For Game Six, Chen Yu arrived at the US Airways Center early in the afternoon to help the team prepare. He focused specifically on the medical side, ensuring every player was in peak condition. He stepped in to help; what could anyone do about it anyway?
Chen still felt that risking a Game Seven in Los Angeles was too dangerous, carrying a high probability of defeat. Therefore, this match could very well be the last. They would either eliminate the Lakers or pack up and go home for the off-season.
Chen genuinely believed the Lakers were handed the protagonist’s script this year. One only had to analyze the league’s profit motives to understand why.
What would the NBA gain if the Phoenix Suns won the championship again? Phoenix had already secured the first three-peat of the 21st century and established a dynasty. Another ring would merely be the icing on the cake. The local basketball market had certainly thrived in recent years, but the city’s sheer size could never rival New York or Los Angeles. A championship wouldn’t trigger a massive surge in franchise revenue.
It was a completely different story for the Lakers. A massive market, a long dormant period, the return of the king, the revival of a powerhouse—the Lakers were practically bursting with marketable narratives. Yao Ming had the entire Chinese market behind him. His triumph would directly translate to the NBA’s triumph in China. With the rise of internet media, selling broadcast rights in China was already on the agenda, not to mention hosting exhibition games there and selling official merchandise. Yao winning a ring would be the ultimate catalyst for all of that.
Then there was Kobe. The two designated successors to Jordan, Hardaway and Hill, were gradually aging out, while James still seemed a bit too green. It was the perfect era for the four elite shooting guards to take center stage. Among them, only Kobe commanded the highest level of attention, purely by virtue of being in Los Angeles. Iverson certainly had a massive fan base, but his rebellious and unmanageable nature hardly fit Stern’s criteria for the face of the league.
Kobe secured the scoring title this year and received the regular-season MVP award just last week. No one really argued with that outcome. As the scoring champion and the absolute core of his team, he had led the Lakers to the best record in the league; winning the MVP was well-deserved. Now, all he was missing was a championship ring and a Finals MVP trophy. With all those accolades stacked together, his status as the face of the league would be officially cemented, representing the NBA to the entire world.
In contrast, what did the Suns have? No matter how dominant Nowitzki was, he was still a German, an international player. Even if he averaged forty points a game and led the team to a championship, what difference would it make? Could he truly become the face of the league? No matter how one calculated it, a Lakers championship yielded far greater returns for the NBA.
Chen understood Stern quite well. Before the year 2000, the commissioner had spectacularly managed and practically saved the league. However, analyzing him from a psychological standpoint, his immense success had fostered a god complex—a belief that the NBA owed its glory to him, that no one could survive without him, and that whatever he decided was inherently correct and had to be obeyed. This was why he constantly altered rules to fit his vision, manipulated the destination of the number one overall draft pick, and practically handed the Magic their first championship in franchise history. Since he deemed a Lakers championship more profitable and beneficial for the league’s development, he would undoubtedly give them a push.
Ultimately, from Chen’s personal perspective, if the Lakers actually managed a comeback to win the title, his own financial returns might even be greater. As a team owner, a good win-loss record was just a bonus; a thriving league meant higher franchise revenues, which in turn inflated the value of his equity. Despite this, Chen still intended to go all out in Game Six. Having spent so much time in this industry and witnessing all its inner workings, he still hoped for moments of pure competition. A victory was a victory, plain and simple.
Before the game, Chen ran into Su Jun in the hallway. Spotting Chen from afar, Su jogged over. After exchanging brief pleasantries, the reporter asked for his thoughts on the upcoming matchup and his prediction for the winner.
"That will definitely be us," Chen replied with a smile. They chatted for a few more minutes before Chen headed to the court to oversee the players’ warm-ups.
"Offense, more offense! We need to score!" Skiles shouted before the game, slapping the tactical whiteboard. Ultimately, the head coach chose to trust the advice of Chen’s team. Just as Chen had pointed out, the Suns still had the margin for error to experiment, and they desperately needed to make a change.
Chen, per his usual routine, sat courtside with Brian to watch the game.
At half past seven in the evening, the game officially tipped off.
The Lakers secured the possession and launched the first attack. They began their off-ball movement. Jackson hadn’t exactly been sitting idle over the last few games. He had attempted to implement faster ball movement within the triangle offense to help Kobe break through double-teams and create more isolation opportunities. However, the results had been limited. This was exactly why Hambledon had openly called the Suns shameless. Phoenix completely ignored standard conventions; they didn’t care what plays the Lakers ran or who else took the shot, as long as it wasn’t Kobe.
