Chapter Ninety-Eight: Stalemate

“What is your name?” He Xinghui asked with a friendly smile, and Thompson walked away with a face full of misery.

Barkley caught that expression and could not help blurting out, “What exactly did the Suns draft? Someone asks him his name and he acts like he’s been bullied.”

With that kind of mental toughness, what was there left to play for?

“Ahem. The Suns aren’t the only blind ones. Didn’t the other twenty-eight teams all manage to miss He too?” Smith said with a laugh.

Whenever a late pick blew up into a star, a club’s eye for talent inevitably became a target for ridicule.

But in truth, when it came to how many prospects actually developed, the major clubs were usually still pretty accurate.

“Now that you mention it, the dumbest of the lot is Joe Dumars. He finally stumbles across a bargain, and then sends him away again.”

Barkley dragged Dumars back out to whip in public once more. Pistons fans watching on television almost wanted to smash the glass in Dumars’s office all over again.

If only they had not traded He Xinghui away. How wonderful that would have been.

Aside from the die-hard Pistons faithful who truly hated He Xinghui, the ordinary Pistons fans actually rather wanted him.

While Barkley and Smith traded barbs, the game on the floor never stopped.

Losing one starter did not mean the Suns had forgotten how to play. Unless Nash was taken out of the equation, the Suns were very hard to throw into disorder.

Nash blew past Cassell for a basket.

This was Nash at his absolute peak that season, averaging 18.8 points a game with excellent efficiency.

On offense, the Suns were still fine.

But on defense, with Raja Bell gone from the perimeter as a lock, holes appeared everywhere.

Expecting Thompson to stop He Xinghui was unrealistic. Someone had to come help him.

After Thompson was beaten off the dribble twice in a row, Marion could no longer watch and began frequently stepping up to trap.

But He Xinghui’s threat was basically always created on the outside. The moment Marion came flying out, either He Xinghui or Cassell could loft the ball inside.

With Marion no longer intimidating the paint, Brand and Kaman could do as they pleased.

They did not even need to shoot with great efficiency. Even if they missed, they could still crash the offensive glass.

Thomas and Diaw combined still could not out-rebound Brand, and the Suns’ best rebounder was actually Marion, who played small forward.

He led the team in points and rebounds alike. Aside from his weakness as a self-created ball-handler, Marion was strong in every other regard.

Neither side could stop the other, and through pure offense, the final minutes of the second quarter became a near dead heat.

Thanks to the easy points He Xinghui had stolen by toying with James Jones, the half ended at 61 to 54, with the Clippers leading by seven.

The result came as a huge surprise to the crowd.

Before the game, almost everyone had favored the Suns. So how had they ended up trailing?

He Xinghui’s fans, however, were not puzzled at all.

Why were the Suns behind? Obviously because their idol had talked two Suns players into uselessness. What else was there to think about?

During halftime, D’Antoni was trying to talk Bell around.

“Raja, there are stars in this league, there are starters, and there are role players. You have to get used to that. Everyone has a different job on the floor, but everyone is indispensable...”

When Bell heard this, he could only smile bitterly. What D’Antoni was really saying was scarcely different from telling him outright that he was not as good as He Xinghui, so losing to He Xinghui was nothing to take so hard.

That kind of statement made perfect sense, but as consolation it sounded awkward no matter how you heard it.

If it had been Thompson, who had not yet been beaten down too hard by the world, he might have broken into tears on the spot after hearing it.

As for Bell, he had already adjusted himself. He did not need comfort anymore.

Sitting on the bench earlier, Bell had already figured it out: he was only an undrafted player, and all he could do in this league was give everything he had.

The more completely you were beaten, the less you could afford to give up.

“Coach, let me go back out there in the second half. He won’t get to me again,” Bell promised.

“All right.”

D’Antoni smiled, though in truth he had no real certainty. He simply had no other choice.

The second half began.

The crowd could clearly see Raja Bell returning to the court.

As play resumed, He Xinghui smiled and said, “Well, well. Finished crying?”

At those words, Bell himself showed no reaction, but his teammates immediately bristled with anger.

If it had not been for the sake of winning, they would have gone up and decked He Xinghui for this. It was simply too much.

“Keep your heads,” Nash reminded them, then joined the battle against the Clippers.

Soon enough, the fans noticed that Raja Bell really had recovered his form.

On defense, he clung to He Xinghui relentlessly, greatly disrupting He Xinghui’s efficiency.

Halfway through the third quarter, He Xinghui had only attempted two shots, far below his usual output. It was not that he did not want to shoot; he simply could not find good looks.

And the score between the two teams slowly began to close.

By the end of the third quarter, the Suns had completed the comeback and overtaken them, leading 85 to 83 by two.

In that quarter, He Xinghui’s trash talk had failed to do much of anything.

The Suns players were all burning with determination. They wanted to beat the Clippers, humiliate He Xinghui, and avenge their teammate.

During the break between the third and fourth quarters, He Xinghui sat in his seat frantically rehydrating.

Playing ball and talking trash at the same time had worn him out.

Seeing He Xinghui in such a bedraggled state, Barkley finally had another chance to strut.

“I said it before: the Suns are stronger than the Clippers. The first half was only because of a little accident. Once the Suns get back to normal, the Clippers won’t have a chance.”

“Charles, I don’t think you should be celebrating too soon. The Clippers are only down two, and the Big Cousin has always been very good at making a push in the fourth quarter,” Smith said.

As soon as he said that, Barkley felt a jolt of unease.

Smith was not wrong.

“Don’t break out, don’t break out. Whatever you do, don’t break out,” Barkley muttered silently in his heart, not realizing that his lips were moving faintly as well.

And Audran, true to his professional reputation, somehow managed to read Barkley’s inner monologue from those tiny movements, leaving Barkley staring in astonishment.

The sight nearly made Smith laugh himself to death.

On the sideline, Dunleavy was still setting the tactics: “Hold firm. Persistence wins. Run-and-gun is nothing special. Turn up the defensive intensity, and make sure we keep our efficiency on offense. Put the ball in He’s hands and Brand’s hands, create chances for them...”

Dunleavy’s words sounded like pep talk, but they were not wrong.

Run-and-gun only looked imposing in the regular season. Once the playoffs arrived and every team was desperate, its power dropped sharply.

As long as you focused and spared no effort on defense, you could greatly reduce its effectiveness.

“All right, let’s call our slogan,” Dunleavy said.

He Xinghui spoke up at once.

“No, no.”

“He, let’s pick another slogan.”

“Please, this one is too embarrassing.”

The other Clippers players all voiced their opposition.

Before the game, He Xinghui had chosen a slogan for the Clippers to lift morale, but his suggestion still had not won the group’s approval.

“What do you mean, change it? I think this one is great. Besides, it’s too late to change now, so hurry up.”

He Xinghui insisted, and the others had no choice but to stack their hands together and open their mouths in unison.