Chapter Twelve: The Best Sixth Man

Remember, the best defense is a strong offense.

There’s always that one player on the court, the one who doesn’t bask in the dazzling spotlight at the start of the game, but who always steps up when the team needs him most. They never have the air of a superstar, but they can score just as madly, putting on a show that belongs to them alone.

Who do you think the Spurs trust most with the final shot? Ever watched the Mavericks play? Who do they often give the last shot to? The answer is Manu Ginobili and Jason Terry. Maybe, a notch below, Jamal Crawford. Or, if you look back further, John Havlicek and Kevin McHale. Watch some Spurs and Mavericks game tapes, or take a look at the Hall of Fame roster, and you’ll understand what a Sixth Man of the Year truly is.

The Warriors are gradually finding their rhythm, even though they’re still scrapping for a playoff spot. Don Nelson grows more bewildered by the day; once the torchbearer of the run-and-gun, the high priest of small-ball tactics, his vision of “run-and-gun” is now clouded and indistinct. His players no longer sprint with the same reckless abandon as at the season’s start; fatigue seeps into their legs. The Warriors lead the league in possessions and rank among the top three in scoring, but they also give up the most points in the NBA. Decades of coaching, not a single championship ring—he’s begun to question his own strategies. Run-and-gun may get you into the playoffs, but it’s nearly impossible to go deep. Besides, run-and-gun demands a gifted playmaking point guard, and while aggressive guards are everywhere nowadays, true floor generals are becoming rare.

The Warriors’ next game is against the Mavericks—a rivalry with roots tracing back to the legendary “We Believe” upset. That year, the Mavericks stormed through the regular season under Avery Johnson and Dirk Nowitzki, stringing together double-digit winning streaks and ending with 65 victories. Nowitzki claimed the MVP, but in the first round, they ran into Nelson’s Warriors. The run-and-gun attack was the Mavericks’ kryptonite, and the Warriors ousted them 4–2. It was widely regarded as the Mavericks’ most heartbreaking season. You can imagine why Dallas holds such a grudge against Golden State. But is it the same now? Back then, the Warriors had their own band of chaos specialists—“Big Beard” Baron Davis, “Captain” Stephen Jackson. Not superstars, but names that carried weight.

The current Mavericks are formidable, boasting Nowitzki, Kidd, Terry, Chandler, Marion, and other elite role players. Over the past decade, they’ve been a powerhouse, yet the only regret is the absence of a championship. The Lakers and Spurs each have several in that span, making the Mavericks perhaps the most tragic team of the era. Still, their hunger for a title drives them relentlessly; they remain the most feared opponents for the Western Conference favorites, the Lakers and Spurs.

Let’s look at the matchups. At center, the Warriors’ Claudson versus the Mavericks’ Chandler—slight edge to Dallas. On the wings, the Warriors’ Jobs and X are decent, but can’t compare to top-tier forwards like Nowitzki and Marion. The backcourt features Keynes and Curry against Kidd and Stojaković. Kidd, with over a decade in the league, possesses a magician’s vision and over a hundred career triple-doubles. Fans call him “the Demon Guard”—the name fits. Overall, the Warriors don’t have much of an advantage, except perhaps on the bench, where they have Lin Fei. For the Mavericks, Terry is almost an unsolvable puzzle, and Butler and Haywood are both players of stature. All of this is thanks to their madman owner, Mark Cuban, the league’s most generous boss—he’ll buy any player if there’s a need, and would collect the entire All-Star team if he could.

During practice, the coach told his team: against the Mavericks, their offense is overwhelming, and it’s tough to defend them. So remember, the best offense is the best defense—use our attack to drag their offense down, force them to play our tempo. Clearly, this will be a shootout, perhaps one of the league’s rare, dazzling duels.

Tip-off. Mavericks’ ball. Kidd runs the offense—slower now, age taking its toll, but his vision and experience are unmatched in the league. Kidd drives, doesn’t get much separation, dishes to Nowitzki. Dirk posts up, pivots, fades—a signature move, impossible to guard with his height, agility, and high release. Swish, clean and effortless.

The Warriors aren’t fazed. They inbound quickly, Jobs sprints up the court, lobs to X, who dribbles twice and swings it right to Keynes. Keynes soars in for a thunderous dunk.

This is a microcosm of Warriors versus Mavericks. Dallas relies on crisp organization and stellar individual scoring; the Warriors depend on speed. The two teams trade blows, the score ever-tight. Eight minutes into the first quarter, the Mavericks go small, bringing on super-sub Jason Terry. The Warriors counter with Lin Fei. Terry immediately tests Golden State’s pace. Though not known for his speed, Terry is no slouch. Lin Fei matches up with him. First possession, Terry drives the baseline, jumps just outside the charge circle—Lin Fei defends, Keynes tries for the block but is too far; Terry scores with ease. Warriors’ turn. Lin Fei runs the point, and the team’s tempo shifts into overdrive. They cross half-court in two seconds, complete a possession in four. The Mavericks have no time to set their defense. The Warriors run and gun, and the first quarter ends in a tie, 37–37.

Normally, people would stress defense in this situation, but here, defense seems almost irrelevant. Even the Spurs, renowned for their defense, have been torched—remember McGrady’s 13 points in 35 seconds? Warriors versus Mavericks is the same: neither can stop the other. The only hope is offense. The Mavericks have more gifted individual scorers, but the Warriors’ system flows more smoothly—dribble, pass, shoot, all in one seamless motion.

