Chapter Forty: The Advance of the King’s Way

On the basketball court, is there truly a supreme philosophy? Many would argue that defense reigns supreme, often quoting the adage: control the rebounds, and you control the game. For such a question, there are as many answers as there are readers, each with their own interpretation. Yet, for the two coaches facing off in tonight’s match, their perspectives are clear: in Nelson’s mind, offense is the sovereign way; in Popovich’s, defense is king.

Nelson and Popovich are no strangers to one another—grizzled veterans of the league, their names well known among the coaching elite. Jackson, Popovich, Larry Brown, Van Gundy, Adelman—these mentors have prowled the NBA’s sidelines for years, each familiar with the other's strategies to the point of instinct.

Popovich’s starting five for the Spurs is set: Tony Parker, Manu Ginobili, Richard Jefferson, Tim Duncan, and DeJuan Blair. The Warriors maintain their own starters: Claudson, Jobs, Ax, Kaines, and Curry. The Spurs’ bench deserves mention—their coach’s eye for talent is unmatched, turning overlooked draftees like Ginobili and Parker into stars. Now, George Hill stands out as another with the potential for greatness.

The game begins with Spurs possession. Parker brings the ball up and finds Duncan at the high post. Duncan passes to Jefferson, who sinks a jumper. Yet as soon as the ball is through the net, the Warriors snatch it up and surge forward. Curry launches a long pass to Ax on the run; Ax takes two dribbles and fires a cross-court ball to Kaines, who catches it, takes one step inside the free-throw line, leaps—and with Ginobili just behind, trying in vain to grab him—Kaines delivers a thunderous skyward tomahawk dunk. The clock reads five seconds. Five seconds from inbound to score: a seamless, uninterrupted flow.

But the Spurs are the Spurs—they adhere to their half-court game. Though the Warriors attack relentlessly, the Spurs’ discipline remains intact. Parker once more orchestrates from the top, breaking past Curry, who is just a beat too slow, slipping into the paint. Kaines rotates over to help, but Parker isn’t so easily stymied. He stops short, spins, but Kaines’ lateral movement is impressive, blocking Parker’s path. Parker kicks it out to Ginobili, who takes a step forward with Ax trailing, but then steps back and drains the jumper—a signature move.

Duncan, for now, seems to be holding back, quietly collecting rebounds without pressing for points. Jefferson, though, is aggressive in scoring. Such is the character of the Spurs: any player can be the one to finish you. One recalls the days when the Spurs won the championship, and the legendary “Mr. Clutch,” Horry, was their secret weapon—often overlooked amid the brilliance of their “Big Three,” yet time and again delivering the decisive blow.

At first, the Spurs might have thought the Warriors’ opening was just a fluke of speed. They soon realize their mistake. Every possession, the Warriors race upcourt, regardless of the opposition’s defense, seeking out the best-placed shooter among the five and getting him the ball. Their offensive efficiency leaves the assembled basketball experts stunned. Nelson has gone mad, some think, employing such a reckless, structureless offense, focusing solely on speed and shooting, neglecting organized movement. On defense, their effort appears lackluster, as if the sole concern is not stopping the opponent, but how to attack once they regain possession.

The Warriors’ starters are firing on all cylinders. Midway through the first quarter, several substitutes enter, but by quarter’s end, the Warriors have racked up a stunning 43 points against the Spurs, shooting 16-of-28 from the field, 5-of-10 from beyond the arc, and converting all six free throws. Across the league, no team has ever sliced through the Spurs’ defense with such ease. Yet the Spurs’ offense is no slouch, tallying 36 points. The Warriors’ main issue is turnovers—five in the first quarter—but their aggressive pursuit of offensive rebounds ensures efficient second-chance scoring.

On the sideline, Popovich’s face is grim. In just a few days, Nelson has unleashed this chaotic system and dropped 43 points on us—unprecedented in a decade! In all my years of coaching, never has a team played with such madness against mine.

Lin Fei’s first-quarter performance is steady: two three-pointers, eight points. Amid the Warriors’ barrage, perhaps Lin Fei is but a minor figure.

Popovich calls all his players over—every one, even those yet to step on the court. Clearly, the situation has strayed far from his expectations, and he takes the opportunity to instruct them on what to focus on during play.

At the start of the second quarter, Lin Fei heads to the bench, with the Warriors’ main lineup remaining. The Spurs ramp up their defensive intensity, pressing the Warriors across the court. Yet the Warriors seem to play like free spirits, darting about in apparent chaos, turning the game into a whirlwind that the Spurs struggle to contain. Popovich is livid on the sideline, barking out orders to hold position, block the drives—his voice booming across the arena, matched by the din of the crowd. In stark contrast, Nelson remains serene, hardly using his timeouts, a hint of a smile playing on his lips—pleased, perhaps, but with what? Is he proud of his tactical success, or does he simply enjoy watching the renowned Popovich fume?

Midway through the quarter, fatigue sets in for both sides. The Warriors’ legs grow heavy; the Spurs, too, slow down. The tide shifts. Without their speed, the Warriors lose their advantage—their offense now meets a set, prepared Spurs defense. The Spurs, despite tiring, excel in the half-court, executing their tactics with the last dregs of their stamina.

Nelson finally calls a brief timeout and makes a move much anticipated by the home crowd: he sends Lin Fei back onto the court. The crowd erupts as Lin Fei re-enters. Parker and Ginobili, having already glimpsed the youngster’s talent in the first quarter, now face him restored and ready, while they themselves are weary. What will happen now?

Lin Fei blazes up the court, his speed almost incompatible with his own teammates. The Spurs scarcely react, accustomed as they are to the Warriors’ pandemonium. Near the three-point line, Parker and Ginobili are already in position, convinced Lin Fei can’t possibly stop in time and will dash right into the paint. They are wrong. At the arc, Lin Fei spins, stops on a dime, slips around Parker, rises, and shoots. Parker, marveling at the young man’s balance, can only watch as the ball drops cleanly through the net. Again, Lin Fei drives at Parker, who stands rooted like a post—frustration etched across his face.

Popovich is left utterly dumbfounded by the young man.

One must ask: in this world, who else can handle the ball at nearly a sprinter’s pace and cross up Parker as if he were nothing more than a statue?