hotmtlnovel Chapter 47 Game 4 Showdown! The Spurs' Desperate Comeback
Chapter 47 Game 4 Showdown! The Spurs' Desperate Comeback
The boos at the AT&T Center came like ice-cold knives, raining down from the players' tunnel.
San Antonio fans held up signs that read "End the Internet Celebrity Miracle" and "Send the Warriors Back to Oakland to Eat Canned Peaches," turning the arena into a sea of silver-gray. Popovich, wearing his signature gray suit, stood on the sidelines with his arms crossed, his face devoid of any smile—the game-winning shot in Game 3 had made the veteran coach completely abandon all his contempt, and he had worked through the night to devise an ultimate defensive tactic specifically targeting Lin Hao's ankle injury.
"Listen up, everyone," Popovich said, tapping the whiteboard, his voice as cold as ice. "Keep a tight press on Lin Hao the whole court. Double-team him as soon as he crosses half-court to force him to pass. Duncan will be camped in the paint the whole time, cutting off his passing lanes. Everyone else, let him shoot but don't let him drive. He has an ankle injury and can't go all out on his drives."
In the Warriors' locker room, Lin Hao sat in a chair, having the team doctor wrap a thick bandage around his ankle. The cool ointment seeped into his skin, sending waves of stinging pain through him. He looked down at his left ankle, which was swollen like a bun, and gently pressed it with his fingertips, gasping in pain.
"Lin, you really can't play anymore." The team doctor's voice was pleading. "You played 44 minutes with an injury in Game 3. If you keep pushing yourself like this, you'll really suffer permanent injuries!"
Lin Hao didn't speak, but simply unscrewed a can of yellow peaches, forked off the largest piece of peach, and popped it into his mouth. The sweet juice slid down his throat, suppressing the excruciating pain. He looked up at his teammates who had gathered around him, his words carrying an undeniable tenacity: "What are you afraid of? There's no reason to desert in the face of battle. It's just an ankle ache, right? Just grit your teeth and it'll pass."
Richardson clenched his fists, his eyes red-rimmed: "Canned Food Bro, it's all my fault. If I had scored just one more goal in Game 3, you wouldn't have had to play until you cramped up. Don't worry about this game, I'll definitely make up for all the points we dropped before!"
"Yes! Let's fight them!" His teammates echoed, their eyes blazing with fury.
The tip-off blew, and Duncan easily won the jump ball. The Spurs' first possession went straight to the paint. Duncan, facing Dampier's defense, turned and hit a jump shot, opening the curtain on the decisive battle.
Sure enough, Popovich's tactics immediately took effect. As soon as Lin Hao received the ball, two Spurs players would rush to double-team him, their arms tightly around his waist, preventing him from turning or driving to the basket. Duncan, on the other hand, stood like a mountain in the paint, cutting off all connection between Lin Hao and the inside game.
Lin Hao dared not exert any force with his ankle, and could only rely on upper body feints when changing direction, making him a full beat slower than usual. In the first three quarters, he had almost no decent breakthrough opportunities, and could only barely pass the ball to his teammates on the perimeter. However, the Warriors' role players collectively lost their accuracy under the Spurs' high-pressure defense, missing all eight of their open three-point attempts.
The gap widened further, and by the end of the second quarter, the Warriors were down by 15 points. Midway through the third quarter, Ginobili made a killer layup, extending the lead to 18 points.
The cheers at the AT&T Center were deafening. Spurs fans stood up and chanted "Sweep!" towards the Warriors' bench. On the sidelines, Zhang Qingying clenched her fists, her nails digging deep into her palms, tears welling in her eyes. Zhao Dabao stamped his feet anxiously, repeatedly chanting, "Go Haozi! Go Haozi!"
At the end of the third quarter, the Warriors trailed 62-80 by 18 points.
The locker room was deathly silent; no one spoke, only heavy breathing filled the air. Lin Hao sat in the corner, tightening the bandage around his ankle, cold sweat streaming down his face.
