Chapter Five: The Detestable Tactics

At the start of the fourth quarter, the coach didn’t put Lin Fei back on the court. Of course, the Hornets' star point guard, Paul, was also resting; he’d already played nearly three full quarters. With 28 points and 10 assists, Paul was well on his way to a big double-double in this game.

Will I get another chance to play? Lin Fei kept asking himself as he sat on the cold bench, watching the game with a tinge of unwillingness. Where had yesterday’s shooting touch gone? Why couldn’t he make a shot today? Paul’s defense was solid, but when it came to his own long-distance shooting, it should have been unstoppable for anyone. Was it a psychological block?

Now, with the team trailing, what could be done? Ever since yesterday, Lin Fei felt as though this team had become his, even if only for that one dazzling moment. The coach and fans alike were all wondering: was yesterday’s “Tears of God” just a fleeting miracle? For perimeter players, hot hands can make them seem unstoppable, but when their touch disappears, even great shooters can turn into bricklayers.

With Lin Fei off the court, the Warriors’ play seemed to become more organized, their offense structured, their defensive intensity revived. In the fourth quarter, the Warriors went on a 7-0 run, closing the gap to just three points. Lin Fei, meanwhile, sat awkwardly on the bench.

The Hornets called timeout and immediately sent Paul back in. As expected, Paul quickly stabilized his team, attacking and scoring, extending the lead back to ten points.

By now, it was clear to all: the Warriors' players were exhausted. They had just played a back-to-back, traveling by plane, and after pulling off one of the greatest miracles in NBA history the night before, their excitement had gotten the best of them—sleep was nowhere to be found. At this point, few of them could still maintain peak performance.

The coach was well aware of this and had done his best to manage playing time. Now, with half a quarter left and a ten-point deficit, they needed to maintain high offensive efficiency while limiting the opponent’s scoring.

If Lin Fei went in, it would disrupt the team’s offensive rhythm and place the whole burden on him. But without him, their main rotation—after half a season’s adjustment—might be able to catch up, but with the players’ stamina so depleted, the odds were slim. Especially since their playing style was a run-and-gun offense, which required tremendous energy.

After Paul sank a three-pointer, the gap widened to thirteen points. Nelson called timeout and switched to a dual point guard lineup, his signature move. On the court were center Ex, power forward Keynes, small forward Jobs, and the backcourt duo of Curry and Lin Fei.

Curry brought the ball up quickly, orchestrating the offense. There were faint calls from the sidelines, “Give the basketball to 43!”

But tactically, Lin Fei wasn’t set up as the primary ball-handler. Clearly, the coach wanted to play it safe by maintaining the main rotation while also utilizing Lin Fei’s explosiveness—and to gradually integrate him into the system.

Lin Fei was, in truth, excited. His earlier minutes were all in garbage time, but now, in the critical moments, he was being treated as a clutch player—almost too much to take in after so long on the bench.

Curry drove hard to the basket; Lin Fei circled on the perimeter, ready for a catch-and-shoot opportunity. But Curry finished the layup himself. Even so, Coach Nelson shouted, “Move! Lin, get the ball on the run, remember, move!” Even as Lin Fei tried to focus, the coach’s voice was too loud to ignore; he found himself thinking, this old man really is a bit nagging.

Though Lin Fei was on the court, he seemed unfamiliar with the plays; the ball rarely made its way to him. His small stature made him easy to cover, and floating around the three-point line, finding open space was difficult. A top-tier point guard could create open looks and rack up assists in such scenarios, but the Warriors lacked a floor general of that caliber—Curry, for all his talent, hadn’t yet reached the level of a Paul.

Lin Fei grew frustrated. He was executing the coach’s game plan, but opportunities were scarce. Each time he touched the ball, a defender was already in his face.

As the game went on and the clock ticked under three minutes in the fourth, the deficit shrank to ten. Lin Fei, now the primary ball-handler on the floor, wondered after making just one of his previous six shots, should he keep shooting? He felt uncertain—these were crucial moments in a comeback attempt.

The fans, eyes wide with anticipation, dreamed of Lin Fei exploding for points, sealing the game with a dramatic flourish.

But to their disappointment, Lin Fei was not the kind to storm into the frontcourt and heave up wild threes, ignoring tactics and reason. Instead, he brought the ball up quickly, waited for his teammates to settle in the paint, and played for high-percentage shots—the coach’s usual prescription for steadying the game. The fans were let down, but still watched anxiously.

Paul crouched low to defend Lin Fei. Lin Fei dribbled with a low, rapid cadence, scanning the court. The Warriors’ rotations relied on speed; the coach believed that open looks were created through movement. Still, much depended on the “basketball brain”—the coach’s designs and the point guard’s orchestration.

Now, Lin Fei felt uncomfortable. The arena was too loud—he was used to being overlooked, not booed. He was uncomfortable with his role, having gone from the rookie fetching towels yesterday to the floor general today. He was uneasy facing Paul, the league’s elite point guard.

The center moved up for a high pick, one of basketball’s simplest yet deadliest tactics. The legendary Jazz coach Jerry Sloan built his dynasty on the two-man game, forging iconic pairs like Malone and Stockton, then Deron and Boozer. Not every coach could execute the pick-and-roll to perfection, but most employed it in key moments.

Lin Fei used the screen from center Cloudson to shake off Paul. The Hornets’ defense was among the league’s best, but Lin Fei’s quickness was not easy to match. With the switch, Lin Fei was now guarded by the opposing center, who couldn’t keep up—Lin Fei blew by him, darting to the rim and lofting a high floater—what speed!

But David West of the Hornets leapt high, stretching out his massive hand and slapped the ball away with a thunderous block. Though the shot was high, and the ball brushed West’s fingertips, it wasn’t going in—a resounding rejection. What a pity!

The crowd erupted in cheers. After witnessing the miracle of twenty-eight points in three minutes the night before, the fans were eager to see their own stars dominate again.