Inside the sports lab, a winded O’Neal took aim at the hoop and released the basketball.
CLANK. As expected, it hit the rim and bounced out.
"Let’s take a break," Chen Yu called out from nearby, waving him to a stop.
O’Neal looked like he’d just been granted a pardon. He flopped down, grabbed a water bottle that looked like a tiny medicine vial in his hands, and started chugging. GULP, GULP, GULP.
Chen Yu ignored him, arms crossed, watching the video playback on repeat.
Beside him, Nelson and Chip Engelland were still discussing.
"What do you guys think? What if he stood a little farther back for his free throws?" Chip Engelland mused.
O’Neal’s hands were so big that his free-throw form looked like a catapult launching the ball. The main problem was the lack of contact between his palm and the ball. He had a loose grip, relying only on his fingers, which meant his power control was bound to be poor.
Their first attempt at an adjustment was to increase the contact area of his palm. But his hands were so large that when they completely cupped the ball, it obstructed his line of sight.
So, they adjusted his power delivery next. They had him hold the ball higher and release it with more of a flicking motion.
The result was him frequently hitting the backboard or clanking the ball off the inside of the rim.
This meant he was using too much power.
"That’s one possible direction," Nelson said after a thought.
After all, there was no rule saying you had to stand right on the line. You could even shoot from the top of the key if you wanted.
"Chen, what do you think?" Nelson looked at Chen Yu.
Chen Yu shook his head. "Actually, I think we still haven’t solved the core problem."
O’Neal’s previous shooting form wasn’t the issue. It was the one he was most familiar with. In regular practice, he could hit eighty percent of his shots using that form.
The key issue was that once he was on the court, his control over his power faltered.
This was a common problem for many big men.
After two days of experiments, Chen Yu felt that simply changing the shooting form didn’t provide enough benefit to justify the high cost.
For a professional player, changing one’s shooting form requires a long time to train and adapt.
Chen Yu hoped to find a method with a lower cost that would also yield faster results.
"For the past two days, I’ve been observing his shooting form." While others used cameras, Chen Yu sometimes used the Eye of All-Seeing to watch the muscle movements in his arms, shoulders, and even his wrists.
"I have some ideas, but I don’t know if they’ll work."
Chen Yu walked toward O’Neal, motioned for him to get up, and then stood at the free-throw line himself.
"Shaq, have you ever noticed something? When you shoot your free throws, you don’t have any kind of pre-shot routine. Typically, you get fouled, walk to the line, the whistle blows, you take a quick glance, and you shoot."
O’Neal thought for a moment, nodded in agreement, then asked, "So?"
"So, maybe you could add a pre-shot routine, just like J Kidd," Chen Yu said.
J Kidd blows a kiss before his free throws.
His explanation is that it’s a tribute to Joumana.
And there are quite a few players in the league like J Kidd who have little pre-shot rituals.
Take Jeff Hornacek, for example. He’d touch his face a couple of times before shooting. He said it was to wipe off sweat and moisten his dry palms.
In sharp contrast is Nash, who licks his fingers before a free throw, then wipes his palm on the sole of his shoe. The purpose is to keep his palm dry.
Then there’s Ma Long, who was always muttering to himself before a free throw. People said he was casting a spell.
Chen Yu had asked Ma Long about it. He was actually just repeating a phrase over and over—something like, "Baby, I need you"—probably as a form of self-suggestion.
But if you look past the surface, the essence of all these weird and wonderful pre-shot rituals is to relax the body and mind as much as possible before the shot.
’So, could O’Neal add a routine like that?’
"Because you’re constantly battling in the paint, your shoulder muscles are always tense. So, maybe before a free throw, you could shake out your shoulders first?"
Chen Yu took the ball, then shook his shoulders on the spot to demonstrate.
"Also, before the ref passes you the ball, you’re already standing at the free-throw line. You can shake out your wrists or arms first to relieve muscle tension."
Chen Yu demonstrated with a few simple wrist and shoulder rolls.
"If you wanted to, you could even do arm circles on the spot. Second, you shoot your free throws too fast. The rules give you ten seconds to release the ball, but you probably use less than half of that. So you can take longer. Take a few more deep breaths, do whatever you can to adjust your physical state, and use up all that time."
It says ten seconds, but they don’t usually enforce it that strictly. As long as you don’t drag it out too long, the refs generally won’t harp on it, not to mention O’Neal is a superstar.
"Shaq, what do you think?" Chen Yu turned to look at O’Neal.
O’Neal had a blank look on his face, turning to look at Nelson and the others.
Nelson and the others had their arms crossed, thinking seriously.
Chip Engelland furrowed his brow and said, "Come to think of it, I’ve never really considered this kind of method."
’All I was thinking about was adjusting his shooting form; I never thought to approach it from another angle.’
Chen Yu said, "Whether it works or not, we’ll know once we try."
After discussing it with Nelson and the others, Chen Yu designed a routine for O’Neal.
They started the simulation from the sound of the whistle.
Whistle blows. He walks immediately to the free-throw line. Before the referee is set, he starts relaxing his wrists and shoulders with a few simple shakes.
Then, he receives the ball from the referee. The clock starts from this moment. He holds the ball with one hand, not rushing to aim. He just stands there and takes three deep breaths, which takes four to five seconds.
Afterward, he bends his knees into a squat, gripping the ball low. At this point, he shakes his shoulders again for a final upper-body relaxation.