But this time, when Kobe received the ball, Hardaway did not lunge at him from nearby. Marion showed even less inclination to move, casually trailing Artest. The only man standing in front of Kobe was Poseidon.
Kobe visibly froze for a second. On the sidelines, Jackson was equally stunned. Did they feel awkward about double-teaming right at the start of the game? That couldn’t be right; in the previous matchup, they had practically tried to double-team him straight off the opening tip.
In the fast-paced environment of the court, Kobe had no time to overthink. Relying on instinct, he threw a pump fake and immediately drove to the basket. Poseidon didn’t bite. His task for the night was straightforward: find a way to lock Kobe down single-handedly. If he managed to sink a couple of three-pointers on top of that, he would be overachieving. Drawing from the experience of the last two games, his strategy was simple: Kobe could fake all he wanted, and Poseidon would pretend not to notice. Unless Kobe actually left his feet, Poseidon absolutely wouldn’t jump.
Thus, the moment Kobe made his move, Poseidon slid laterally to stay with him, maintaining perfect defensive positioning. Ultimately, Kobe pulled up for a fadeaway jumper near the baseline, only for the basketball to bounce off the rim.
On the sidelines, Skiles clapped his hands. That was exactly what he needed.
Skiles rarely worried about the offensive end. Nowitzki played incredibly smart basketball these days, expertly utilizing his teammates’ screens and kicking the ball out promptly whenever he was swarmed by defenders. He hadn’t just spent the entire season perfecting his Golden Chicken Standalone; he had also drilled his passing out of double-teams. Hardaway received the kick-out pass, used a screen, and sank a pull-up jumper off the dribble.
On the ensuing possession, the Suns once again refrained from double-teaming Kobe. The same held true for the possession after that. Jackson couldn’t help but turn to look at the opposing bench, completely baffled by whatever tricks Skiles had up his sleeve.
However, double-team or no double-team, Poseidon’s solo defense on Kobe was airtight. Previously hindered by the pressure of officiating and afraid to make significant contact, Poseidon completely abandoned that caution tonight, playing with aggressive ferocity. When Kobe drove, Poseidon threw his elbow up, nearly putting him in a chokehold. The moment Kobe crossed the free-throw line, he was met with endless shoving and dirty little tricks. Even when Poseidon leaped to contest a shot, his movements were so exaggerated that it looked like he was trying to crush Kobe under his weight.
Whatever instructions the referees had received for the night remained a mystery, but they held their whistles for the time being, turning a blind eye to Poseidon’s excessive physicality. This only made Poseidon more brazen. Midway through the first quarter, during a Lakers fast break, he launched himself into the air for a chase-down block on Kobe, colliding with him mid-air and sending him crashing out of bounds.
Chen frowned slightly. Poseidon was taking things a bit too far. Before the game, Skiles had indeed decided to scrap the double-teams, but he hadn’t loosened the defensive grip on Kobe.
"Don’t you dare worry about fouls," Skiles had told Poseidon. "If you manage to foul out in the first half, I’ll consider it a talent. Once you’re out, we’ve got plenty of guys on the bench to take your place."
Poseidon, however, had clearly interpreted that as a mandate to go to absolute extremes.
Fortunately, Kobe was caught by the baseline photographers and walked away unscathed. He didn’t seem to care much, either. After getting back on his feet, he actually shot Poseidon an appreciative look and clapped his hands in approval.
Suddenly freed from double-teams and goaded by Poseidon’s provocations, Kobe inevitably resorted to heavy isolation play. The Suns’ man-to-man coverage was suffocating, preventing the other Lakers from getting many open looks. Besides, even if his teammates did get open, Kobe much preferred to trust himself. Having only one man guarding him was practically the same as being left wide open.
Kobe’s offensive attempts began to quietly pile up. It wasn’t until the second half, nearing the end of the third quarter, that Jackson suddenly noticed the glaring issue. Kobe had already erupted for nearly thirty points, but his shooting efficiency was nowhere near as high as it had been in the previous games. Moreover, the Lakers had somehow quietly slipped into an eleven-point deficit against the Suns.
"We’re going to lose!"
The sharp blast of the referee’s whistle pierced the court, jolting Jackson as the color completely drained from his face.

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