78: A one-man team

The timeout ended, and the players from both teams returned to the court.

The face of Clippers head coach Del Negro was filled with irritation and helplessness.

He had finally made a decision.

A defensive tactic that was highly targeted but also extremely risky on a professional stage.

BOX-1.

One-man man-to-man, four-man zone defense.

The Clippers' defensive specialist, Matt Barnes, was like a piece of sticky plaster, clinging tightly to Lin Feng's side, never leaving him for a second.

He had only one task: to use every means possible to prevent Lin Feng from receiving the ball.

Meanwhile, the other four Clippers players formed a rectangular zone defense below the free-throw line, protecting the restricted area and ready to provide help defense at any time.

The goal of this tactic was clear.

It was to completely sever Lin Feng from the Lakers' offensive system.

To force the Lakers back into being that chaotic team where everyone played for themselves.

The Lakers' ball was inbounded.

Steve Nash held the ball, his brow furrowed as he looked at the Clippers' defensive formation in front of him.

He couldn't find a single crack to pass the ball to Lin Feng.

Barnes' defense was like an iron cage, locking Lin Feng in place.

What to do?

D'Antoni paced anxiously on the sidelines, but he was helpless.

This extreme level of individual targeting was almost unsolvable.

However, Lin Feng, 'imprisoned' in the iron cage, didn't have the slightest hint of impatience on his face.

His Eye of the Heavenly Emperor was already active.

In his eyes, the Clippers' BOX-1 tactic was full of holes.

The four-man zone defense appeared tight, but the rotations and movements between players would inevitably create time gaps.

And those time gaps were fatal flaws that could be exploited.

He didn't even need to hold the ball.

"Pau."

Lin Feng's voice suddenly rang out in the noisy arena, clearly reaching the ears of every Lakers player.

"In three seconds, back-cut from the baseline."

Pau Gasol, who was setting a screen for a teammate at the high post, stiffened for a moment.

What?

Back-cut from the baseline?

Wouldn't that be running straight into the Clippers' defensive trap?

He subconsciously looked at Nash, then at D'Antoni on the sidelines.

But Nash and D'Antoni also looked bewildered.

This wasn't a play they had drawn up.

"Listen to him!"

Kobe, standing on the sidelines, suddenly stood up and roared at the court.

Gasol's heart instantly settled.

He chose to believe.

To believe in the teammate who had just performed a miracle, to believe in the man who even Kobe was impressed by.

He counted down in his head.

Three.

Two.

One!

Now!

Gasol spun suddenly, abandoned the screen, and like a white flash, charged toward the baseline before making a sharp turn and back-cutting toward the basket!

Almost at the exact moment he started his move,

the basketball in Nash's hands was released.

The passing master had also chosen unconditional trust!

The basketball sailed over the heads of the Clippers' defenders, tracing a precise arc.

The Clippers' zone defense was instantly thrown into chaos by this unexpected movement.

DeAndre Jordan hurriedly turned to help defend.

But it was too late.

Gasol reached the rim, leaped high, caught the pass perfectly, and gave it a soft touch in mid-air.

The ball went in.

Another easy score.

Gasol landed, looked at his hands, then turned to look at Lin Feng in the distance, who was still being tightly shadowed by Barnes.

His eyes were filled with disbelief.

The timing, the positioning, the pass, the cut... everything was just right, as if it had been practiced thousands of times.

But this was clearly just an improvised command from Lin Feng!

The Clippers' offense, under Lin Feng's direction, once again came up empty.

Possession returned to the Lakers.

Lin Feng was still being shadowed by Barnes, unable to even touch the ball.

But like a ghost overlooking the battlefield from the clouds, he issued another command.

"Nick, go to the forty-five-degree mark on the left."

His voice was calm and clear.

"Get ready to receive the ball; your defender is going to slip."

Nick Young, who was running his route, heard this.

As the most eccentric player on the team, he had always only trusted the ball in his own hands.

To have him listen to a rookie's commands?

He felt a bit dismissive in his heart.

But Gasol's score just now made him hesitate.

During that half-second of hesitation,

Kobe's roar came from the sidelines again.

"Nick! Do as he says!"

Nick Young shuddered, didn't dare think further, and immediately ran to the position Lin Feng had designated.

Jamal Crawford, who was defending him, followed closely behind.

In his haste to catch up to Nick Young, Crawford's footsteps were a bit rushed.

Nash's pass arrived right on time.

