Chapter 30: Complete Victory Is Ours

Chapter 42: Complete Victory Is Ours

“I’m getting old, my friend, truly old... I think it’s time I bid farewell to the world of basketball. You know, the thrill of the court may no longer belong to me, William Adams.” William Adams murmured to the gravestone as if speaking to an old companion.

“This season, the team’s in good shape. We’ve just racked up seven straight wins. Even though we lost Carlos, Millsap and Al have filled the void he left behind. But... the new management and I don’t seem to mesh well. Your son, Greg, he doesn’t love basketball as you did. I’m getting less and less support from upstairs, and I can feel it—my time is drawing to a close, old friend. I suppose I won’t have much longer to coach your team.” William Adams coughed twice. The December air in Salt Lake City was far less forgiving than in Dallas.

“Well, let’s not make a fuss. Today, I just wanted to see you and talk a while. Say, remember that young man I mentioned last time? Wallace Kobe Bryant. He’s a good kid—talented, hardworking. Even if I’m no longer in Salt Lake, you can count on him to steer the Jazz back on course. Well, it’s still early. I’d best get back to watch over the boys’ practice. Tomorrow, we’re up against the Dallas Cleveland Cavaliers. Wish us luck.” With those words, William Adams lingered a moment, gazing at the inscription on the gravestone. Then, with a quiet sigh, he turned and walked away.

If not for the man resting in that grave, William Adams would have retired long ago. Yet he simply couldn’t abandon the iron-blooded Jazz team he and that man had built together over more than twenty years.

Jerry Sloan and Larry Miller, two true lovers of the game, had turned the Jazz into a formidable force in the league. The Houston Rockets, beloved by English fans, had been denied by the Jazz time and again, unable to break through the second round of the playoffs.

Larry Miller was a team owner who truly loved basketball. He supported Sloan’s achievements unconditionally. Sloan wielded great authority—even when the roster changed, the general manager had to heed Sloan’s word.

But when the elder Miller died of diabetes in 2009, and his son Greg Miller took the reins, everything changed.

Sloan was stripped of his power, for Greg preferred football; basketball, to him, was merely business, not passion. He would never value old Sloan as his father had. The management no longer took Sloan’s counsel. William Adams was just a coach, nothing more.

That was why, over the past two years, Sloan had not gotten along with the team. After all, Jerry Sloan was the greatest Jazzman besides old Miller himself. Now, even Deron dared to challenge him. Such a profound shift would, of course, unsettle the hot-tempered Sloan.

All these reasons, coupled with his physical ailments, made retirement loom in Sloan’s mind. He was torn—between a toxic work environment, the memory of his old friend Miller, and the hard-won legacy of the iron-blooded Jazz. It was this uncertainty that brought Sloan to talk with the old miller this morning.

Though he spoke, the departed could offer no answers. The decision rested in William Adams’s heart alone.

Despite the turmoil, as long as he remained head coach, Sloan would give everything for his team.

He was, as always, the second person to arrive for practice that morning—because Wallace Kobe Bryant was always there before anyone else.

“Good morning, Coach!” As Sloan entered the gym, Bryant greeted him with the bright, boyish enthusiasm that always seemed to cut through Sloan’s gloom.

“How’s the practice going, Wallace?” Sloan didn’t return to his office; instead, he stood to the side, striking up a conversation with Bryant.

“Heh, not bad,” the fair-skinned forward replied, scratching his head, a little embarrassed.

“Keep it up, Wallace. Don’t stop before the official training starts.” Sloan was no rookie coach—Bryant’s meager average of thirteen minutes per game told him enough. After a brief exchange, Sloan decided to leave.

But today, as Sloan was turning toward his office, Bryant called out from behind.

“Coach!” Bryant’s voice echoed through the empty gym.

“What is it, Wallace?” Sloan turned slowly.

