Chapter 113: The Calf's Surprise

At the start of the second quarter, Lin Fei simply did not take the court. Perhaps he hadn’t even fully warmed up during the first quarter before being subbed out. Yet, clearly, Coach Nelson’s strategy was to keep his strongest players ready for the crucial moments. With the Warriors already leading by double digits, it didn’t matter much; deploying the bench to hold the line was perfectly acceptable. From the perspective of endurance, these substitutes were still reliable, among whom Curry was undoubtedly the core. A player who deserved a starting spot on most teams in the league, Curry led the Warriors’ bench squad with extraordinary effort, continuously setting up assists from the outset of the second quarter. This was typical of the Warriors—once their morale surged, even the substitutes were unstoppable.

Carlisle had no choice but to rely heavily on his bench to hold the situation. No one knew what he had said to his players during the break after the first quarter, but in the second quarter, the Mavericks’ strategy was to fiercely control the tempo. Nearly every possession was stretched to the final five seconds, while the Warriors aimed to complete each attack in just five seconds.

The Mavericks’ approach was clearly to use slow play against fast. The Warriors did not slow down at all. Though the substitutes’ coordination was slightly less fluid, the pace and rhythm of the offense remained firmly in Curry’s hands, keeping their attacks sharp. The Mavericks played steadily, and by the midpoint of the second quarter, the game was nearly tied, though the Warriors still led by double digits.

This was an overwhelming advantage for the Warriors. The Mavericks were composed mostly of veteran players, lacking the speed to keep pace with the Warriors’ youthful roster. As the game demanded more stamina, the Mavericks found it increasingly difficult to maintain their intensity.

Consider the previous games: the Mavericks had easily handled their first-round opponents, while the Warriors fought through a grueling seven-game series filled with intense battles that completely drained their energy. Without sufficient rest, they were caught off guard by the Mavericks, who beat them decisively in the first game. The Warriors had performed respectably then, perhaps due to better rest—having had two days off to recover somewhat—making the defeat dignified. But the second game was a complete loss, with the players visibly fatigued during their runs. Coupled with Lin Fei’s suspension, the crushing defeat was understandable. However, after another two days of rest—by the third game—the Warriors had no excuse for lack of stamina and clearly held a significant endurance advantage.

The Mavericks’ slow play aimed both to ensure steadiness and to conserve energy. Facing a fast-paced team like the Warriors, preparing for a marathon was essential.

As the moment approached, Nelson signaled for Lin Fei to enter. With a sharp “pop,” Lin Fei sprang from the bench.

Every extra minute on the court meant an extra minute for Lin Fei to showcase his skills; every minute withheld meant a loss of the Warriors’ ultimate offensive power.

Amid applause reverent as a prayer, Lin Fei took the floor.

Now, Lin Fei was leading not the starting lineup but the true backup squad—no starters on the floor (Lin Fei himself was a substitute in this game). The Mavericks immediately spread out their formation.

They employed staggered defense—a tactic first tried by Thunder coach Scott Brooks—aimed at suppressing Lin Fei’s offense. Near the midcourt line, defenders lurked, ready to ambush. It felt like every possible measure was being used against Lin Fei. Throughout league history, only truly dominant centers like Chamberlain or Shaq have routinely warranted multiple defenders collapsing on them. For forwards and guards, even legends like Jordan, Kobe, Iverson, or McGrady rarely endured triple-team defense, and if they did, only fleetingly. Yet Carlisle seemed determined to completely stifle Lin Fei.

The Warriors pushed the ball forward, giving Lin Fei possession. He immediately surged ahead without pause. The Mavericks’ eyes locked onto him. At the midcourt line, Kidd stepped up aggressively, but Lin Fei executed a swift cross-over that left Kidd disoriented, easily bypassing him. However, just one step ahead, Terry blocked the path, spreading his arms wide—as if to say, “The ball may pass, but you shall not.” Lin Fei briefly paused, spinning around to reassess the court. Kidd, who had been beaten, was now back in chase, but Terry remained the primary defender. Lin Fei lingered near the midcourt, seemingly contemplating a pass. Yet Terry knew well that Lin Fei was coming straight at him and was determined to shut him down.

Lin Fei accelerated; Terry barely moved—not because he was slow, but because he expected Lin Fei’s next move to be anything but simple. Those who had defended Lin Fei before were accustomed to his dazzling cross-overs and rapid drives. When defenders lost focus, Lin Fei might resort to a single-step dribble move—simple yet effective—but with full attention, he preferred consecutive cross-overs to avoid contact and maintain rhythm.

This time, Terry misjudged. Lin Fei effortlessly slipped past him in a single step. Terry could only watch helplessly. Kidd immediately stepped in, closing the gap to barely half a meter. Lin Fei spun quickly, Terry closing in tightly. Seeing no passing options for his teammates, Lin Fei turned and jumped just past the midcourt line to shoot.

Everyone’s eyes widened in disbelief. Lin Fei had just attempted a highly difficult shot—dribbling past defenders, spinning, changing direction, jumping, and launching a fadeaway—from an extraordinary distance near midcourt. Most players would be proud to make such a shot near the three-point line or just inside it, but Lin Fei was attempting a deep three-pointer from near midcourt.

The ball’s trajectory was wild, grazing the rim before rolling out of bounds.

The Mavericks erupted in cheers. Finally, Lin Fei had missed! Finally, hope for victory emerged—a feeling they had never known. It was as if their team had just executed a game-winning shot or held off a last-second attempt by the opponent. Terry and Kidd even high-fived in celebration, lost in their joy.

Perhaps Lin Fei should have been taken out. As a professional, he shouldn’t have made such a basic mistake. He should have passed earlier—basketball was, after all, a five-player game, and as a point guard, he had to keep his teammates in mind constantly.

Yet Nelson showed no intention of substituting him.

Don’t expect him to be a god—he was human. After having made five shots in a row earlier, missing one now was only natural. But fans had grown accustomed to this player’s incredible shots and astonishing accuracy. The occasional improbable miss only added flavor, making the game more interesting.

The Mavericks’ jubilation stood in stark contrast to Lin Fei’s still stern expression. Perhaps the Mavericks had forgotten the real situation—they were still trailing by double digits, the game decidedly against them. Yet they celebrated a single missed shot by their opponent, seemingly oblivious to their own score. It was as if all they cared about was Lin Fei’s shooting, not their own standing. Maybe some elite defenders in the league did find joy in seeing their adversaries miss—like Battier, who said he felt immense joy when defending Kobe and seeing him miss. But for the entire Mavericks team to celebrate like this was incomprehensible.

After a long pause, the Mavericks finally inbounded the ball and resumed their offense.