Nick Young caught the ball steadily at the forty-five-degree mark.

Crawford hurriedly tried to brake and lunge forward to defend.

However, because he exerted too much force, his feet suddenly slipped.

Thud!

Crawford, once again, fell to the ground in a pathetic heap.

The space in front of Nick Young was instantly wide open, with no one in sight!

He even had time to adjust his shooting form before calmly jumping and releasing the shot.

Swish!

A three-pointer!

After the shot, Nick Young didn't perform his signature celebration.

He stood there blankly, looking at his hands, then at Crawford on the ground, and finally, his gaze fell on Lin Feng, who hadn't even touched the ball.

He really... slipped?

How did he know?

The commentators on the sidelines had gone completely wild.

"My God! What is going on?"

"Lin Feng didn't even touch the ball! He just said two sentences, and the Lakers easily scored two baskets!"

"The Clippers' BOX-1 tactic has become a complete joke! They can guard Lin Feng's body, but they can't guard his voice!"

The other commentator added in a trembling tone,

"This doesn't feel like a basketball game! It's like the Lakers are performing a public tactical drill!"

"Lin Feng isn't playing basketball; he's writing an unbreakable offensive program!"

"And the other Lakers players are the machines executing this code! Precise, efficient, and deadly!"

The Clippers' morale was collapsing at a visible rate.

Their proud 'Lob City' had also been completely silenced under Lin Feng's command.

Chris Paul tried once more to set up an alley-oop with Griffin.

He had made his intentions subtle enough.

But the moment the ball left his hand,

Lin Feng's voice rang out on the Lakers' half of the court like a curse.

"Sacre, to the rim!"

"Griffin is going for the alley-oop!"

Robert Sacre, who was supposed to be defending near the free-throw line, didn't even think when he heard the command; he immediately turned and charged toward the rim.

He didn't even look to see where the ball was.

He was simply executing an order.

When Blake Griffin soared high from the crowd like a beast, prepared to ravage the rim in mid-air,

what he saw wasn't an empty basket.

Instead, it was a smiling, almost simple-looking face.

Robert Sacre was already standing under the rim with his arms wide open, as if waiting for a long-lost friend.

He jumped easily and, in mid-air, steadily plucked away Paul's pass, which should have been a Top 10 play.

Interception successful!

Griffin landed heavily on the ground, his mind a total blank.

Humiliation, anger, confusion... all sorts of emotions flooded his heart.

He suddenly lunged at Sacre and shoved him hard with his chest.

"How the fuck were you there!"

Sacre was knocked back a step, but he wasn't afraid.

Having been 'blessed' by Lin Feng, his confidence was currently through the roof.

He also slammed back hard with his chest.

"This is Staples! This is my house!"

The two were instantly entangled, pushing each other and spewing trash talk.

The referee's whistle blew just in time to separate them.

A small conflict had erupted.

Lin Feng, who had triggered all of this, was just standing far away in the backcourt.

He watched the chaotic scene coldly, his eyes showing no emotion.

It was as if he were watching a dull farce that had nothing to do with him.

Chris Paul watched all this, his hands and feet feeling cold.

He felt like the basketball worldview he had built was being cruelly crushed, piece by piece, by that Easterner.

No!

This cannot go on!

He was Chris Paul! The league's number one point guard! The 'god of point guards'!

He could not accept being completely defeated by a rookie in such an inconceivable way!

After both sides finished the technical free throws resulting from the conflict,

Paul took the ball from the referee.

He waved to his teammates, signaling them all to clear out.

Then, he dribbled the ball, step by step, until he was in front of Lin Feng.

His eyes burned with a fire like never before.

"Come on."

Paul stared intently at Lin Feng, squeezing out the words from between his teeth.

"Let's see if you can predict this!"

Before his voice even faded, he moved!

Between the legs, behind the back, a 'Hesitation move' hesitation, a sudden stop, followed by a dazzling Shammgod!

A series of top-tier, flashy ball-handling skills were executed fluidly in his hands.

The entire Staples Center held its breath!

This was a proud display of skill belonging to the god of point guards!

However,

in Lin Feng's vision,

Chris Paul's lightning-fast movements were decomposed into countless slow-motion frames.

Every bounce trajectory of the basketball.

Every tiny shift in his center of gravity.

Every contraction of his ankle and knee muscles before exerting force.

Everything was clearly and slowly presented within his Eye of the Heavenly Emperor.

This dazzling display was as slow as a clumsy pantomime.