“I... I’ve been... Recently...” Bryant knew Sloan was a tough, fierce manager. Having been with William Adams for so long, he understood Sloan was no gentle soul. Bryant hesitated, uncertain how to speak up.

“If you keep hesitating, I’m leaving,” Sloan said. In truth, he had already guessed what Bryant wanted to say. Tomorrow’s opponent was the Dallas Cleveland Cavaliers. Their most talkative player was Su Feng, Bryant’s old college teammate, apart from the German.

Bryant’s figure faded into the far end of the court. From that moment, Su Feng knew the Cavaliers were in for a tough opponent today.

Let’s settle this on the court, my friend!

“Brad, can’t you have a decent meal first? Wallace isn’t even on the court yet.” In their Indianapolis home, Brad Stevens’s wife fretted over the young coach.

Stevens’s eyes were glued to the television, mechanically shoveling food into his mouth. Though Su Feng and Bryant were both bench players, Stevens didn’t want to miss a second.

“If I miss it, I’ll regret it for the rest of my life,” Stevens laughed to his wife. What could she say to a man so obsessed with basketball?

On the screen, the teams had just completed the tip-off. For the Jazz, Al Jefferson was at the five, but his reactions weren’t as quick as the “champion’s”—Kidd once again controlled the first possession.

Watching Kidd’s masterful ball-handling, Stevens felt happy for Su Feng. To learn from such an outstanding guard was a godsend.

The Jazz, fully aware of Kidd’s poor scoring efficiency this season, naturally blocked his passing lanes.

But Kidd, ever the student of the game, saw through their defense. Spotting the Jazz’s scattered formation, he called for a screen and quickly moved off it.

With the floor spread wide, Kidd shook off Deron, took two strides, and finished with a layup—calm and collected, the old Kidd gave the Cavaliers their first basket.

But the Jazz answered right away; the new point guard delivered a crisp pass to Al Jefferson. Jefferson may have lacked a height advantage, but his offensive arsenal was broad enough to handle Chandler. More importantly, Deron set him up perfectly, putting Jefferson in his favorite spot.

The game was fierce from the outset, but soon Sloan spotted a problem.

The Jazz weren’t scoring much. Deron had already missed three shots in a row, and Kirilenko was less aggressive than usual. As Jefferson and Millsap pressed deeper inside, Carlisle was bound to target them—after all, the Cavaliers’ frontcourt was no pushover.

Six minutes passed with little movement on the scoreboard. Finally, Sloan made the first adjustment. He strode over to Bryant, clapped him on the shoulder, and said, “Time to prove your worth, kid!”

Bryant was excited—it was rare to get called up in such a tight contest. The young forward’s hands trembled, but as Sloan gripped his hand and gave him a steady look, Bryant gradually regained his composure.

“Go for it!” Back in Indianapolis, Stevens’s eyes widened in anticipation. His two proudest protégés were about to face off on the grandest stage!

Meanwhile, Carlisle, not to be outdone, made his move. “Stevens, double point guard. Raja Bell’s no pushover—be wary of that William Adams!” Su Feng, leading the Cavaliers’ second unit, continued to pair with the German in the backcourt.

“Raja, you know what to do!” Sloan shouted to the tough-as-nails Bell, who had once given Kobe a run for his money. Bell, now thirty-four, was every bit the wily veteran, and Sloan trusted he would not mellow with age.

“Former Bulldog standout Wallace Kobe Bryant and Su Feng are now going head-to-head. Buckle up, folks—the real game is just beginning!” The commentator’s voice rose as Bryant sprang into action.

Marion, seeing Bryant’s modest ten-minute, five-point average, didn’t take him seriously, playing him loose. Marion’s focus was elsewhere.

Bryant sprinted along the baseline from right to left—none of the Jazz defenders could keep up. Famous though he was in college, in the top league and on the Jazz, Bryant was a blank slate, still lacking status. In this sense, he was in a tougher spot than Su Feng.

