July 1st, Minster High School gymnasium, Phoenix City.
The series opener.
The game was at seven in the evening. By the time Chen Yu arrived, a large crowd had already gathered and was having their tickets checked at the entrance.
Phoenix is the largest city in Arizona and the fifth-largest in the entire United States. It has a huge population. With the NBA season over and tickets priced cheaply at just a few US dollars, filling a gymnasium that could only hold eight hundred people was relatively easy.
Not to mention, the second part of the auditions, which aired on June 26th, had brought the show even more attention.
It was a TV show produced by local celebrity Chen Yu, featured Curry, a second-generation star many people recognized, and on top of that, the production team had announced in advance that Grant Hill would be there to watch the game.
For these reasons alone, it was impossible for the venue not to be packed.
Chen Yu had arrived with Hill.
After the season ended, Hill took a short vacation with his family before rushing to Phoenix to work on his conditioning and training.
His excellent physical condition was inextricably linked to his extreme self-discipline.
As a point of comparison, Brian had previously mentioned that Big Dog Robinson, who entered the NBA in the same draft class as Hill, had already suffered a severe physical decline due to alcoholism.
The two followed the crowd into the gymnasium, their ears immediately filled with the thumping sounds of DJ music.
Team flags for both squads hung from the ceiling. Spectators in the stands swayed to the music, while cheerleaders gave an energetic performance in the middle of the court.
"Not bad," Hill remarked with a sigh of admiration.
It was truly impressive for a game organized by a TV show to have this kind of atmosphere.
Chen Yu smiled and nodded. The decorations for the game were handled by the home team, which meant Negro was in charge.
Curry even used his personal connections to invite the cheerleading squad from Shadow Mountain High School.
"Devil’s Mountain?" Hill saw the flag for Durant’s team and didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
’Isn’t that my nickname?’
And Hill’s arrival ignited the entire gymnasium.
With an elegant and calm smile on his face, Hill waved to the spectators in the stands before walking over to the court to greet the players from both teams.
"Sir, you’re my idol." Standing before Hill, Harden clutched a pair of Air Jordans, his excitement plain to see.
Seeing the Air Jordans in front of him, Hill was slightly taken aback but didn’t mind, readily signing his name on them.
Harden thanked him profusely.
He would have preferred to get Hill’s Filas signed, but he didn’t have any. The Air Jordans in his hands were provided by Nike, the show’s sponsor.
Durant pursed his lips, also incredibly excited.
This was Hill, the league’s number one small forward, a true superstar.
Seeing an opening, Durant was about to step forward and say something when a guy with an afro suddenly pushed in front of him.
"Sir, my name is Draymond Green. We’ve met before." Green’s eyes were also shining with excitement.
"We have?"
Hill was slightly taken aback. He looked at the afro-headed teenager before him but had no memory of him at all.
Green nodded repeatedly. "In ’98, when you were still with the Pistons, I went to the locker room. I was with Jordan."
Jordan?
Hill paused again. He subconsciously wanted to ask when Michael Jordan had ever set foot in the Pistons’ locker room.
’If he did, he probably would’ve been carrying a knife.’
However, the mention of the Pistons stirred a complex emotion in Hill’s heart.
He still had very deep feelings for the Pistons.
After asking a few more questions, Hill realized he had been mistaken.
The Jordan that Green was talking about wasn’t Michael Jordan, but Joe Dumars’s son, Jordan Dumars.
Green was born in Saginaw in ’90, which is within the Detroit metropolitan area. The Pistons’ home court was in a large suburb of Detroit, only about seventy or eighty kilometers from Saginaw.
At the age of 8, Green met Jordan Dumars while playing in the AAU league, and they became good friends.
At the time, Joe Dumars was Hill’s teammate and hadn’t retired yet.
Thanks to his good friend, Green often snuck into the Auburn Hills Palace to watch games and had naturally been inside the locker room, where he had met Hill, the Pistons’ star player.
"Oh, so that’s how it was." Hill gave Green a hug.
He had left Detroit with a heavy heart, but he would never forget his years there, and he still felt a deep connection to the Detroit fans.
Looking at Green’s big afro, Hill actually felt like asking if he was imitating Da Ben.
Seeing Green finish his conversation with Hill, Durant was about to step forward, but Green wasn’t done yet. He pulled Mackie, who was standing beside him, in front of Hill.
Mackie was born in Flint, Michigan, a small city located between Saginaw and Detroit, so it could be said that he also grew up watching Hill play.
"Keep it up!"
Hill had even heard of Mackie’s mother’s name, so he pulled him aside for a proper chat, offered a final word of encouragement, and then turned to talk to Curry.
Durant pursed his lips. Seeing Hill walk away, he felt too embarrassed to approach him now. He just shot a couple of frustrated glances at Green.
’This afro guy is so annoying!’
Amidst the friendly atmosphere, the game began with a jump ball at the free-throw line.
The tall and long-armed Mackie gained the advantage, tipping the ball away.
Negro, acting as head coach, stood on the sideline and immediately gave a hand signal.
Curry immediately took off, running towards Green.
After catching the ball, Green didn’t start dribbling. He first moved his body to delay Harden before passing the ball to Mackie, who was charging towards the basket.
Little Jordan was fast and immediately cut Mackie off.
