmosphere of fear and unease was undeniable.
Dwyane Wade and Tyson Chandler Chandler sat in the back of the bus, their faces grim. The atmosphere of being in a war zone made the young men feel suffocated.
"My God, those guys outside are insane." Tyson Chandler Chandler muttered in a low voice as he looked out the window at a burly man spitting forcefully at the bus.
"I also think it's a bit outrageous..." Wade swallowed, glanced at the older guys sitting in the front row, and couldn't help but mutter under his breath, "To be honest, if the boss hadn't made such a definitive statement on the national broadcast..."
Wade's voice was soft, but it was still clearly audible in the quiet carriage.
As soon as he finished speaking, Rasheed Wallace, who was sitting in front of Wade, suddenly stopped chewing his gum. He turned around and looked at Wade.
On the other side of the aisle, Kevin Garnett, who had been resting with his eyes closed, also opened them and sat up slightly.
"Rookie, take back what you just said." Rasheed Wallace's voice was deep.
Wade was stunned. He hadn't expected that his seemingly insignificant remark would elicit such a strong reaction from the team's veterans.
" Dwyane, you're new to the league, there are some rules you don't understand yet." Captain Chris Paul Pierce turned to look at the two rookies in the back row, his tone serious, even carrying a hint of warning. "In the NBA, players just play for money, they generally don't have much personal relationship with the owners. But in Boston, Lin is more than just an owner."
Pierce pointed to himself, then to Garnett and Wallace beside him. "He got suspended for us. To protect us, he took all the blame and media fire upon himself. No matter what he said on TV, no matter how many people outside hate him and want to kill him, Lin is our brother. Anyone who dares to question him is questioning all of us."
Garnett stared coldly at Wade and added, "He's telling the truth. If those cowards in Chicago can't even listen to the truth, that's their problem, not Lin's."
The carriage fell silent once again.
Wade and Chandler exchanged a glance, their hearts filled with shock and bewilderment. In their minds, the relationship between players and management was always one of employment, but in this Boston Celtics, several star players were actually treating the team owner like "brothers in arms." This bond that transcended basketball and profit made the rookies truly experience the true nature of the " Celtics gang" for the first time.
The team bus safely entered the underground parking garage. Surrounded by dozens of security personnel, the team quickly entered the away team's locker room.
Head coach Rick Carlisle looked somber and spoke sparingly, "Block out the noise. Go on the field."
With thirty minutes to go before the game, the entire Celtics team ran out of the player tunnel and into the United Center for pre-game warm-ups.
When the Celtics players appeared on the court, the entire arena erupted in a terrifying, almost tangible, chorus of boos. A deluge of insults rained down on the Celtics players, with the most extreme fans in the front row even leaning over the scorer's table, spewing profanities at Pierce and Garnett on the court.
But the Boston players remained unmoved, methodically continuing their shooting and stretching.
Just as Pierce stood outside the three-point line, ready to receive a pass from Chauncey Billups Billups.
A sudden change occurred.
As Wade was handing out towels on the sidelines, he inadvertently noticed a glaring red dot on the chest of Pierce's jersey.
The spot of light flickered slightly near Pierce's heart, appearing quite conspicuous under the bright arena lights.
In the past week, the team received anonymous letters containing handgun Bullets, and Chicago extremist fans openly threatened on television to "shoot" the Boston. Back in 2000, Pierce himself was stabbed 11 times in a nightclub and nearly died. In this extremely tense away game, in an instant, all rationality was replaced by the instinct for survival.
No one could tell whether it was an infrared laser pointer used as a prank by an away fan, or whether a madman had actually set up a gun in some dark corner of the stands.
" Chris Paul!! Get down!!"
Almost instinctively, Wade let out a piercing roar. He lunged forward, slamming the unsuspecting Chris Paul Pierce to the floor.
Garnett reacted quickly, grabbing Billups and slamming his massive body to the floor. Ron Artest and Ben Wallace also quickly covered their heads and lay down.
The next second, a dozen armed special agents and riot police rushed onto the court like madmen. Holding riot shields, they pinned the Boston players who were lying on the ground to the ground and formed a human wall with their shields, quickly escorting, or rather dragging, the entire Celtics team towards the players' tunnel.
The entire United Center erupted in chaos. Screams and shoving filled the air. The Chicago Bulls fans, who had been cheering, were terrified by the sudden anti-terrorism-like atmosphere and scattered in all directions. The Chicago Bulls players also fled back to the locker room in fear.
Twenty minutes later, the away team's locker room was deathly silent.
Rick Carlisle walked in, his face ashen, holding a walkie-talkie in his hand, and took a deep breath.
"All clear. No guns." Rick Carlisle said through gritted teeth, looking at the still-shaken players. "It was a local Chicago thug in the upper stands playing a prank with a high-powered infrared laser pointer. The police have already pinned him to his seat and arrested him."
No one in the locker room felt relieved upon hearing the result.
Pierce pushed aside the team doctor beside him and slowly stood up. He patted rookie Wade, whose elbow had been scraped while protecting him, and said nothing. He simply walked silently back to his locker and retie his shoelaces.
"Will the game continue, Coach?" Billups calmly adjusted his wristband.
"After the league office confirmed the safety, the game will be delayed by thirty minutes." Rick Carlisle looked at his players, whose killing intent had been completely ignited, and opened the locker room door.
"Go solve the problem on the court."