Rasheed's face instantly turned ugly. "Lin, this is unreasonable! This kid argues for twenty minutes over a thirty-dollar electronics store coupon. Is he out of his mind? Why should I pay him off for being so stupid?"
"You're the team's senior player and the core of the second unit's frontcourt. If you don't keep an eye on him, who will?" Lin Qi didn't give him any room to bargain, turning to Gary Payton, who was smiling the most broadly beside him. " Gary, bring out your grand prize and show it to them."
Gary Payton grinned broadly, smugly pulling a thick book of custom clothing designs from under his arm. He flipped to a page folded in red and shoved it right in front of Rasheed and Artest.
The catalog features a men's suit that is nothing short of a visual disaster: the entire suit is made of bright pink high-end velvet, the trousers are so wide they look like sacks, the collar of the suit is exaggeratedly trimmed with a circle of fluffy white ostrich feathers, and it is even paired with a wide-brimmed hat in the same color and a pair of bright pink pointed leather shoes.
"Open your eyes wide and look carefully," Gary Payton announced loudly, tapping the picture in the catalog. "I've had the best tailor in the North End make a set for each of you, tailored to your measurements. We'll settle accounts at the end of each month. Whoever gets the most technical fouls that month will have to wear this outfit when the team goes to their first nationally televised away game next month, swaggering into the locker room in front of all the cameras and fans! If either of you dares to take off your hat or jacket halfway there, Dikembe will get an extra $50,000 in fines!"
The laughter in the locker room almost lifted the roof off.
Wade and Chandler leaned over for a peek at the pink suit trimmed with white feathers, laughing so hard they could barely stand. Pierce whistled loudly, " Rasheed, our first nationally televised away game next month is against the Lakers in Los Angeles. Hollywood superstar Jack Kerr will be sitting in the front row, and he'll definitely stand up and applaud like crazy for that white feather collar you're wearing!"
Rasheed stared at the dazzling pink outfit in the catalog, his eyes twitching violently. For a tough guy like him, who always walked with an air of superiority, to wear a pink feather outfit through the players' tunnel at an away game was worse than death.
Rasheed suddenly turned his head, slammed the picture book onto Artest's chest, and poked Artest's shoulder hard with his finger.
"Did you hear me, Ron? From today onwards, the moment the referee blows his whistle on the field, you'd better keep your mouth shut! If I see you take even half a step closer to the referee, making me pay two thousand dollars out of my own pocket or wear that damn pink shirt, I won't wait until halftime when we get back to the locker room. I'll break all those rap album master tapes and all those blank CDs in your locker in half! I'll even crush your headphones."
Artest glanced down at the bright pink pointed-toe shoes in the catalog, shuddered, and instantly pictured himself walking down the arena tunnel in them. He nodded vigorously, "Don't worry, Sheed! I promise I won't say a word to the referees on the court from now on. But don't yell at the referees either, I have to go to the recording studio tonight to record my single, I really don't want to stay in the arena and run fifty laps with you!"
"Stop talking nonsense, go get your wallet now and stuff that two thousand dollars in cash from last night into the bucket!" Rasheed kicked Artest's shin impatiently.
The two men sheepishly rummaged through the closet for their wallets, each counting out twenty crisp hundred-dollar bills. Together with Rasheed's fine for the opening match, they stuffed a total of six thousand dollars into a clear plastic bucket. Mutombo shook the bucket full of banknotes, making a clattering sound, and nodded to the two men with satisfaction.
At 11:00 AM, the tactical review meeting ended, and the whole team went to the training ground for a five-on-five half-court offensive and defensive drill.
Before the game started, Lin Qi, standing on the sidelines, nudged Rick Carlisle's arm and whispered, "When Mike blows the whistle, make sure he picks on those two, blows a couple of biased whistles, and see if that works."
Rick Carlisle understood immediately and whispered a few words to the chief assistant coach who was acting as the referee on the field.
Mutombo deliberately moved the transparent plastic bucket containing six thousand dollars to the center of the scorer's table, while Gary Payton brazenly opened the pink suit catalog and placed it on his chair.
The practice session began, with the white team's substitutes attacking.
Rasheed backed down Garnett on the left side of the post. He bumped into Garnett twice, then turned and shot a fadeaway jumper. As Garnett jumped to block, his left elbow clearly hit Rasheed's forearm, and the ball went wide of the basket.
The assistant coach, whistle in hand, stood at the baseline, glanced around, spread his hands, and shouted, "Good defense! No foul, keep going!"
Rasheed's eyes widened instantly upon landing. He turned his head, took a deep breath, and his mouth was only halfway open when he said, "The ball won't..."
Before he could finish his sentence, Artest, standing in the weak-side corner, suddenly yelled at the top of his lungs, " Sheed! Shut up! Fifty shuttle runs! I have a recording session with the sound engineer tonight, don't make me run my legs off!"
Rasheed swallowed the rest of his sentence, his chest heaving twice, before finally slamming his hand down and turning back to his half of the field to defend without a word.
Two minutes later, it was the Green Team's turn to start the attack.
Pierce dribbled past Artest on the right side. Artest moved cleanly, his hands behind his back, not even touching the hem of Pierce's jersey. Pierce pulled up for a jump shot, but missed.
"Beep!"
The assistant coach suddenly blew the whistle and pointed at Artest: "Number 37, blocking foul! Two free throws!"
The entire training ground fell silent instantly. Garnett, Pierce, and Wade all stopped and turned to watch Artest's antics.
Artest's facial muscles twitched, the veins on his neck bulged visibly, his fist clenched instantly, and he took half a step forward to confront the teaching assistant.
Just then, Rasheed Wallace, three meters away, stepped directly in front of Artest's line of sight, raised his hands with a gloomy face, and snapped his two thumbs down, making a gesture as if breaking a CD in half. Gary Payton, on the sidelines, also raised his bright pink suit-themed catalog.
Artest's right foot, which had been extended, came to an abrupt halt in mid-air.
He took two deep breaths, and the bulging veins in his eyes slowly subsided. Then, Artest bent down to pick up the basketball from the ground, walked over to the assistant coach, forced a stiff smile that looked worse than a grimace, and respectfully handed the ball to the assistant coach with both hands.
"My bad, Coach, I was breathing too loudly and blew the whistle on Chris Paul. That was a good whistle, a really good one."
Pierce and Wade, standing on the sidelines, burst into laughter, while Rick Carlisle shook his head helplessly and chuckled as well.