Chapter 25: The Memory That Stirred the Green-Robed Soul—Byas

The Celtics were gradually taking control of the game! The efforts of our team's key players seemed on the verge of being wasted. The overriding feeling today was not that we were lacking, but rather that the Celtics were simply too formidable.

Halftime. My team was trailing by 8 points! It was unbelievable.

As the second half began, the broadcaster uttered a single name—Bias. Deep within the soul of the Celtics lay a name that, when touched, would forever bring sorrow—Len Bias.

A player who had been gone for more than two decades. What does a span of over twenty years look like? Back then, Mike Tyson was invincible; Eddie Murphy was still bouncing between baseball leagues; Don Johnson was the coolest man on the planet; Michael Jackson was just beginning his peak; Indiana had yet to be liberated; Wayne Gretzky and Larry Bird jointly ruled the sports world; and the President of the United States was Ronald Reagan. Yet Bias still lingered, much like those immortal players, living on at least in the hearts of Celtics fans—even as the deepest and most agonizing scar, one they were never willing to let go.

In the 1986 NBA Draft, the Celtics used the second overall pick to select Len Bias out of the University of Maryland. Bostonians were beside themselves with joy at the time, because all of America knew just how immense Bias's talent was. As for how truly great he was, people today may no longer witness it firsthand, but the assessments of a few individuals capture it best.

Coach K, the head coach of the United States national team and arguably one of the most renowned coaches in American history, once said, "For all these years, I believe there are truly only two players who deserve to be called the absolute greatest—Jordan and Bias. Bias's astonishing abilities could withstand any test; he should have become the premier player in the NBA. I believe a true game-dominating player must be able to do things others cannot, much like Jordan's performances. Bias possessed that capability as well. You simply could not stop him from scoring—no matter what defensive scheme you deployed, he would always deliver something spectacular."

Chris Wallace, the Celtics' general manager at the time, remarked, "Bias is simply unbelievable in his excellence." Just as the draft concluded, an ESPN commentator declared that the Celtics' second eight-consecutive championship run was about to begin. This statement was undoubtedly the ultimate affirmation of just how terrifying the roster would become once Bias joined the Celtics. Perhaps from these words alone, one can sense how utterly fearsome a player named Bias truly was.

Michael Wilbon, a columnist for The Washington Post and an ESPN analyst, held an even higher regard for Bias: "His death altered the entire history of the NBA. Had he lived, the Pistons' Bad Boys would never have had their day in the sun, and the emergence of the Chicago Bulls dynasty would have been pushed off to God knows when. Even as Bird and McHale aged, the Celtics would have remained an eternal dynasty."

Did Bias truly possess such staggering abilities?

Perhaps the most direct historical proof was a regular-season NCAA matchup in 1981 between Maryland and North Carolina. At the time, North Carolina, led by His Airness, was breezing through their opponents unchecked. But when they faced Maryland, the entire team summoned every ounce of focus, because opposing them was Bias. Although North Carolina ultimately had the last laugh, Len's brilliance completely overshadowed Jordan. In his post-game interview, Jordan remarked, "I've never seen a player this good. Bias is simply incredible. You have to realize we had four star players at North Carolina, while Maryland was a team of just one man." Throughout history, Bias was perhaps the only player capable of extracting such high praise from a young Jordan.

If that is not enough, just look at his achievements across four years at the University of Maryland! That lean, tough kid from nearby Landover blossomed into a chiseled, 6-foot-8, 205-pound scoring machine. He steadily mastered the collegiate game just as he had dominated in high school. By his senior year in high school, he was the McDonald's All-American Game MVP; by his final college year, Bias averaged close to twenty points and over seven rebounds per game, led the Atlantic Coast Conference (ACC) in scoring for two consecutive years, and was named ACC Player of the Year. His scoring increased steadily year by year, rising from 7.2 points to over eighteen points across his first three college seasons. His coach, "Lefty" Driesell, called him "the most outstanding player in the history of the ACC." Driesell's praise might have been slightly hyperbolic, but it was hardly far-fetched, even when considering that David Thompson, Bob McAdoo, John Lucas, Michael Jordan, and many other extraordinary players also hailed from ACC universities.