Then, he raises the ball and completes the shot in one fluid motion.
This way, they would try to use up the entire ten-second free-throw clock.
"Is this really going to work?" O’Neal walked to the free-throw line skeptically and, following Chen Yu’s instructions, smoothly completed the entire routine.
His execution was perfect. He was a top-tier athlete, after all.
CLANK. The basketball hit the rim and bounced out.
He spread his hands, made a face at Chen Yu, signaling that it wasn’t working.
Chen Yu waved his hand, motioning for him to continue.
’Whether it works or not, we’ll need a large sample size to know for sure.’
The group recorded his shots, constantly calling for stops to make minor adjustments. They tinkered like this until mid-afternoon before they finally had a data sample worth an initial analysis.
"It actually went up."
Nelson pointed at the data results from the analysis software and said excitedly.
In the most realistic simulated environment possible, O’Neal’s shooting percentage over the last few days had been holding steady at around 56.7 percent.
This was a very normal number. Last season, his free-throw percentage was only 55.5 percent.
But now, after the adjustment, his percentage had risen to 58.8 percent.
An increase of 2 percentage points!
It wasn’t much, but it was the only positive result among all the adjustment plans since they had started the free-throw improvement training.
"I think this is it. Let’s adjust in this direction," Chip Engelland said, equally excited. He couldn’t help but shoot another glance at Chen Yu.
’A few professional trainers like us struggled for days, and in the end, it was Chen Yu, a doctor, who found the solution.’
Chen Yu noticed his glance and thought, ’They’re just too specialized. They got stuck going down a rabbit hole. Sometimes, you need to step outside of conventional thinking to find a solution.’
"How’s it looking? Is it helping?" O’Neal asked curiously from a distance.
Chen Yu gave him a thumbs-up and smiled.
Nelson said, "Shaq, your free-throw percentage went up by two percent."
But O’Neal just scoffed, "Only two percent?"
’That’s like going from a 50 to a 52 on a test—still failing.’
Chen Yu laughed. "Don’t be impatient, Shaq. You’re just getting started. Now that we’ve found the right direction, if we keep training and working hard, the final result will definitely be more than just two percent."
After thinking for a moment, Chen Yu said, "We hope to raise your free-throw percentage to 70 percent. Last season, you averaged 11 free-throw attempts per game. If we can increase your percentage by fifteen points, you’ll score an average of 1.65 more points per game."
"Last season, you averaged 27.2 points per game. This would bring you up to almost 29 points per game."
An average increase of nearly two points per game wasn’t a small thing. It was more significant than just making one extra shot per game.
"Who knows, you might even win another scoring title," Chen Yu added coaxingly.
The mention of this perked O’Neal right up.
’I’ve only won two scoring titles. How could that be enough?’
’Most importantly, that punk Kobe has never won one.’
"Chen, let’s do it your way. I’m winning the scoring title this year," O’Neal said fiercely, grinning to reveal a mouthful of white teeth.
The last time he won the scoring title was during their first championship run, with an average of 29.7 points per game.
And in the past two years, O’Neal didn’t say it out loud, but he knew very well in his heart that his performance had declined somewhat due to obesity-related injuries.
’But now, under Chen Yu’s treatment, I’m healthy.’
’For a whole season, under Chen Yu’s care, even a walking injury report like Ewing could get through a season healthy. I’ll be a piece of cake.’
’A healthier, better-conditioned version of me... winning the scoring title should be easy.’
"No, I’m going for the grand slam. I want to win every award," O’Neal added with a ferocious look.
’Scoring title, regular season MVP, Finals MVP, and the championship. I’ll show everyone—especially that punk Kobe—that I’m the cornerstone of this team. Without me, you’d have no chance of winning a ring.’
Chen Yu gave Nelson a look, and they immediately started clapping in coordination.
O’Neal couldn’t help but laugh out loud, making a faux-humble gesture with his hand as if to say it wasn’t necessary.
Just as they were talking, Chen Yu’s phone rang.
"Hey Jamie, what’s up? Is something wrong?" Chen Yu answered casually, asking with a smile.
On the phone, Jamie sighed, "Chen, Rick committed suicide."
Chen Yu’s smile froze on his face.
His ears started ringing, and a strong sense of suffocation surged into his throat. He felt like a drowning man, unable to breathe.
"Chen, what’s wrong?" Nelson noticed something was off with Chen Yu. He quickly grabbed him and asked nervously.
It was a long moment before Chen Yu felt grounded in his own body again.
"I’m fine. You guys carry on. I have something to do, I have to go," Chen Yu said, clutching his phone and hurrying out.
Nelson was stunned for a moment. He signaled to the others that they were done for the day and quickly chased after him.
"Let me drive." Nelson took the keys, got into the driver’s seat, and then asked where to.
Chen Yu gave him the address of Anjel’s hotel.
Nelson frowned and asked, "Did something happen with Rick?"
Of course, he knew Anjel. He had come to the sports lab before for baseline testing and to get a recovery training plan.
Chen Yu let out a long sigh. "He committed suicide."
"What!"
Nelson slammed on the brakes, startled.
Chen Yu waved his hand, signaling for Nelson to keep driving, his emotions in turmoil.
’Two days have passed since I showed the contract to Grace. I was just thinking about contacting her to see what was going on... I never expected this would be the outcome.’

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