Basketball Legend: When Pride Still Matters

``` When the Lakers were eliminated, only a third of the audience remained. The celebrities from Hollywood had already left. They were not pure fans; if the Lakers couldn't pull off a miracle, it was just a waste of their time to them. The players from both teams exchanged courtesies. Kobe looked the most hurt; this was supposed to be the year of the Lakers' revival, yet it ended in utter defeat for him. The Lakers Team over these years had been like a compelling soap opera. When Kobe was averaging 36 points per game, they were stopped in the first round. Then Kobe couldn't take it any longer and demanded a trade, unless the Lakers strengthened the team around him. Kidd's arrival eased some of the problems, but not all. The trade for Little O seemed to give Kobe the credentials to contend, but ultimately, his injuries and the still insufficiently solid lineup led to their downfall in the Western Conference finals. Kobe didn't win the MVP, and now he had lost the series. In one season, he had lost all the contests he could. "I won't wish you well," Kobe said to Yu Fei, "but I will wish Seattle the best." Yu Fei simply responded, "Thank you." Without showing much emotion, Kobe maintained his outward cool. This was the man Yu Fei remembered. He remembered last year in Las Vegas during the training camp, when he often went to nightclubs with Anthony and the others, one night he saw Kobe in an elevator, dressed in practice gear, with a solemn face. Anthony asked him what he was going to do, and Kobe just coldly answered, "Train." Yu Fei still remembered everyone's reaction. Kwame Brown said with lingering fear, "Good thing I didn't go to the Lakers; that guy is a freak." So, this year's failure wouldn't break Kobe. He would quickly heal his injuries, then resume training, and catch up for the Beijing Olympics. Yu Fei began to accept the well wishes from the other Lakers players. In his view, only Little O's wishes were the most genuine. "Big Fei, promise me one thing." Yu Fei could probably guess what he was going to say. "Say it." "You know, I am the only person who has beaten you in the playoffs for the past seven years," Little O said, "I hope that record stays." Yu Fei understood the logic, but why did Little O emphasize the past seven years and not eight? Was it because if he said eight years, he wouldn't be the only one anymore? "Even if I don't agree, Seattle will," Yu Fei said, "We have reasons we must win." "That's fine. And tell that son of a bitch." Little O still hadn't forgotten about Brown; he "loved" him so much. "I averaged 16 points and 10 rebounds in the Western Conference finals, all double his stats. He's no match for me; he'd better shut his filthy mouth!" Yu Fei couldn't help but feel a mix of amusement and exasperation. The other SuperSonics players did not have Yu Fei's calm attitude. Whenever they beat the Lakers, what George Karl looked forward to the most was the post-game handshake with the opposing coach. "Sorry, but I won again!" This had become Karl's favorite phrase in recent years. With his face smug to the extreme and his smarmy tone, it was enough to inflict additional hurt on the other side. And what Karl enjoyed most was saying this to Phil Jackson. It was clear that Zen Master's years of Zen training couldn't help him stay collected. Tonight, Karl was just as smug, wearing a triumphant expression as he came to the court's edge, "Oh Phil, sorry, although your team is outstanding, there's always someone better. This year, it's me who wins again." Jackson couldn't even muster a courteous congratulation to such a smug bastard. He rarely got angry, but Karl managed to break his defenses every time. The reason was simple: in Jackson's eyes, Karl had once been nothing more than a loudmouth nobody, claiming to be his arch-enemy, but never truly catching his eye. An arch-enemy? Was he worthy? Just because he led the SuperSonics in playing the least stressful finals of Jackson's career? Then, somehow, Karl hit the jackpot in the summer of 2001, receiving a gift from his North Carolina junior by trading for the second-best rookie in Wizards Team's history, indirectly creating a dynasty that won four championships in five years. Yu Fei had quickly surpassed all active players, and Karl had gone from a nobody to challenging Jackson, constantly proclaiming that "coaches are useful, but if Phil didn't have MJ and OK, he would be a failure just like I used to be." "Laugh it up, George," Jackson said, suppressing his anger, "Come the finals, you'll find your young players as weak as lambs against the Celtics. So go ahead and laugh now, because soon you won't be able to." "Thank you for your well wishes, Phil," Karl laughed even more heartily, "That beats all the 'good luck' crap by far!" The SuperSonics took the Western Conference championship home. This was their team's fourth Western Conference title. However, the Western Conference title Payton and Kemp won in 1996 was overlooked because it was overshadowed by the Bulls' 72-win season. They were just a footnote in the other team's glorious history. In the eyes of the true SuperSonics fans, the Western Conference titles in 1978 and 1979 were what really mattered. Those were the years the SuperSonics transformed from a disrespected rubbish team to one that started building a solid fanbase locally. Outside Seattle's airport, a large crowd of fans came out to welcome the team. The SuperSonics, having advanced to the finals, had won the attention of the whole city. Now it wasn't just Seattle; the entire