Red Auerbach had also said, "If Len hadn't been taken from us, I believe the late eighties and the nineties would have belonged to us in total domination. Detroit's Bad Boys wouldn't have been nearly so arrogant, and a 'Bulls dynasty' would never have existed. In short, God was unfair to us, but perhaps He took him away for the greater good of the league's overall development."

Alas, he exists only in legend! The impression left behind in legend was that of a Jordan equipped with James Worthy’s physique—if such a comparison holds any meaning, I must say that aside from Jordan and the "Human Highlight Reel," no one could fly quite like a young Bias. Yet this was not the primary reason for his unrivaled dominance. Bias's uniqueness stemmed from his aggression—a competitive aura capable of destroying any adversary. Indeed, in an era where everyone flew through the air wearing tight-fitting shorts, there were plenty of gentle gentlemen, polite and courteous despite their extraordinary skills—David Robinson, Chris Mullin, Clyde Drexler, Bernard King, and Dominique Wilkins were prime examples. Before arriving at North Carolina, Jordan even had a habit of hugging his opponents on the court, but Coach Dean Smith sternly broke him of the habit: "Never show goodwill to the enemy."

Certain traits belonging to Bias became fashionable in the nineties and even persist today—baggy, ill-fitting shorts, post-dunk roars, trash-talking, and so on. But what others did was strictly in pursuit of victory—players like Jordan, Malone, or Garnett only resorted to trash talk during moments of crisis. Bias, however, seemed the exception; everything he did stemmed purely from instinct. He dunked on everyone without a hint of hesitation; he roared at his teammates; he roared at the referees; he roared at his opponents; he roared at nearly every living organism inside the arena—because that was the only way to vent his overflowing energy and passion.

I do not know if anyone has ever compared me to that long-lost genius in Celtics history, and even if they have, those people are probably in their sixties or seventies by now. What a pity. If I were Bias, the present-day Bias would no longer be a sweet dream for the Celtics, but rather their worst nightmare.

Or perhaps, to the Celtics fans, I was intimately familiar. Perhaps I should bring them some cherished memories? Even if tinged with regret, I felt I owed the Celtics faithful something beautiful. After more than twenty years, it was time for me to pay tribute to those veteran fans of Boston!

Holding the ball now, I felt an almost sacred sensation. I had no idea why, and even I found it baffling.

Rondo was still right in front of me, a player I could practically dismantle at any given moment. I could see the helplessness in him now; he was intensely focused, and I knew he was hesitant. If he stepped forward by even half a step, or merely harbored the intention to step up, I would have the opportunity to blow right past him. If he retreated a step, positioning himself in the frontcourt and giving me just a single step of breathing room, his defense would become entirely illusory. I figured I didn't have much time to calculate how to proceed, and I refused to waste even a tenth of a second. I accelerated, attempting to drive past Rondo, but he remained one of the league's finest perimeter defenders after all. My consecutive crossover and spin move failed to shake him off, but I had already reached the frontcourt. Once at this spot, I knew he would crowd me tightly. I retreated slightly once more, facing him up while dribbling. He attempted to step forward to press me—and precisely because of that single attempt, I exploded past him with a single stride. I could scarcely imagine why I was able to breeze past him in one step; I had actually prepared myself for a spin-and-crossover sequence. Yet after taking my stride, I realized he had drifted off toward my left. Naturally, I saw no reason not to accept a gift when it was handed to me, graciously pocketing the advantage. However, no sooner had I beaten him than Ray Allen scrambled over to help defense. His footwork was sluggish; I saw it clearly. With a subtle head fake, I crossed the ball between my legs to my left and immediately launched into a jump shot. Only as I released did I see Ray Allen leap into the air. The ball swished through. A two-pointer!

For some reason, the shot wasn't particularly flashy, but it filled me with a deep sense of accomplishment.

Next, the Celtics went on the offensive. Rondo assisted Ray Allen, who hoisted a shot straight over my defense and easily converted.

My competitive spirit flared to an even higher level! I was determined to lock horns directly with Ray Allen. Opportunities for the league's two premier sharpshooters to cross paths came one by one, and you never knew if there would ever be another showdown after this one!

My response was a swift, aggressive dribble, followed by a sudden change of direction at midcourt to shed Rondo, launching immediately into an ultra-deep three-pointer! It dropped as well! To execute such a shot right in front of my own idol felt truly incredible.