At that moment, Curry came off a screen, gaining a bit of separation. With Harden chasing him, he curled out from the baseline.
Mackie tossed the ball behind his head. Curry, coming off the curl, caught the ball, stopped on a dime, turned, and went straight for a floater.
The ball swished through the net.
In the stands, the fans who had spent a few dollars on a ticket just for some casual entertainment now wore expressions of surprise.
Movement, screens, passes, and the final shot—the possession took no more than ten seconds. The overall strategy was clear and concise, the shot decisive. It was far more professional and exciting than they had anticipated.
On the sideline, Chen Yu clapped and cheered.
’I am the owner of Curry’s team, after all.’
The seven judges could each choose a team to be their "home team." Being able to personally go down to the court and give pointers to their team was a kind of perk.
At the same time, it was a competition to see who had the better eye for talent.
And Chen Yu had chosen Curry’s team without hesitation.
"Not bad," Hill, who was beside him, also praised.
They were mostly high school students who had been playing basketball for a while, so they certainly weren’t like amateurs who wouldn’t even know how to run plays or move off the ball in a 3v3 game.
But it was, after all, just a high school-level game. At this stage, teams don’t really have many complex tactics. They rely more on player talent, and their tactical execution is usually much weaker.
But looking at them now, they looked quite polished.
Chen Yu glanced at Negro, who was clapping and cheering. "After the auditions ended, we deliberately arranged for them to have tactical training and even gave them classes on tactical theory. It seems to have had some effect."
Running simple plays was certainly not a problem. The main thing was their ability to execute, which depended on their individual effort and coordination.
From the looks of it, the chemistry on Curry’s team was pretty good. They had clearly put in the work.
Durant’s team on offense.
Their strategy was also crystal clear: use simple ball movement to get Durant to his comfortable shooting spot, which was in the 12-to-16-foot mid-range area.
Then Harden and Little Jordan would space the floor, leaving Durant with an opportunity to iso.
Facing Green, who was 10 centimeters shorter than him, Durant didn’t hold back. After a simple jab step, he rose up and shot.
Green had a quick leap and an excellent wingspan, but he could still only watch as the ball went through the hoop.
On the sideline, Presti clapped and yelled his approval.
His team had only one tactic: do whatever it takes to create an iso opportunity for Durant.
The score went back and forth.
The two teams’ strategies were virtually identical: try their best to let the team captain rack up points.
However, Presti and Negro obviously weren’t going to let their opponents get what they wanted.
Negro was the first to call a timeout. He put an arm around Green’s shoulder and gave him some direct instructions.
"Get more physical. Didn’t you see? That guy is skinny, probably doesn’t even weigh as much as you. Don’t be afraid to foul. The refs aren’t calling it tight. You need to learn to read the game, find the balance between how physical you can be and how the refs are calling it. If you can stop him, we can win."
Negro looked at Green with anticipation.
In the previous mock draft, Mackie was valued at 8 million US Dollars. After picking him, Negro could only choose players from the lowest tier.
And Green was in that lowest tier.
During the auditions, he had been ruthlessly dominated by James. He only scraped by with four votes thanks to his fearless hustle and decent static physical attributes.
At the time, Wes Unseld had even praised him, saying he had the potential to become a defensive stalwart.
That was precisely why Negro had picked him.
As it turned out, it was the right choice.
The kid’s offensive skills were lacking, but during their joint practices, his defense was truly excellent. He was aggressive, wasn’t afraid of contact, and one could even say he played a little dirty.
Green nodded forcefully, his expression saying, ’Leave it to me.’
After the timeout, Green indeed started to turn up the heat.
The moment Durant caught the ball, Green crowded him. He slyly stuck his foot out to clip Durant’s thigh before quickly retracting it.
His raised arm was also applying pressure, digging his elbow into Durant’s lower back.
Durant stumbled and was forced to stop his dribble. He passed to Harden, reset, and after getting the ball back, he pulled up for a quick shot, but Green was already lunging at him like a tidal wave.
A muffled grunt, and the whistle blew.
Green’s forward lunge was too aggressive, and he knocked Durant straight to the ground.
But that wasn’t all. He slyly remained on the ground, not in a hurry to get up.
Not until Durant cursed and shoved him away in frustration.
Green, however, instantly became animated. He glared and yelled a few things at Durant, not forgetting to plead his case to the nearby referee, pointing at his own chest and claiming Durant had pushed him.
Durant wasn’t quick with words and couldn’t keep up with Green’s machine-gun-like speech. He fumed, glaring as he walked resentfully to the free-throw line.
On the sideline, Hill said, not knowing whether to laugh or cry, "This kid is pretty practiced at this."
You could say he had perfected this set of dirty tricks.
He probably hasn’t been an easy opponent to play against since he was a kid.
Chen Yu laughed too. He found Green quite interesting and even thought more highly of him now.
In the NBA, there were quite a few players who played like Green; it was their way of survival.
Of course, being too dirty was not acceptable. Playing with the intent to injure someone, like Lambier, could only be called despicable and shameless.
"He probably learned his bad habits in the Pistons’ locker room as a kid," Chen Yu joked.
From the Bad Boy Legion to what fans now called the Pistons Five Tigers, tough defense and dirty play were forever in the DNA of the Pistons franchise.

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