The injury report was delivered to Lin Qi's desk three days after the season ended.
The top page features Robert Parish.
The right Achilles tendon was completely ruptured, and long-term rehabilitation is expected.
For a 42-year-old center, this is tantamount to announcing the end of his professional career.
Lin Qi sat in his office for a long time with the report in his hand. He didn't go to see Parish immediately; it wasn't until evening that he pushed open the door to the rehabilitation room in the training center.
Parish sat on the physiotherapy bed, his right foot immobilized by a thick brace. He was dressed in loose casual clothes and looked much older than he did on the field.
Hearing the noise, Parish looked up at him.
Did the doctor tell you?
"I said so."
"Then you should know," Parish said calmly, "That I can't play anymore."
Lin Qi pulled up a chair and sat down in front of him. "I know."
Parish gave a self-deprecating laugh, as if he had finally been relieved of some burden. "I didn't have much gas left anyway."
"But you still gave your last bit of oil to the Celtics." Lin Qi said, placing a document in front of him.
Parish glanced down at the cover.
"General Consultant for the Boston Celtics' Frontcourt Development"
The old man looked up. "What does this mean?"
"That means you can empty your locker," Lin Qi said. "But the team has already reassigned you an office."
Parish paused for a few seconds, then pushed the file forward. "Lin, I don't need comforting."
"This isn't consolation," Lin Qi said, looking at him. "I never buy sentimentality."
Parish laughed instead, "Then what are you going to buy?"
"Experience."
Lin Qi pointed out the window towards the training field.
" Kevin Garnett is nineteen years old. He's very talented, but he simply doesn't know how to be a real center."
Parish stared at the document for a long time before finally speaking, "You want me to bring Kevin?"
"It's not just Kevin," Lin Qi said. " P.J. Brown, and in the future we'll draft even more tall, long-armed big men. All the young big men are yours to manage."
You know I don't have a good temper.
"Perfect," Lin Qi chuckled, "These kids just need a good scolding."
Parish finally laughed out loud, his laughter a little hoarse.
Lin Qi continued, " Robert, you've won championships here. You know how to win. We need you."
Parish's finger paused at the edge of the document.
"You're not going to let me refuse."
"Yes," Lin Qi said, "I never intended for you to refuse."
Parish stared at him for a long time, and finally, he raised his hand and closed the file.
"I have one condition."
"You say."
"Don't make me a mascot," Parish said coldly. "If I stay, I want real power."
Lin Qi stood up and extended his hand. "Welcome home, Coach."
Parish paused for a moment. He looked down at his right foot, which was immobilized, and after a long while, he reached out and shook hands with Lin Qi.
"I'm not used to being called that yet."
"You'll get used to it eventually."
Lin Qi walked to the door, stopped, turned around, and said seriously, "This team won't forget your last game."
"Alright, stop with the act." Parish waved his hand. "Go and call Kevin in. We'll watch two hours of video tonight."
Lin Qi smiled, pushed open the door, and walked out.
In the recovery room, Parish reopened the document.
The sky outside the window had completely darkened. He reached out and turned on the bedside lamp, turned around, and pushed a videotape of the series against the Chicago Bulls back into the black and white television next to him.
The video recorder was running, making a hissing sound.
When Lin Qi returned to his office, the remaining injury reports on his desk had already formed a small stack.
At the top is Robert Parish's Achilles tendon rupture diagnosis. Scrolling down, Dino Radja's report clearly states, "Severe worsening of right knee effusion, recommending systemic surgery during the offseason and strict control of high-intensity contact."
Radja, who averaged 22 points and 10 rebounds per game in the regular season, has reached the limit of his knees.
Without him, this young Celtics wouldn't have made it to double overtime against the Chicago Bulls. But the Chicago Bulls also used five games to throw a cruel reality into Lin Qi's face— Radja can carry the regular season during the rebuilding period, but he can't support the framework of a dynasty for the next ten years.
Lin Qi pushed aside the remaining stack of reports filled with descriptions of Sam Cassell's muscle strain and Jones' shoulder contusion, and finally pulled out the page with Kevin Garnett's injury.
The physical examination revealed no structural damage, but the team doctor noted in the comments. "Significant mental fatigue; advised to avoid external interference during the off-season."
Lin Qi looked at the line of text and smiled.
Mental fatigue? No. It was the first time a nineteen-year-old boy had been pinned to the ground by an old thug and realized his own weakness. Of course, this kind of thing is painful, but as long as you don't die, it will become nourishment for growth.
Lin Qi closed the report.
In five games, the Chicago Bulls pushed this young Celtics team to their absolute limit.
It's crystal clear which defenses hold up, which offenses falter under high intensity, and which positions seem capable of handling the regular season but harbor fatal weaknesses at the championship level.
This is not a report.
This is a roadmap that shows all the vulnerabilities.
The next morning, in the basketball affairs conference room.
Lin Qi, Adelman, Thibodeau, the data director, and the medical director sat around a long table.
"Have you dealt with Robert's matter?" Adelman broke the silence first.
"He's been dealt with; he'll stay on as the general consultant for insider development," Lin Qi replied.
Thibodeau looked up, a hint of approval in his eyes. "Excellent."
Adelman opened Radja's report, his brow furrowing. "Lin, Dino's knee is worse than we thought. He's a hero..."
"So I will give him the respect he deserves," Lin Qi said calmly, "But we can't pretend his knees can hold up for the next five years just because he's a hero."
No one in the meeting room objected. This is the cruelest part of professional sports: the emotions are real, and so are the injuries.
Lin Qi stood up, walked to the whiteboard, took out his marker, and wrote down the first word: outside projection.
" Pippen shut down Sam's passing after the switch, and whenever the Chicago Bulls collapsed into the paint, our perimeter players simply couldn't make them pay."
Then, he wrote down the second word: interior hardness.
"PJ and Ervin were both worn down by fouls and exhaustion, and in the end, they had to rely on 42-year-old Parish to step up and replace Dennis Rodman."
Lin Qi wrote down the last name: Kevin Garnett.
After I finished writing, the air in the meeting room noticeably became heavier.
Thibodeau stared at the whiteboard, his voice hoarse. "This kid's still too skinny. Dennis Rodman nudged him twice with his thighs, and he lost his balance."
"But we can't blindly increase his weight," Adelman added. "Gaining too much weight too quickly will ruin his mobility, and then he'll lose all his help defense advantage."
Lin Qi nodded, and circled Garnett's name heavily with his marker.
"So this summer, he's going to practice three things."
Lin Qi slammed the marker down heavily on Garnett's name.
"First, we need to work on Parish's defensive positioning and boxing out. His lower body strength and core strength must be up to par; he'll be a starter next year."
"Secondly, his ability to penetrate from the low post and mid-range. He'll need to be able to handle some offensive output next year."
Third, continue practicing shooting. Practice both three-pointers and mid-range shots.
"Next year, I want him to become a monster that the entire league's defenses won't know how to match up against."
After the meeting, Boston's offseason officially began.