O'Neal's suit was perfectly wrinkle-free, and his face showed no sign of frustration at the team's 44-point loss.
"Hey, Lin!" O'Neal stretched out his big hand to bump hands with Lin Qi, his breath coming in minty gas. "Is the air conditioning in this arena set way too cold on purpose?"
" Shaq, your back injury looks like it's healing pretty quickly." Lin Qi glanced at his straight back.
O'Neal chuckled, leaned closer, and lowered his voice. " John begged me not to play tonight on the plane last night. Since the boss is offering me a game's salary just to watch the game, I can't just turn down the money, right?"
Lin Qi smiled but didn't respond.
O'Neal glanced at Lin Qi, switched his toiletries bag to his other hand, chewed some bubble gum, and said with a slightly unfocused look, "Lin, there's something I've never been able to figure out. Everyone used to say you only knew how to hoard big men, from Dikembe to Kevin, then Big Ben Rasheed, you scrambled all the big men in the league who could do the dirty work in tough games to Boston. But just now, sitting on the sidelines watching Dwyane play, I realized your eye for picks in guards is also strangely sharp."
O'Neal pulled his sunglasses down half an inch, his tone serious. "That kid number four just now, that drive to the basket after a screen, the explosiveness of his first step, the angle at which he could find a rebound while hanging on the defender—it really reminded me of Michael back in the day. Those reporters outside keep calling LeBron the Chosen One, but in my opinion, Dwyane's relentless, aggressive drive to the basket makes him look more like a playoff killer than that high schooler from Cleveland."
Lin Qi looked at O'Neal and calmly said, " Dwyane has a lot of core strength. When he drives, his center of gravity drops extremely low. If a defender tries to move laterally to stop him, he either commits a foul or gets blown over in one step. He just needs time to develop his mid-range and long-range shooting."
"You certainly know how to pick people." O'Neal pushed his sunglasses back up on his nose, his tone suddenly changing as he tilted his head and stared at Lin Qi. "But speaking of which, since you have such a sharp eye, when I was put on the trading block, more than twenty teams across the league called to inquire about buying me. How come you never made even a single formal offer to Orlando, Los Angeles, or Chicago? When we played in the NBA Finals, I dealt with Dikembe quite a bit. Big Ben had to foul me five times by the fourth quarter."
Shaquille O'Neal's inherent arrogance of being the best in the world has never changed.
Lin Qi stopped and looked at O'Neal's broad face. " Shaq, you make over twenty million a year, you should at least have a couple of helpers, right? To help spread the floor and defend pick-and-rolls. It's a pity... we couldn't sign you in the summer of 1996."
Upon hearing "1996, "O'Neal paused, his chewing gum twitching slightly, and his eyelids twitched a little.
That summer's events caused a huge uproar. Orlando Magic owner Richard DeVos instructed general manager John Gabriel to initially offer O'Neal a humiliating four-year, $54 million contract. Most absurdly, the Orlando Sentinel conducted a telephone poll in the city, and over 90% of Orlando residents voted that O'Neal wasn't worth over $100 million.
Even after O'Neal's complete falling out with the Magic, his agent, Leonard Amato, never considered Boston. Amato was focused on building his own business empire, making Hollywood movies, releasing rap albums, and securing top-tier endorsements across the country. The only teams in the league that fit their agenda were big markets like Los Angeles and the Knicks. Clippers owner Sterling even charged for arena towels, so going to the Lakers was practically the only route Amato envisioned for O'Neal.
" Boston had just gone through a rough few years back then. Reggie Lewis died young, Kevin ( Garnett ) hadn't made a name for himself yet." Lin Qi looked at him. "You're obsessed with the glamour of Hollywood. Amato wouldn't even bother to return a call from Boston. How could Shaquille O'Neal O'Neal have ever come to a place like Boston back then?"
O'Neal pursed his lips, unable to refute. Lin Qi was telling the truth. Back then, he harbored a lot of resentment in Orlando, and all he could see were palm trees, Beverly mansions, and Hollywood studios. Boston was simply not on his shortlist.
The corridor was quiet for a moment, with only the sound of a cleaner pushing a trash can in the distance.
O'Neal suddenly shifted his toiletry bag to his left armpit, stared intently at Lin Qi, and blurted out something completely illogical.
"Lin, if I had really gone crazy back then and hadn't gone to Los Angeles, and had been determined to join Boston instead, how many championships could we have won together?"
The question was abrupt, but it perfectly reflects O'Neal's competitive and imaginative mind.
Lin Qi did not answer immediately.
He quickly mentally reconstructed the alliance landscape around the turn of the millennium.
In 1996, O'Neal was only 24 years old and possessed devastating finishing ability in the paint. Moreover, the league hadn't yet changed the zone defense rules or implemented the three-second rule. Under the old rules' low-post one-on-one environment, O'Neal was an unstoppable force. If Lin Qi had signed O'Neal in 1996, given Boston's draft assets at the time, Lin Qi could still have secured high-quality rookie contracts through the draft, equipping O'Neal with top-tier outside shooters and incredibly fast perimeter defenders.
Lakers O'Neal, the Lakers' biggest rivals in the Western Conference will be Tim Duncan and the Spurs after the turn of the millennium, while Boston will have a smooth run in the Eastern Conference with almost no losses.
Lin Qi met O'Neal's probing gaze and gave an the Answer.
"If we can control your weight and get the team doctor to take good care of your toes and knees, we might win more than six championships."
O'Neal froze on the spot.
He stopped chewing his gum halfway through his mouth, his previously squinted eyes widened, his chin drooped slightly, and his face was filled with disbelief. Six championships—that was the legend Michael Jordan forged in Chicago, and a number that O'Neal could only dream of achieving in his entire life.
It took O'Neal a full five seconds to recover from his shock.
He exhaled a long breath of minty air, then grinned and laughed self-deprecatingly, the sound echoing through the empty concrete corridor.
"Six... My God, Lin, you've got guts." O'Neal laughed and shook his head, his facial muscles relaxing. "But it's a pity, there are no 'ifs.' If Shaq at 24 knew these things, he wouldn't be me."
O'Neal raised his hand and rubbed his face. He knew better than anyone that back then, he was young and impetuous, his mind filled with tens of millions of dollars in checks, spotlights, movie contracts, and nightclubs. He couldn't bear to give up the glamorous world of Los Angeles and run to Boston to work with a shrewd Chinese CEO Zaza build a team.
Jerry West got everything he wanted in Los Angeles, but the Boston Celtics' four-peat at the beginning of the millennium became a nightmare he could never get over throughout his Lakers career. If Michael Jordan hadn't made a brief comeback in Los Angeles to help them win a trophy, he might not have a single ring now.
"The winner always has a point." O'Neal pulled his suit jacket down, his expression shifting from sentimentality to a more realistic one.
He patted Lin Qi's arm and lowered his voice slightly. "If any team willing to spend money wants to sign someone from the Chicago Bulls this summer, don't you dare badmouth me in front of the media. I've had enough of Chicago; I don't want to clean up the messes of these selfish greenhorns every day."
"That's a deal between John Paxson and Reinsdorf; Boston has no interest in getting involved," Lin Qi replied casually.
O'Neal shrugged and didn't pull any further. He tucked his amenity kit under his arm and strode off toward the visiting team bus.
Sam Presti emerged from around the corner, holding a technical statistics sheet. "Boss, is Shaq testing the waters?"
" Paxson wants to trade a 32-year-old center on a $20 million max contract for a good price," Lin Qi straightened his trench coat collar, turned, and walked towards the elevator. "It's not that easy."
The elevator doors slid open, and the two stepped inside.