The alloy door of examination room number three slid open to both sides.
Arthur Levine, a senior sampling specialist from the New York headquarters, walked in carrying a silver refrigerated sampling box, accompanied by two independent laboratory testers in white coats.
Levin has worked in the field of anti-doping in professional sports for fifteen years, visiting hundreds of locker rooms across the United States. In the past, whenever he led a team to conduct surprise tests, the scene was often quite chaotic. Most team trainers would frantically stall for time with excuses, sweating profusely while calling the general manager and desperately stuffing large bottles of cranberry juice and distilled water into the players' hands. Some players who were injured or had something to hide would simply hide in the sauna, claiming that they were dehydrated and unable to urinate. Some star players would even ask for leave temporarily on the grounds of back cramps.
But the quiet in Boston surprised Levin.
Ben Wallace sat shirtless on a stainless steel bench, his signature black, elongated wristbands around his forearms, holding a bottle of dark red electrolyte solution in one hand. He merely raised an eyelid when the tester entered. Dwyane Wade, who had already cooperated with the sampling, was chewing gum, his cheeks slightly puffed out, signing his name on the tamper-evident seal bottle with a black Mark.
"The cap is screwed on tightly in both directions, Mr. Specialist." Wade handed the sampling box to the tester, took a tissue to wipe the sweat from his palms, and turned to Dr. Marcus. "Dr. Marcus, I'll go to the tactics room to review the video."
"Go ahead, but don't drink the ice water." Marcus nodded.
Levin took Wade's sampling bottle and carefully examined the anti-counterfeiting barcode on the edge of the lead seal. The sample fluid was clear and transparent, without the unnatural pale white color of a large dose of diuretics, nor the dark impurities caused by long-term dependence on painkillers.
Garnett and Chris Paul Pierce then entered the sampling room. Pierce had just finished practicing two sets of corner catch-and-shoot jumpers, his forehead covered in fine beads of sweat, and the back of his jersey was soaked, clinging to his spine. As he walked in, he raised his hand to pull down his crooked white headband.
There were none of the excuses and shirking of responsibility that you see in other teams here, and even the team doctor didn't need to give any extra instructions.
The players skillfully followed the procedures, reporting their names, providing samples, sealing them, and affixing their fingerprints. The entire process was as smooth as making a fixed deposit at a bank counter.
"Arthur, go take a look at our archives; the paperwork is done here." Dr. Marcus stepped aside to lead the way.
In the adjacent archives room, there were two rows of cold-rolled steel filing cabinets with independent temperature control. Marcus took an IBM laptop connected to the local area network from a drawer and casually pushed three biochemical monitoring logs bound in hardcover binders in front of Levin.
"This is the biochemical tracking file for all the rotation players on the team this season." Marcus clicked on the database on the screen. "We collect venous blood samples from the players every Monday and Thursday morning to monitor creatine kinase, blood urea nitrogen, and cortisol levels. Every energy bar and electrolyte supplement consumed by each player before and after training is accompanied by a heavy metal and prohibited ingredient test report from the independent Switzerland SGS laboratory. The batch number and customs declaration are all here."
Levin put on his glasses and reached out to open Garnett's file.
The pages were densely filled with muscle fatigue data and micronutrient replenishment curves after each training session. In the medication record section, green stamps were neatly arranged. The entire team did not have a single prescription for nonsteroidal anti-inflammatory drugs. All methods for combating synovitis and soft tissue contusions relied entirely on cryotherapy, ultrasound therapy, deep fascia release, and customized hot and cold alternating cycles of hydrotherapy.
Levin's fingers, which were turning the pages, stopped.
He had just led the team on a trip to Texas and the West Coast last week, and those few days were a disaster. The atmosphere in the Houston Rockets ' locker room was extremely tense. Maurice Taylor had just been suspended for ten games by the league in November for violating the anti-doping policy, and Steve Francis had simply vanished without a trace; even the team security couldn't find him. When Chris Webber, who was recovering from minimally invasive knee surgery, submitted a urine sample during a random test in Sacramento, the initial screening test showed a color change. The retest report was due to be submitted to the New York headquarters in the next few days, and Webber would face at least five more games of unpaid suspension.
As for the Portland Trail Blazers, it goes without saying. Damon Stoudamire was caught red-handed by a metal detector last year while trying to smuggle contraband in tin foil at airport security. Now, whenever a random sampling team enters the Moda Center, the entire Trail Blazers bench scrambles to the restrooms, and the team doctor's office trash cans are overflowing with tin foil containing painkillers mixed with caffeine and empty bottles of diuretics used to dilute urine. Even the old cases from a few years ago, where Don Klay, Matt Geiger, and Lakers backup center Somalia Samaki all tested positive for anabolic steroids, have recently been brought up again by FBI agents.
"Marcus, don't you have any prescription painkillers on hand here?" Levin looked up, his tone tinged with suspicion.
"Yes, it's in the level two safe in the first-aid cabinet," Marcus replied calmly. "But it requires joint signature from me and the chief surgeon, and is only for emergency analgesia in cases of fractures or acute dislocations. If a player's knee requires anesthesia to run and jump, we'll immediately write 'rest.' Mr. Lin's orders state that concealing injuries and misusing anesthetics is equivalent to immediate termination of the contract."
Levin leaned back in his chair, took off his glasses, rubbed his nose, and gave a wry smile, " David Stern called me at six this morning. His voice was hoarse on the phone, afraid that the fire at BALCO Labs would spread through San Francisco Bay and into the league. The mess left by Sean Kemp in Orlando hasn't been cleaned up yet, and Vin Baker, whom the New York Knicks just took over not long ago, is barely passing basic fitness tests. Salt Lake City and Dallas in the Western Conference are also complaining that surprise inspections will affect their team preparations."
Levin stood up, neatly closed the three thick binders, and handed them back to Marcus: "But I can't find anything wrong with yours. If every team in the league did what Boston does, we inspectors would be on unemployment benefits long ago."
Just then, a clear whistle sounded from the direction of the main training area.
Rick Carlisle stood at center court, stopwatch in hand, loudly correcting Gerald Wallace's baseline rotation defensive positioning. When defending a pick-and- Wallace Gerald dropped half a step too far inside, which Gary Payton caught on the perimeter. Gary Payton's right foot was on the extended free-throw line, and with a slight flick of his wrist, the ball flew past Wallace's ear, just a little too far back.
Ben Wallace, who was cutting to the basket, scooped the ball back with one hand, jumped, and slammed it in with both hands, the base of the basket bouncing back with a dull metallic sound.
Garnett stood in the weak-side elbow area, stuffed his jersey collar into his mouth and yelled at Gerald Wallace, " Gerald, when you squeeze through the screen, raise your elbows and stick them to his ribs! Don't cower behind and watch!"
Gary Payton retreated past the scorer's table, wiped the sweat from his palms on his trousers, and bent down to touch the rubber soles of his shoes.