He picked up the tactics board and quickly drew on it with a marker, his voice hoarse but firm: "Don't hang your heads. 18 points is nothing. In the fourth quarter, their stamina will definitely drop, so we'll match their speed and play transition offense."
"I'll handle the ball and draw double teams. You guys run off-ball, and if you're open, take the shot. If you miss, it's on me; I'll grab the rebound."
He looked up, his gaze sweeping over each of his teammates: "Remember, we're not here to fill a spot. We're here to create a Cinderella story!"
Lin Hao became a completely different person at the start of the fourth quarter.
He no longer focused solely on driving to the basket, but instead used changes in rhythm and off-ball movement to create space for his shots. Using a teammate's screen, he circled to the top of the key to receive the ball, and facing Bowen's block attempt, drained a three-pointer!
This shot was like igniting the fuse for the Warriors.
Immediately afterwards, he intercepted Parker's pass and launched a fast break into the frontcourt. Although the stinging pain in his ankle prevented him from dunking, he still managed to score with a light and easy layup.
"Stop him!" Popovich was jumping up and down in frustration on the sidelines, yelling at his players.
But it was too late. Lin Hao's shooting touch was on fire; three-pointers, pull-up mid-range jumpers, post-up moves—he unleashed his full range of skills. Even though he grimaced in pain every time he landed, he didn't back down. In that single quarter, he went 7-for-9 from the field, 2-for-3 from three-point range, and 2-for-2 from the free-throw line, racking up 18 points and single-handedly leading the Warriors on a 20-5 run.
With 10 seconds left in the game, the Spurs led 92-91 by one point, and the Warriors had possession of the ball.
The entire audience stood up and held their breath.
Lin Hao received the ball at the top of the arc and was immediately double-teamed by Duncan and Bowen. He glanced around and saw Richardson completely open in the corner. Without hesitation, he flicked his wrist and delivered a precise bounce pass that went through the Spurs' defense and into Richardson's hands.
Richardson received the ball, adjusted his breathing, and raised his hand to shoot.
Everyone's eyes were fixed on the basketball in the air.
The basketball spun three times on the rim and then bounced out!
"Clang!"
The basketball bounced off the front of the rim. Duncan leaped high and grabbed the defensive rebound.
The final buzzer sounded, and the score was 92-91, with the Spurs narrowly defeating the Warriors by one point, tying the series 2-2!
The AT&T Center erupted in wild celebration, while the Warriors players collapsed to the floor. Richardson, head in his hands, sobbed uncontrollably, "It's all my fault! It's all my fault! If I had made that shot, we would have won!"
Lin Hao limped over, patted him on the shoulder, and said with a smile, "Why are you crying? It's just one loss. There's still a best-of-five series. This ball wasn't your fault; it was my pass that wasn't good enough."
He looked up at Popovich on the sidelines, their eyes meeting in mid-air. Popovich nodded at him and said to the reporter beside him, "Lin Hao is the most determined player I've ever seen. Even with an injury, he can carry the team on his shoulders. Such an opponent deserves respect."
Back in the locker room, Lin Hao had just sat down when the team doctor walked in with the examination report, his face grave: "Lin, your ankle ligament injury has worsened. If you play in the next game, you'll be out for the rest of the season!"
Lin Hao looked at his swollen, shiny ankle, remained silent for a few seconds, then raised his head with an unwavering gaze: "Give me a pain-relieving injection."
"What?!" The team doctor nearly jumped up in shock. "Giving injections can damage nerves! Are you crazy?"
"I'm not crazy," Lin Hao said, emphasizing each word. "This is the closest we've ever come to a Game 8 upset. Even if it costs me my leg, I'll still finish Game 5."
After he finished speaking, the locker room fell silent. His teammates looked at Lin Hao's retreating figure with eyes full of admiration.
Outside the window, the night in San Antonio was deep. The smoke of the decisive Game 5 battle had already quietly begun to rise.