The Celtics' offense remained stubbornly relentless! I honestly couldn't fathom how the old Big Three—Garnett, Pierce, and Allen—having already played upwards of thirty-five minutes, could still run the floor! I felt like I was on the verge of collapsing from exhaustion myself!

I held the ball, checking the clock! One minute remaining! My team was down by three!

A clutch possession! This was my moment! Through the opening games of this season, we had coasted to victories by wide margins; we had never encountered such a deadlock!

Down by 3! One minute left! If I made this shot, we would tie! Both teams would then have virtually enough time for one more possession each. The hope of victory would be immense! If I missed it, our chances of winning would plummet by at least half!

I dribbled slowly. The coach's playbook designated me as the primary option, with Jobs roaming near the free-throw line as the second option, and Axe patrolling the baseline as the third.

I dribbled to the top of the key. Rondo gave me half a step of cushion while the others played gap defense, well aware that I was their primary focus. The moment I drove, anyone could rotate to help. To be frank, I could have chosen to "retreat to advance" at that moment, because my shooting range one step inside the midcourt line was every bit as lethal as a shot from behind the arc.

I drifted to the right; Rondo tracked my movement. I threw a head fake to the left, but Rondo was too smart and refused to bite. Knowing I would continue right, I burst forward with an explosive acceleration. Rondo backpedaled a step, and I pulled up short, stepping backward. Rondo was fractionally slow to brake—I knew my opportunity had arrived! To many observers, the shot might have looked forced, but I believed in myself!

I sprang up lightly! In my experience, shots like this were best released as quickly as possible. I could always find the right spot, achieve the proper elevation, let fly, and gently watch it fall through.

Forty points! The roar of the crowd was something I no longer actively listened to; I merely felt it. Tied once again! The opportunity was right before our eyes!

The entire arena erupted in a unified chant of "Defense! Defense!"

I honestly had zero confidence in our ability to get a defensive stop! Because the Celtics today were simply defying everyone's expectations!

I picked up Rondo on defense! At this critical juncture, Rondo was the least likely player to score directly!

Rondo deliberately slowed his pace! Clearly, he was prioritizing stability.

With fifteen seconds left on the clock, Rondo accelerated and drove right into my chest! I backpedaled, keeping stride! I stayed with him! I saw that Rondo intended to kick the ball out to Pierce or Allen on the perimeter. I wanted to disrupt his passing lanes; I had to force him to take the shot himself. Rondo planted his feet, looking as though he might lay it up or pass. Yet I gambled that he would pass, because he lacked the supreme confidence to finish the play himself.

But I was wrong! Rondo suddenly pulled up short and lofted a little floater. It went in! It finally dawned on me—the modern Rondo had truly evolved into a legitimate superstar for the Celtics! He held absolute authority over the team's offensive decisions and play-calling. Even if he had missed that shot, not a single soul would have blamed him.

My Warriors were down by 2 once again! Only thirteen seconds remained on the clock! I had one final offensive possession left! The very last one!

I was no Bias; I lacked his physical gifts, his court vision, and his sheer dominance, but I possessed an unparalleled instinct for game-winning shots!

Holding the ball in the backcourt, I carved my way into the frontcourt entirely by myself; I simply couldn't afford to wait any longer! Thirteen seconds! In truth, five seconds might have been all I needed! The remaining eight seconds would only invite instability! I orchestrated the offense again near midcourt, knowing that all my teammates on the bench, Coach Nelson, and Avril had risen to their feet.

7! Thump! That was the sound of my heartbeat!

6! It echoed again!

5!

4!

I could feel them all holding their breaths! Ray Allen pressed up against me, knowing my time was running out. I was acutely aware of what I was doing!

3!

2! I stepped diagonally backward to my left! Both Ray Allen and Rondo were suddenly far away from me!

Release! The arc of the ball was meticulously calculated! It would graze the back rim of the basket and drop into the net, followed by a crisp "swish"! As I descended back to the floor, I could already feel the urge to celebrate welling up inside! I raised my arms and sprinted forward, intending to embrace Cairns!

Just as expected! Except the "swish" sound was something only I could truly feel; the arena roared with nothing but deafening cheers! All of my teammates rushed over to swarm me!

It was an exact replica of the dream!

A game-winner! Another game-winner delivered by my hands! This was our first buzzer-beater of the season! We had succeeded! Perhaps I had also offered those veteran Celtics fans the victory that rightfully belonged to Len Bias!