State of Washington's gaze was fixed upon them. They had become the center of Northwest sports. ``` At this point, The Celtics and The Bucks were tied with three games each in their series. The home court advantage belonged to The Celtics who could play the seventh game at North Shore Garden. The SuperSonics had already advanced, and they were waiting for the result from the Eastern Conference. Waiting was hard, but Seattle had waited long enough. The coaching staff of the SuperSonics anticipated their opponent in the finals would be The Celtics, so all their preparations so far had been with the Celtics in mind. The flow of people at the SuperSonics' training base, Furtado Center, continued to increase. Lately, the staff there could always see their boss Clay Bennett, who seemed to practically glide as he moved about. Bennett had every reason to be excited. Before he'd even begun the public financing campaign for the new stadium, his phone was ringing off the hook. He didn't need to put on a long face to find investment; being so popular, his current dilemma was deciding to whom he should give the investment opportunity. Warren Buffett and Ballmer had already taken the lion's share, and the remaining investment share needed to be used wisely. Then there was the recent performance of the SuperSonics. The regular season had already allowed the SuperSonics to reach the revenue standard of a large market—bringing in a hundred million US dollars. Yet playoff revenue was another matter entirely. With the hype escalating, the gimmicks multiplying, and the continued rise in attention, the SuperSonics, with the league's top star and a compelling story, became the darling of sponsors. Bennett was delighted just looking at the financial reports every day. Today, as he headed to the stadium, he found the team's chairman Lanny Wilkens watching the players train with a stern expression. Bennett approached and greeted him, "Lanny, why the long face?" "Mr. Bennett," Wilkens had all the qualities a boss could like—resilient, silent, smart, and efficient. But he had one flaw, candid to a fault. "We've won four Western championships, but the Furtado Center is decorated only with this year's Western championship banner." This was a case of "plans having changed." Originally, the SuperSonics were supposed to move, so elements that might evoke nostalgia shouldn't persist; thus, Bennett had all displays of the SuperSonics team history removed. "You make a good point, Lanny," Bennett said discontentedly. "This is Sam's problem; he's not thinking comprehensively enough. We, the SuperSonics, are a team with a glorious history; displaying only one banner makes it seem as if we have no history, as if we're like the Clippers, a team long cursed!" Listening to a lifelong Oklahoman say "we, the SuperSonics," was amusing to some extent. But Wilkens held back. He was not one to show his emotions easily. "You're not wrong, boss," Wilkens decided to agree. Bennett nodded in satisfaction, "Lanny, go on with your work then, I have some things to take care of." Bennett walked away but didn't go far. He looked around as if a king returning to his palace, pointing out the shortcomings of the Furtado Center while suggesting a renovation of the arena in the summer. To him, whether the SuperSonics won the championship no longer mattered. As a businessman, he had already made a fortune that year. After training ended, Yu Fei went to the sidelines for a massage from his personal trainer, Tim Grover. Wilkens stood nearby. "Lanny, I heard Clay was here?" Yu Fei asked. Wilkens answered tersely, "He should be back in his office by now." "Oh, I should find a chance to speak with him; our locker room's cabinets are too old," Yu Fei joked. "You know what? I heard that Cleveland custom-made a cabinet for LeBron with a TV, stereo, snacks, and books." Wilkens didn't respond. He failed to see the point of stuffing so many things into a wardrobe. Wasn't a wardrobe just for clothes? At that moment, Yu Fei's friend Lawson asked, "Lanny, I've been hearing people say that this year is like 1978 recently, you must know what that means, right?" "I only know the basics," Wilkens replied. "That year the league had 22 teams, and the SuperSonics were ranked 21st before the season started." "That's exactly right!" Lawson said. "Now there are 30 teams, and the SuperSonics were ranked 29th before this season." Wilkens added, "That year, we made it to the finals." "Exactly! And so did we," Lawson laughed. Wilkens, who did not understand humor, continued, "But, unfortunately, we lost." "Er..." Yu Fei, with a half-hearted smile, intervened, "It's time to end this discussion. We're nothing like the 1978 SuperSonics because we're going to win." Upon hearing that, Wilkens actually smiled. It was one of the rarest things about him. He was amused by the passage of time, by Yu Fei's youthful exuberance, but also by those irrevocable stories and people of the past. Thirty years had passed, and hardly anyone remembered how the SuperSonics' miracle had happened, how a rundown team transformed from the city's junk into its totem. Not all defeats are complete losses, some have meaningful purposes. But Wilkens knew that Frye would never understand that. Because he seldom lost. This was someone who considered victory a necessity of life. He came for the win, so he would never consider losing, let alone contemplate the beauty of defeat or the sweetness of success after repeated failures. Perhaps this was the fortune of contemporary Seattleites. They weren't going to lose. Wilkens thought to himself.