It was Ben Wallace.
This muscular man, sporting a frizzy afro and capable of bench pressing over 400 pounds, was wearing a loose-fitting T-shirt with a cartoon print. What puzzled Okur even more was that Big Ben was carrying two brightly painted, half-meter-long off-road remote-controlled race cars in his left hand, while his right hand held two black dual-joystick professional remote controls, and a Phillips screwdriver with a plastic handle was even sticking out of his sweatpants pocket.
"You're not asleep, are you?" Big Ben asked in a muffled voice.
"No... not yet, Ben, come in and sit down," Okur hurriedly stepped aside to make way.
Ben Wallace shook his head, gesturing with his chin to the long, thickly carpeted corridor of the hotel. "It's too cramped in here. Come out and run a couple of laps with me."
Okur followed Big Ben out of the room, looking completely bewildered.
It was already 8:30 p. m., and the entire floor of the hotel had been booked by the Celtics. The corridors were deserted and very quiet.
Big Ben walked to the middle of the corridor, squatted down, placed one of the blue four-wheel drive remote control cars on the carpet, and shoved the black remote control into Okur's hand. "The left joystick controls the throttle and brake, the right one controls the steering. I just replaced the high-speed motor and the grip tires this afternoon. See that fire hydrant at the end of the corridor? Go around it and run back; whoever crashes into the wall first loses."
Okur looked down at the plastic remote control in his hand, a device usually only played with by teenagers, then glanced at Ben Wallace, who was squatting on the ground intently adjusting the front wheel steering lever with a screwdriver. He was completely bewildered.
Who in the entire league would have thought that this muscular powerhouse, who dared to go head-to-head with Shaq O'Neal in the paint, would have two modified remote-controlled race cars in his suitcase when traveling to away games?
"What are you standing there for? Let's begin!"
Big Ben pressed a switch under the car, and the red SUV in his hand emitted a crisp motor hum, then whooshed off along the red carpet.
Okur quickly pushed the left joystick in his hand. He wasn't familiar with the force, and he pushed the accelerator too hard. The blue remote control car, as if drunk, drew an S-shape in the corridor, crashed into the door frame of Tyronn Lue's room with a bang, flipped upside down, and its four big tires spun in the air.
Big Ben skillfully maneuvered the red car into a beautiful drift at the end of the corridor, bringing it to a smooth stop. He then turned to Okur and laughed, "You can't push the accelerator all the way down, the horsepower is too high. When cornering, you have to ease off the accelerator halfway in advance and steer with the momentum, otherwise the center of gravity will be too high and you'll definitely flip over."
Big Ben walked over, bent down and helped Okur right the overturned blue car and put it back on the starting line.
Two burly men, whose combined weight was nearly 500 pounds, squatted side by side on the carpet in the hotel corridor, holding remote controls and racing their remote-controlled cars one after another.
After driving back and forth seven or eight times, Okur gradually figured out the trick and was finally able to control the car to turn around the fire hydrant. The tense expression on his face that had been on his face all day unconsciously relaxed.
Big Ben stopped the car, plopped down on the carpet in the hallway, leaned against the wall, and casually unscrewed a bottle of mineral water, taking a sip.
"Are you still angry with Kevin?" Big Ben asked, looking at Okur was squatting beside him.
Okur loosened his grip on the joystick, looked down at the pattern on the carpet, and muttered, "I know I shouldn't have eaten so many sweets. My parents came all the way from Turkey, and I didn't want to embarrass them. But I really wanted to run faster on the field today. Kevin yelled at me like that in front of everyone, making me feel like a useless bum."
" Kevin's just like that stubborn mule, he doesn't hold grudges, he's objective, he really doesn't want to lose, not even one game." Big Ben tapped the remote-controlled car's rubber tires lightly with a screwdriver.
Okur paused for a moment, then looked up at Big Ben.