Deron Williams scanned the court and saw only Bryant open. A rookie is a rookie—newcomers don’t hog the ball. Without hesitation, Deron shoveled the ball to Bryant.

“Damn!” Marion realized too late what was happening. This guy’s three-point shooting was dangerous, but his mechanics weren’t there yet.

Chandler, with his back to the basket, knew a spin and dunk would draw Bynum. So, upon catching the ball, Chandler immediately reverse-jumped to the rim and, before Bynum could intervene, slammed it home.

“A direct backdoor dunk—Chandler ends the Cavaliers’ scoring drought. Excellent feed, excellent finish! The Dallas Cleveland Cavaliers are still a force to be reckoned with—the defending champions won’t surrender easily!”

“The speed, power, and angle of that pass were perfect—soon he’ll surpass me,” Kidd joked to Carlisle, watching Su Feng from the bench.

The Rockets’ defense and Chandler’s thunderous dunk sent the American Airlines Center into a frenzy.

On the next possession, Gasol tried to post up Nowitzki, but Dirk’s all-around defense forced Gasol’s hook to miss.

Chandler, saving his energy, boxed out Bynum and soared for the rebound. With the Rockets coming up empty, the crowd watched eagerly to see if the Cavaliers could maintain their momentum.

This time, Su Feng advanced more slowly, as if waiting for his teammates, not rushing the offense.

With the pace set, Su Feng called for another screen—this time Chandler stepped up. Last time, Gasol hadn’t rotated quickly enough to prevent a mistake. Now, Bynum, alert, immediately closed off Su Feng’s driving lane.

Bynum’s imposing presence made it tough for Su Feng to advance with each dribble.

A direct drive was impossible. Marion was in the left corner. Su Feng shifted slightly left, feigning a pass.

Artest, intent on reading Su Feng’s intentions, sped up, hoping to intercept.

Su Feng kept dribbling, but instead of passing to Marion, he bounced the ball behind him, lofting it into the air.

“What the hell was that?” The Rockets’ defense hesitated, giving Chandler time to leap and snatch the ball out of midair.

Fisher had no chance to contest Chandler, who cut in and finished with a one-handed dunk.

Su Feng’s no-look pass fooled everyone.

Their tenacious defense created chances, and the Cavaliers capitalized with brilliant execution. The contest grew more intense.

What should both sides watch for next?

“For the Rockets, defense must tighten up. Give him an inch, and he’ll thread the needle! You see?”

As the game wore on, the teams traded blows, neither able to pull away. The Cavaliers scored here; the Rockets answered there.

Kobe managed to narrow the gap for the Rockets, but the Cavaliers always responded.

Bryant’s injured ankle seemed fully recovered; in the first quarter, the “Black Mamba” sliced through for ten points with ease. But the multi-pronged Cavaliers led 25–23 at the end of one.

“When Kobe poured in seven points at the start, I thought the Cavaliers were done. But they adjusted quickly. Now look—the lead has shifted. The Rockets’ key man in the first was clearly Kobe. Who was the Cavaliers’ crucial player in the first?”

During timeouts, commentators had the hardest job, constantly searching for topics to keep viewers engaged and prevent them from switching channels out of boredom.

Dirk had six points in the first, most on the team. But if we’re talking about impact, I’d still say Su Feng. Without his passing, the Cavaliers wouldn’t have recovered so quickly. Four points and three assists in a quarter—solid numbers. As the game goes on, Coach Carlisle will surely go with a double-guard lineup. Then we’ll have a great look at Kobe. Kevin Harlan rubbed his hands together. Carlisle, give the fans what they want!

“William Adams, when did your defense get so clean? What, have you become a lamb?” During the break, Jackson was quick to emphasize defense.

Don’t think a coach like Artest—a player known for rough play—would dislike such things. That’s how you survive in the league. Their grit is exactly what coaches want.

“Tighten up on defense! The Cavaliers can’t be allowed easy baskets anymore. Show me some defensive resolve. Also—”