The final buzzer sounded, 79-91.
The Boston Celtics secured another victory.
When the post-game statistics were handed out, the first thing Lin Qi looked at wasn't the overall score, nor Mutombo's seven blocks. He looked at the paint.
The Philadelphia 76ers took 32 shots in the paint, making only 10. Allen Iverson drove into the paint 13 times, finishing only 3 of them. Five of those were blocked by Mutombo, and on four other occasions, Iverson was forced to slow down prematurely just as Garnett moved to the free-throw line to get back in, resorting to a difficult floater or a hasty pass.
Mutombo was responsible for delivering the final blow, while Garnett was responsible for making the opponent rush in hesitantly. One was an iron gate, the other a net of heaven and earth.
Tonight, Allen Iverson was the first superstar rookie to experience this defensive system firsthand.
His final stats were 19 points, 7-for-24 shooting, and 5 turnovers. On paper, it wasn't a complete collapse, but starting from the middle of the fourth quarter, this fearless rookie no longer immediately drove to the basket. He dribbled the ball one more time beyond the three-point line, habitually glanced at the weak side before driving to the basket, and subconsciously looked for Mutombo's position before jumping.
For a player like Iverson, that moment of hesitation is more memorable than losing ten points on the stat sheet.
At the general manager's desk, Lin Qi lightly tapped a line of small print on the statistics sheet with his knuckles.
[ Philadelphia 76ers' paint shooting percentage: 31.3%]
This wasn't just a simple block; it was an absolute deterrent established on the defensive end. And this deterrent, which forces opponents to change their offensive options, is the real reason why Lin Qi was willing to offer Mutombo that huge contract in the summer.
Tonight, Garnett scored 17 points, 11 rebounds, 4 assists, 3 steals, and 2 blocks. While he was still struggling against the Philadelphia 76ers ' veteran Derrick Coleman's size when attacking in the low post, he demonstrated his exceptional defensive value on the defensive end.
"He committed 14 delays above the free-throw line tonight, Allen was forced to stop the ball four times by Kevin's long arms," Thibodeau analyzed in a low voice, his eyes gleaming with fervor.
Lin Qi nodded. The entire league was obsessed with finding the next traditional low-post threat like Shaquille O'Neal O'Neal, but only he knew that with the evolution of defensive tactics, the future of the NBA would be dominated by spacing and speed of movement.
At this moment, the young number one draft pick, walking off the court, stopped beside the Boston Celtics logo. He looked up at Mutombo, who was a head taller than him, tugged at his jersey, and gave him a look that was somewhat helpless but also full of admiration.
"Senior," Iverson gritted his teeth and extended his right hand, "I promise, next time I come to Boston, I will definitely beat you."
The ferocity on Mutombo's face faded instantly, revealing a simple and even childish smile. He stretched out his big hand like a cattail fan, hugged Iverson's shoulders, and said with a smile, "Allen, tell Coach John for me when you have time."
After exchanging pleasantries, Iverson turned around, hung the towel around his neck, and prepared to walk towards the visiting team's tunnel.
Just as he was about to step into the tunnel, Lin Qi, who was standing near the home team's bench on the sidelines, casually handed Iverson a heavy black kraft paper bag without any tags.
"Here you go." Lin Qi met the newly crowned number one draft pick's questioning gaze with composure. "Since we're in Boston, we should bring back some souvenirs."
Iverson raised an eyebrow. He wanted to refuse, but the heavy feel and texture of the black bag piqued his curiosity. He took the bag, but didn't open it on the sidelines, and went straight back to the visiting team's locker room, where cold water was pouring down.
At that moment, in front of the visiting team's lockers, the Philadelphia 76ers ' veterans were chewing gum, complaining about the terrible weather in Boston, while frantically trying on stiff, oversized suits—the "middle-class elite image" that David Stern was pushing throughout the league.
Iverson sat on the bench and tore open the black paper bag.
He was stunned.
It was a heavyweight gray-sand-colored hooded sweatshirt. Its extremely thick weight and wide, dropped-shoulder cut gave it a distinctly streetwear style.
The shirt features a minimalist silhouette printed in black and white on the chest—a signature index finger waving sideways, a pose Mutombo used to freeze in tonight when he rejected all drives to the basket.
There were no superfluous words, no complicated lines, only that one move unique in the entire league.
"Damn it..." Iverson stared at his clothes, muttered a curse under his breath, but a grin involuntarily crept onto his face.
Half an hour later, the Philadelphia 76ers ' post-game press conference ended.
When Iverson reappeared in the media corridor at the arena exit, reporters from more than a dozen mainstream sports newspapers, who were waiting on both sides with Fujifilm and Kodak film cameras, simultaneously pressed their shutters. Immediately afterwards, a series of suppressed gasps erupted in the previously noisy corridor.
The veteran reporter from Philadelphia who was covering the team instantly turned pale. He even felt that his team's talented rookie had been brainwashed by Mutombo —after being blocked 5 times, he had absurdly adopted the opponent's humiliating gesture.
But Iverson didn't care what these old fogies thought. He was Allen Iverson, after all.
He never backs down on the court, but he's also never a sore loser. Tonight, his senior did give him a lesson he'd never forget under the basket, but that didn't stop him from thinking that wagging index finger was hopelessly cool. Compared to the unchanging, stiff suits David Stern gave him, this heavyweight oversized David and the defiant index finger on the chest truly represented his street style.
Are you pleased? Fine, then I'll play along with this charade.
Facing the flashing lights from both sides, Iverson made no attempt to dodge. He pulled his hoodie up over his head, put his hands in his pockets, and even deliberately stopped as he passed the array of flashes from the Boston Globe and Sports Illustrated, tugged at the silhouette of a finger wag on his chest, and tilted his head arrogantly at the cameras.
That arrogant young face seemed to be proclaiming to the entire nation: I got blocked tonight, but so what?
The sound of camera shutters clicking in rapid succession captured the moment perfectly.