"Memet, you were the last pick in the first round. From the first day you stepped into the training facility, you had a fully guaranteed contract in your hands," Big Ben Wallace grinned, revealing a set of white teeth. "You have no idea what it feels like to be cut at any moment. When I graduated from Virginia Concord in '96, there were only 58 picks in the draft that year. I sat in front of the TV from dawn till dusk, all the way to the 58th pick, the last name. Mr. Lin Qi finally brought me to Boston."
"The contracts at the end of the second round didn't offer a single penny of security. The training camp was full of ruthless people eager to take over the job. Back then, if I was even one step behind in a practice game, the veterans would yell at me ten times worse than Kevin does today."
"Do you know how I stayed in Boston?" Big Ben pointed to a faint old scar on the bridge of his nose. "That preseason game against the Miami Heat, Alonzo Mourning was charging into everyone in the paint. All of our starting big men fouled out, and the coach put me in to guard Mourning. That night, Mourning's iron elbows slammed into my chest and chin at least ten times, but I didn't back down an inch. After that game, Mr. Lin Qi finally put a guaranteed contract in front of me."
Okur listened quietly, his grip on the remote control tightening.
"In the NBA, it's a good thing when people criticize you. It means they still expect you to win," Big Ben said, spreading out his large, calloused hands and looking down. "The day you miss your man on the court and Kevin doesn't even look at you, that's when you're truly finished. And to be honest, Mehmet, I'm quite envious of you."
Okur was stunned. "Envious of me?"
"Yeah, I envy your hands, I envy the shooting touch God gave you," Big Ben sighed, his tone tinged with genuine emotion. "A couple of years ago, after team training, we often had two-person shooting contests. The losing pair had to stay and practice three-pointers. Back then, Rasheed and I were in the same group, competing against Chris Paul and Kevin."
"You know how bad my three-point shooting is; eight out of ten shots hit the rim. As a result, Rasheed and I always lost, so we stayed at the gym after practice every day to practice three-pointers. We practiced for a whole season, but my three-point shooting was still terrible. On the contrary, Rasheed was dragged down by me and practiced extra every day, and he actually made his three-point shooting more and more accurate."
Hearing this, Okur couldn't help but burst out laughing. He often heard Pierce joke about this on the team, saying that Rasheed's three-point shooting was all thanks to Ben Big Ben.
"Don't laugh, I'm serious," Big Ben shook his head as well. "To avoid being a burden on the court, I spent countless hours in the gym with the shooting coach, wearing down the skin on my thumbs until it bled. It took me five whole years to finally get my free throw percentage down to 68%. Now, trying to improve it by even one percentage point is like climbing Mount Everest. As for my 15-foot mid-range shot, I have to be absolutely furious when I'm unguarded before I dare to take it."
"But what about you? You're 2.11 meters tall. You can casually swing your arms and run to the three-point line, flick your wrist, and sink the shot. I could practice until I was exhausted and still not achieve that, but you can do it effortlessly. Mr. Lin Qi and Rick have given you over twenty minutes of rotation time this year, setting up the entire bench offense around your outside shooting. With such great talent, if you waste it because you're greedy for a few Turkey desserts, even I feel sorry for you."
Okur looked down at his hands, then at Ben Wallace sitting on the carpet.
This starting center, who had won Defensive Player of the Year and wore a championship ring, spoke to me without any airs of a senior, only genuine honesty. Okur's grievances from being scolded by Garnett vanished at that moment, replaced by a deep sense of shame.
"Ben, thank you," Okur took a deep breath, looked up, and said earnestly, "I understand what to do."
"Just saying it isn't enough; six and a half pounds of flesh won't grow legs and run away," Big Ben, propping himself up on his knees as he stood up from the carpet, tucking the two remote-controlled cars under his arms. "I'll be waiting for you in the hotel lobby at 5:30 tomorrow morning. Are you coming?"
Without hesitation, Okur stood up and said, "Go!"