In the room, Alina lit a cigar, taking absentminded puffs before suddenly pointing at the television.
"Chen, look at Dirk. I mean, it only took him one season to develop that fadeaway jumper."
In the United States, soccer simply did not have much popularity. Thus, even as the head coach of the men’s National Team, Alina frequently followed news from other professional sports leagues. Furthermore, there had been quite a few reports about Nowitzki’s Golden Chicken Standalone during that period; it was impossible for him to miss them. Every media outlet credited Chen Yu as the mastermind behind Nowitzki’s technical evolution. But mastering such a technique in a single season was simply unbelievable.
Once Chen Yu met his gaze, Alina continued. "I wanted to ask you if his situation could be replicated with soccer players. For example, helping a forward develop elite dribbling or shooting skills."
Across from them, Martin and his companion also looked over at Chen.
"Of course it’s possible," Chen said, nodding. If Nowitzki could do it, then naturally soccer players could too. Otherwise, what was the point of him recruiting that group of kids?
"But Bruce, you have to consider the investment. Take Dirk for example. We have the only multimedia basketball court in the world, plus over a dozen top-tier Trainers revolving around him for an entire season to design his training regimen.
"We also conducted massive amounts of data analysis, constantly tweaking the finer details of his movements through trial and error. The human and material resources poured into this were exorbitantly high, likely costing millions of US dollars.
"And that’s with my training center right here in Phoenix, allowing him to train locally. Even then, it took a whole season. Under normal circumstances, a professional athlete simply doesn’t have that kind of time, nor would they be allowed to take an entire season just to upgrade their skills."
Players like Ronaldo only came over for a couple of months during the off-season to train and improve. A long-term commitment taking up an entire season, exactly like Nowitzki did, was virtually impossible.
"So do you think this is realistic? Unless you’re willing to shell out tens of millions of US dollars to partner with us, but that’s even more unlikely."
Putting aside the fact that the Football Association couldn’t afford it, even if they asked the clubs to pay, the clubs would be reluctant to part with the cash. They already paid the players’ salaries. If a player wasn’t good enough, they would just replace him. It would only be possible if the players themselves were willing to pay out of pocket. Yet forcing a regular player to shoulder such exorbitant fees was equally unrealistic.
If Nowitzki hadn’t been their own player, and if his help in securing a championship for the Phoenix Suns wouldn’t allow the team to recoup their investment through other avenues—plus Chen offering them a cost-price deal—the Phoenix Suns might not have been willing to invest that money either.
At the mention of money, Alina immediately fell silent. Money was the root of it all.
"Well, then I hope you guys win the championship this year. Otherwise, with such a massive investment, it’d be a huge loss."
Chen thought to himself that this was absolutely true. They were paying the luxury tax this year; not winning the championship would be unjustifiable.
Entering the second half of the second quarter, the Phoenix Suns kicked into high gear, slowly taking the lead and widening the point gap. Or rather, it was Hardaway who kicked into high gear. Building the offense around Nowitzki and feeding him numerous shooting opportunities actually impacted Hardaway, their perimeter core, the most—not role players like Marion.
If broken down into percentages, Hardaway’s offense in the first three games probably only accounted for thirty percent of his total game. He focused the bulk of his energy on defense, playmaking, and facilitating Nowitzki’s scoring. A significant reason for this was Hardaway’s reduced shot attempts. They had plummeted from a season average of 18.2 down to around 13, putting him roughly on par with Marion. That was a drop of five shots per game. All those shot attempts had been transferred to Nowitzki.
Now, however, with Nowitzki taking fewer shots, integrating more seamlessly into the team’s offense, passing more frequently, and making smarter selections, Hardaway shouldered a heavier offensive burden. He possessed the ability to score.
Nash’s defense was truly subpar. With his relatively slender frame, he was easily overpowered when facing taller, heavier point guards. His sole advantage was his speed. Thanks to his excellent quickness, he could guard some of the faster point guards. To compensate for his physical shortcomings, the Pioneer chose to have Nash play tight defense, allowing drives but denying jump shots. If Nash could keep up with his footwork, great. If not, he would let his man drive in, relying on Iguodala and the deeply positioned Milicic to come over and block the lane, essentially cleaning up Nash’s mess. This approach was an optimal solution born of necessity. Over the first three games, its underlying flaws had remained hidden.