Second quarter begins. The Mavericks’ bench is strong, so they rotate in their reserves. The Warriors respond, making Lin Fei the focal point of their second unit. The game turns into a marathon, a pure contest of speed.

Midway through the second, Nelson senses trouble. Lin Fei is noticeably slower—a detail only Nelson’s sharp eyes catch. Sure enough, Lin Fei turns it over; Terry steals, fast break, Lin Fei hustles back, tries to grab him, but Terry is too quick and scores, drawing a foul. Inexperience! Nelson immediately calls timeout and subs out Lin Fei. You see, Lin Fei plays offense like a hundred-meter dash. Ten minutes on the court is exhausting, but in that time he’s scored 10 points at a blistering pace. Still, the Warriors trail by four. Terry remains on the floor for Dallas; Keynes tries to check him, but the pace slows, favoring the Mavericks’ starters. Dallas pulls ahead, stretching the lead to ten. The Warriors don’t want to go into halftime down double digits. They set up one last play—Curry orchestrates from the high post, drives, feeds Claudson inside, who fakes but can’t shake Chandler. He works a two-man play with Jobs, who kicks it back outside. Terry shadows Curry; time running out, Curry forces a shot—an air ball. Still down ten.

That final shot is a wake-up call for Nelson—a cold splash of realization. The team doesn’t know how to execute in crunch time, how to move, when to shoot. But why do they sometimes pull off the impossible? The answer: Lin Fei.

Second half, Lin Fei checks in. Whether facing Kidd or Terry, he attacks with ferocity. The elderly Kidd can’t keep up; even Terry is starting to show his age. They try Beaubois, but Lin Fei’s deep shooting is unguardable. Thanks to his heroics, the Warriors cut the deficit to two by the end of the third. Lin Fei pours in 15 points in the quarter, including three triples.

Fourth quarter, Nelson rests Lin Fei, signaling to all: he’s saving him for the clutch. The Warriors fight valiantly, tying it up with two minutes left, 118–118. High score. Despite the starters’ efforts, Nelson brings back Lin Fei. Mavericks’ possession. Marion receives the ball—his handle is weak. He passes to Nowitzki, who powers inside, jumps, scores. Dallas up two. Now Lin Fei, eyes steely, seems to pierce the very ceiling of the arena. He finds a seam, sprints, Kidd trailing, sprinting like it’s war. The floorboards squeak underfoot. Terry rotates to help, but Lin Fei spins past him. Marion tries to recover, but a quick crossover leaves him behind. Nowitzki rushes to the hoop, but Lin Fei switches hands mid-air—lefty off the glass, scores, crashes to the floor from sheer speed. The crowd is stunned before erupting in thunderous cheers. Coast to coast, breaking three defenders, eluding a fourth, at a speed never before seen. A once-in-a-lifetime bucket—surely a candidate for play of the year.

Tie game. Mavericks’ turn. Kidd hands off to Terry, who faces Keynes, while Lin Fei marks Kidd—because even late in his career, Kidd is a threat, having developed a three-point shot. Terry isolates, drives right baseline, spins, fades—scores. That’s the mark of a Sixth Man of the Year.

Warriors call timeout. Nelson barely speaks—perhaps just giving the players, especially Lin Fei, a breather. Can Lin Fei hold up? He’s scored 15 in the third, but just 6 in the fourth—rookie legs, running on fumes.

Down two. The Warriors surprise everyone. Lin Fei inbounds to Keynes, who calmly hands it to Jobs—the team’s de facto leader. Jobs goes one-on-one with Nowitzki. Lin Fei darts past Nowitzki, who panics. Jobs seizes the moment, spins, hooks—scores. At this stage, it’s a battle of wills; whoever relents loses.

Again, Kidd runs the offense for Dallas, feeding Nowitzki, their closer. Dirk posts up, spins, fakes a shot—Jobs bites, jumps. It’s a fake—Nowitzki kicks it out to Kidd at the three-point line. Kidd rises over Lin Fei—drains it. The arena explodes. Old Kidd proves the saying true: “A star may fade, but his light outshines the rest.”

Warriors have 18 seconds left. Who gets the ball? Lin Fei brings it up—just as Nelson predicted.

A brief final timeout.

Lin Fei holds the ball, his body poised in flight. In the final moments, he’s the soul of the team. Don’t forget, he’s a rookie—if he can pull this off...

He rises, launches a deep three—unguardable, and clearly not a play drawn up by the coach.

The shot goes in—a signature deep three from Lin Fei.

Swish—the net sings, pure and sharp.

All the pent-up energy released.

Mavericks’ ball. Who gets the shot? Dallas calls a quick timeout, inbounds at the frontcourt. Players scramble frantically. Kidd faces Lin Fei’s waving arms, quickly hands off to Chandler, who finds Terry. Keynes closes out, but Terry steps back, checks the clock: 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2—drives, pulls up, jumps, Keynes contests with all his might, but no—he nails it! Game-winner!

The Warriors are calm, but Lin Fei is devastated.

Sixth Man of the Year? Terry finishes with 25 points and the game-winner. Lin Fei plays 34 minutes, scores 34, but loses.

Whose glory is it, in the end?