1 p. m., Boston Auerbach Training Center.
The arena echoed with the screeching of rubber outsoles rubbing against the floor and the dull thud of basketballs hitting the backboard.
As Rick Carlisle pushed open the door and walked in, he casually pulled the office blinds down halfway.
Down in the main arena, Gary Payton's booming voice could still be faintly heard through the thick glass; he was chattering away, relentlessly criticizing Wade's movement during the pick-and-roll.
" Gary's mouth hasn't stopped for even five minutes today." Rick Carlisle casually ripped the tactical whistle hanging around his neck and tossed it on the coffee table. He walked to the water dispenser, filled a half-full glass with warm water, and downed it in one gulp. Then he sat down in the leather chair opposite his desk. "But Dwyane's got a really good temper. Gary was yelling and spitting everywhere, but he didn't say a word back. He wiped his sweat, picked up the ball, and practiced however he was told."
Lin Qi leaned back in his chair and chuckled. " Gary Payton was just venting his frustration from losing to Jordan in the NBA Finals on Dwyane. Both of them did lose to Jordan, but Dwyane never had another chance to face Jordan again; a loss is a loss, and there's no going back. Gary Payton, at least, won a ring by beating Jordan during their four-peat, so he had some confidence. But speaking of which, Chip Engelland and Mark Price were monitoring Dwyane for two months this summer; just how good was his mid-range jump shot?"
"It went very smoothly."
Rick Carlisle put down his paper cup and gestured with his hands in the air as if he were jumping. "How did he shoot last season? He relied entirely on his youth and strong physique. He would jump to the highest point, almost falling, and then desperately push the ball out with his wrist. That kind of move might be okay for bullying shorter guards in the regular season, but in the NBA Finals 7, his legs would get heavy in the fourth quarter, and all his shots would just bounce straight off the front of the rim."
"How did Price help him adjust?"
" Price started by working on his footwork in the pull-up jumper," Rick Carlisle said. " Price drew lines on the floor, forcing him to practice pull-ups. Now, after Dwyane cuts in after a screen, his two-step pull-up is very stable, and his jump is straight up and down, completely correcting his old bad habit of lunging forward or drifting backward. Chip raised his release point and corrected his habit of secretly flicking the ball with his left auxiliary hand at the moment of release. In the past two weeks of team scrimmages, his mid-range pull-up jumper from the free-throw line has consistently maintained a shooting percentage of around 45%."
Lin Qi looked at Rick Carlisle and asked, "Did you get Wade to practice three-pointers?"
Rick Carlisle couldn't help but shake his head and chuckle, "How can we let him shoot threes now? He's just found his rhythm with his power generation. If we make him step back beyond the three-point line now, given his shooting habits, he'll inevitably lean forward to push the ball out, and his hard-earned mid-range shooting motion will be distorted."
Lin Qi nodded, picked up his coffee and took a sip. "What about playmaking and ball control?"
" Gary taught him every day how to use his back and butt to create space," Rick Carlisle chuckled. "The kid's gotten smarter now. He slows down after breaking through half a body length, keeps the defender behind him, and shuffles forward while observing Kevin and Chris Paul's positions. Although he still occasionally makes passing errors, he's much more mature than that reckless style he had last season, charging headfirst into the paint."
Lin Qi flipped through the player list in his hand, his eyes landing on the inside players section.
"What about Tyson Chandler? This is his third year with the team. How's the development plan that Mike Boyle and Ed Lasset set up back in Milan going?"
When Tyson Chandler Chandler was mentioned, Rick Carlisle's expression visibly relaxed, and he leaned back slightly.
"Thank goodness you made the decision two years ago to stop him from blindly gaining weight. If we had listened to those old-school scouts and forced him to add 30 pounds at nineteen to compete against Shaq, his spine and knees would have been ruined long ago."
Rick Carlisle pulled a physical test data sheet from the folder and handed it over. "He now weighs 253 pounds, all of which is real muscle, and his body fat percentage is less than 9%. What's even more remarkable is that his jumping height and lateral speed haven't been affected at all. Jack Sikma and Robert Parish teach him low-post footwork and defensive positioning under the basket every week, and Dikembe ( Mutombo ) has been incredibly generous with his knowledge. Last week, he even took Tyson Chandler out for seafood, and during that meal, he taught him how to raise his elbows in the referee's blind spot and how to use subtle force to push people out of the three-second zone."
"If it really comes down to hand-to-hand combat, can you hold your own?" Lin Qi asked.
"In yesterday's full-court scrimmage, Rasheed was driving hard in the low post, and Tyson Chandler stood firm in the paint, not being pushed back an inch. Rasheed, on the other hand, was constantly being pushed around, his wrist snapping, and he was cursing on the sidelines," Rick Carlisle said confidently. "Based solely on that defensive ability, if he were on any other team in the league, he'd be a guaranteed starting center by now."
Lin Qi nodded, tapping his fingertips on the edge of the table. "The mental health team needs to keep a close eye on Ron. Eighty-two regular season games are a long time; don't let him cause trouble in the locker room."
" Ron's doing alright for now, he's just really pushing himself," Rick Carlisle said with a wry smile. "Even though he's accepted the bench role, he trains harder than anyone else every day, adding weights with a clanging sound in the weight room, and he's yelling that he'll devour Ginobili in the playoffs."
Lin Qi then flipped through the list in his hand. "What about Okur, Prince, and Gerald? How are these young men adjusting their form?"
" Okur is a ready-made surprise weapon tactically," Rick Carlisle said. "In the second unit, when he stands at the top of the arc beyond the three-point line, the opposing center doesn't dare to collapse into the paint. Although his lateral movement is a bit slow when defending pick-and-rolls, the kid listens to advice. Sikma taught him not to jump recklessly, to stand still and draw charges, and now his defense is much more disciplined. Prince has long arms, and Chip helped him perfect the arc of his open three-pointers from the corner. The nutritionist makes him drink high-calorie milkshakes every day, and he's finally gained some weight. Gerald Wallace is the same; Lasset standardized his landing motion in the air, and now he's still very aggressive on the boards, but at least he's learned to land on both feet to cushion the impact, so he's not so easy to injure himself."
After listening, Lin Qi closed the folder, took a sip of his coffee, then put the cup down and looked at Rick Carlisle.
"But Rick, why did you pull down the blinds when you came in just now, and why did you look so serious?"
Rick Carlisle's relaxed expression vanished completely, replaced by a worried look.
He pulled out a stack of printed papers and faxes from the bottom of the folder and casually tossed them into the center of his desk. The papers slid a short distance across the surface and came to rest right next to Lin Qi's coffee cup.
"Lin, this is exactly what's troubling me," Rick Carlisle sighed. "It's precisely because our uniformed team trained these young men too thoroughly that things are now completely out of control."