Chapter Seventy-One: When Arch-Enemies Meet, Sparks Fly at First Word

In the home team’s locker room, Xinghui He was still joking with his teammates about Barkley in women’s clothes, everyone laughing and bantering, the atmosphere seemingly harmonious. At least, on the surface it was. The teammates all claimed they wanted to embarrass Barkley and promised to pass the ball to Xinghui and support him in various ways. In reality, this was mainly the coach’s arrangement, coupled with the fact that Xinghui had given everyone gifts before the match—each received a watch worth tens of thousands of dollars.

Of course, Brand looked down on this gesture, but for players like Quinton Ross and Howard Ellis, whose annual salaries were only a few hundred thousand, the watches were a significant gift. Once these minor players started supporting Xinghui, Brand couldn’t afford to seem too out of step with the group. For this game, Xinghui He would be the undisputed core.

Over in the visiting team’s locker room, the atmosphere was entirely different, heavy with the tension of an impending battle. Kobe sat alone at the side, eyes closed, and no one dared disturb him. Even the other players spoke to each other in hushed tones. The Lakers lacked a player with the presence of the cheerful Superman to lighten the mood.

“Kobe, it’s time for player entry.”

Only when it was time to go onto the court did someone approach to remind him. Kobe opened his eyes then, and the coldness in them sent chills down the spines of the fringe players, weighing on them psychologically.

As the players entered, Kobe’s appearance drew a wave of cheers from the crowd. Although it was the Clippers’ home game, with both teams sharing a city and an arena, the Clippers never truly enjoyed home-court advantage against the Lakers. Even tonight, most of the fans in attendance were there for Kobe. Fortunately, the Clippers now had a star of their own. When Xinghui He took the court, the cheers he received were only slightly less enthusiastic than those for Kobe.

After the introductions, Kobe began his warm-up shots, while Xinghui He headed into the stands to greet and interact with the celebrities present. Their personalities couldn’t have been more different.

In China, on CCTV:

“Wow, so many big-name celebrities tonight. Right now, Xinghui’s talking to Leonardo, the one who starred in Titanic. There’s also Keanu Reeves, Brad Pitt—they’re all saying hello to Xinghui.”

“And plenty of actresses too: Jennifer Connelly, Cameron Diaz, Anna Faris, and even Hollywood Best Actress Charlize Theron, who’s been rumored to have a fling with Xinghui…”

Sun Zhengping flipped through the notes, introducing the stars to the audience. He had to—he wasn’t familiar with most of these so-called celebrities before.

“This match is very important for Xinghui He. After all, he’s been boasting loudly; if he doesn’t deliver, it won’t look good.”

Attentive viewers might have noticed that Zhang He, the other commentator, had stopped calling him “Xinghui” and switched to the neutral and impersonal “He Xinghui.” He simply couldn’t accept Xinghui’s style. In his opinion, sports competition should be more serious and pure. Making a bet over a woman, speaking so carelessly, was improper—too frivolous. Besides, the woman in question was a bit much: not only a foreigner, but also much older. While people say love knows no age, that’s more a matter of political correctness; in the hearts of most ordinary people, the age gap shouldn’t be too wide, especially for the woman—she shouldn’t be much older than the man. Charlize Theron, after all, was a full ten years older than Xinghui He. If he really ended up with Theron, it would be like clutching three bars of gold at once. In short, Zhang He disapproved of such a spectacle.

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The passage of time is both an objective physical phenomenon and a subjective human experience. Fans eagerly awaiting this match had felt the time crawl by. Yet, slowly or not, the game finally began.

On the court, both teams were in position for the tip-off. The Clippers’ starters were Cassell, Xinghui He, Shaun Livingston, Brand, and Kaman. Livingston was a guard by trade, but at 2.01 meters tall and only 82 kilograms, he lacked the strength for tough matchups. Coach Dunleavy had moved him to small forward mainly because the focus of this game was Xinghui He’s scoring, not winning or losing. Having another ball-handler on the floor would make it easier to create scoring opportunities for Xinghui. As for defense, Dunleavy had already given up. Coaching is never just about tactics; working with superstars and management is also essential.

The Lakers’ starting lineup was far from perfect as well: Smush Parker, Kobe, Odom, Chris Mihm, and Kwame Brown. Both Mihm and Brown were centers; at first glance, it seemed as if Phil Jackson wanted to play a twin-tower strategy, but in reality, he simply had no other options. The team was overloaded with centers and guards but weak on the wings. Both power forwards were rookies so hopeless that Jackson couldn’t bear to watch, so he’d rather put a heavy, tall center on Brand than risk the rookies.

Of course, it’s precisely because none of the thirty teams in the league have perfect rosters that there’s room for tactics at all. If you put Magic, Jordan, James, Duncan, and O’Neal on the same team, who would need tactics? Just take turns attacking and that’s that.

Kaman and Kwame Brown prepared for the tip. Xinghui He, sticking close to Kobe, started in on the trash talk.

“Kobe, how does it feel to lose a game in front of your wife? You’ve got experience—share it with me, would you?”

Seeing that Vanessa had come to watch, Xinghui improvised. The power of those words was immense. Men can often accept defeat or embarrassment—unless the woman they care about is watching. Losing in front of your wife is far worse than losing in front of strangers.

“There’s nothing for me to share,” Kobe replied coldly, “but I can help you experience what it’s like to be humiliated in front of the woman you love.”

“You might be disappointed—I don’t love Charlize. I just want her body,” Xinghui replied unabashedly.

At those words, everyone sweated. Kwame Brown, distracted during the tip-off, lost possession to Kaman and the Clippers.

“Stop dreaming. I’m going to destroy you—I won’t let you get your way.” Kobe kept up the hard talk, but he really had nothing else to say. In terms of skill, Xinghui wasn’t his equal; but when it came to trash talk, there wasn’t anyone in the league who could match Xinghui He. Outwardly a player, he was actually a graduate student specializing in the study of how to use trash talk to throw opponents off their game. As the saying goes, never challenge someone’s profession with your hobby.

The moment Kobe opened his mouth, he had already lost—though he didn’t know it, or perhaps he did, but still chose to spar, because he was never one to admit defeat. That was the Mamba mentality.