Because even when Hardaway drove inside, he more frequently opted to pass the ball to Nowitzki rather than forcing a mindless attack himself. He always prioritized Nowitzki’s opportunities; the moment he saw Milicic rotating over to help defend, he instantly dished the ball out.
In reality, though, Hardaway had other options—like attacking himself.
He was a three-time championship contributor and a Finals MVP. Just because he had aged over the past couple of years and held back a little in his play, people actually thought he was washed up. Did they not know that some players only grew craftier with age?
Thus, Hardaway attacked with far more decisiveness. Without much flashiness, he blew past Nash with a single step. He didn’t even drive all the way to the rim; he simply stopped on a dime, pulled up, and shot.
In the third quarter alone, he shot five for six, blasting out eleven points and leading his team to a 58 to 51 score—a solid seven-point advantage.
During the second half, Rivers was in no rush to make adjustments. While D’Antoni was rather rigid with his substitutions, Rivers simply lacked any bright ideas. His on-the-spot reactions were abysmal. Most importantly, he couldn’t come up with a good solution anyway.
This was just how Nash was; he could never become a defensive stalwart. He would always have this incurable flaw.
Yet the Pioneer’s tactical system couldn’t function without Nash. Only with him could the Pioneer’s run-and-gun engine truly start up. Without him, it devolved into basic passing combinations reliant solely on individual player talent. So in the third quarter, even though the Pioneer hit a few three-pointers, they still failed to reclaim the lead. By the end of the quarter, the deficit had actually expanded to nine points.
The Pioneer still made no adjustments. It wasn’t until the midway point of the fourth quarter, seeing that they were still failing to close the gap, that Rivers finally made a tweak. He subbed out Joe Johnson and sent in Tony Allen. He hoped to bolster their perimeter defense and lock down Hardaway.
"Chen, you guys are going to win," Alina suddenly spoke up.
Chen looked at him and asked what made him say that.
Alina pointed at the television. "Speaking from a head coach’s perspective, I don’t think subbing out Joe Johnson was a wise choice.
"Every team has its strengths. As a head coach, you need to maximize those strengths and tolerate the weaknesses. Even when adjusting your lineup, you must properly balance the resulting benefits.
"And the defensive gains from benching Joe Johnson for Tony Allen are, in my opinion, smaller than the offensive gains Joe Johnson provides while on the court.
"Most importantly, the Pioneer is in a position where they need to catch up. They should be leveraging their offensive advantages to close the score gap first."
Chen nodded noncommittally. The gulf between their respective coaching professions was vast. Regardless of whether Alina’s analysis was correct, looking at the current situation, the Phoenix Suns were poised to win this game.
At the critical juncture, Nowitzki began to exert his dominance once more. When the Pioneer tightened their perimeter defense, frequently double-teaming and stifling Hardaway, Nowitzki relentlessly poured in points, sustaining the Phoenix Suns’ offense. No matter how tightly Milicic smothered him, with his skill set, he wouldn’t just get shut out and let the Phoenix Suns’ offense stall. And as long as the Phoenix Suns kept scoring, the Pioneer couldn’t overtake them. Five points, seven points—the lead never dipped below five points, allowing the Phoenix Suns to stay ahead right to the final buzzer.
to 101. Right on the Pioneer’s home court, the Phoenix Suns pulled themselves back from the brink, clawing back a victory.
On the sidelines, Rivers could no longer maintain his pre-game optimism; his brows were furrowed into deep, heavy creases. The West Championship trophy had been delivered today. He had genuinely planned to hoist that trophy on his home turf.
Yet he had lost!
The crucial issue was that the next game was on the Phoenix Suns’ home court. If the Phoenix Suns clawed back another win, wouldn’t that force a Game Seven? And what if they lost Game Seven as well? Wouldn’t he be the victim of a 3-1 comeback? Throughout the entire history of the NBA, there hadn’t been many comebacks like that.

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