Chapter Thirty-Five: Sitting on the Bench with Dreams

Lin Fei was utterly confused about his chance to participate in the NBA draft. He knew nothing—why he was noticed, who had recognized his talent, or what lay ahead for him. But confused or not, at least he now understood he had an opportunity to enter the NBA.

Experts analyzed this year’s draft, predicting Ridnour would likely be the first overall pick. When discussing Lin Fei, they forecasted he would be chosen early in the second round.

Lin Fei decided to go all in. At the very least, he was a near-NBA-level player. Even if he wasn’t selected, he could always return home, still a hero, still a hot commodity in domestic leagues.

As the draft progressed, David Stern announced the final pick of the first round, and Lin Fei’s name had yet to be called. Lin Fei felt a surge of excitement—his predicted spot was approaching. Yet, as names were announced one after another, by the fifty-ninth pick, most had lost interest. The last draft pick belonged to the Warriors, who had already selected a shooting guard. Everyone guessed they’d go for a big man, though few quality ones remained.

When David Stern finally called out “Lin Fei,” Lin Fei was overwhelmed with emotion, nearly moved to tears. Truthfully, he had already begun comforting himself. Many great players hadn’t entered the league through the draft—Ben Wallace, Brad Miller, Chuck Hayes—who could have guessed the final opportunity would bring forth his name? It felt like divine favor, and he was deeply moved. The crowd gasped in astonishment, for another Chinese player had been born on the NBA stage. Chinese fans have always been an indomitable force in world basketball.

The Warriors—wasn’t this the team coached by Nelson? The legendary coach of a thousand wins. He was renowned for unorthodox player utilization, for uncovering their potential. Few superstars emerged under his tutelage, but his coaching career was extraordinary, marred only by never winning a championship ring. Many dubbed him the “mad coach,” for his fast-paced, gorgeous style, his penchant for run-and-gun basketball, and his loose, player-friendly tactics.

Joining the team, Lin Fei was slated for the summer league, a stage for new players to hone their skills and where many top talents are born. Lin Fei was excited, but the outcome was far from ideal. Throughout the summer league, it was as if he were possessed—unable to perform to his standard. His speed, usually his forte, allowed him to run quickly, but he always faltered at the last step. Easy layups missed, his signature long-range shots failed to connect even once, and his shooting percentage was unbearable. Lin Fei kept wondering what was wrong: was it unfamiliarity with the court? Since arriving, he couldn’t find his rhythm.

Many predicted the Warriors would relegate Lin Fei to the development league. Lin Fei was aware of this. Yet, millions of fans supported him, for he carried a tag: “CHINA.” He arrived with the hopes and pride of a nation.

Opportunities for Lin Fei were scarce. The summer league had ended, and the preseason was imminent—a warm-up for the regular season. If Lin Fei failed to perform, he’d certainly be sent to the development league, as experts universally agreed. At that moment, a group of fans passionately urged him, “Return home! Build your dynasty!” Such slogans moved him deeply. Many might choose to return home, where they could forge their own glory, gain both fame and fortune. But in the NBA, he would have to endure greater pressure, be overlooked by coaches, suffer the fate of warming the bench, and endure hardships few could bear. Why bother?

But never forget—he was Lin Fei, the man who would never surrender. Had he given up, he wouldn’t have fought alongside his department team and the so-called varsity team to the last ball, until he could no longer stand; had he given up, he wouldn’t have gritted his teeth through the final seconds in the CUBA league; had he given up, Chen Zhiming would have entered the NBA instead, and perhaps the name “Lin Fei” would never appear on that stage. Lin Fei told himself: what’s the big deal? The patriarch Bodhidharma meditated for ten years before achieving enlightenment—I can endure a few seasons on the bench, and still move when it’s my turn. He never forgot to smile at himself. Ah, one of the hardest things in the world is being given plenty of money but not allowed to work. Gritting his teeth, he resolved to sit on that bench to the end. He refused to settle for the bench, but he had the determination to wear it out!

During the preseason, Lin Fei played for a dozen minutes each game, with many restrictions. Lin Fei was primarily assigned as a point guard. Although many believed there was little difference between a point guard and a playmaker, for Lin Fei, the distinction was vast. Previously, he was used to being the core, always holding the ball. Now, as the last substitute, his chances to touch the ball were very few. Some people panic without the ball in their hands—perhaps Lin Fei was one of them. Yet, even in those brief minutes, Lin Fei managed to contribute 8 points and 5 assists per game, suggesting he might escape the fate of being sent down. But this was only the first step.

When the regular season began, Lin Fei’s main task in the locker room was to fetch shoes for his teammates—a tradition in many teams. Usually, rookies are called upon to carry shoes, and some even become water bottle managers. This was an NBA tradition, incomprehensible to many Chinese, but still a culture Lin Fei needed to grow within.

Lin Fei’s first game was one where the Warriors trailed by 25 points in the final quarter. He played according to the coach’s instructions, diligently organizing the offense, but none of his passes resulted in direct scores. On the court, he seemed trapped by a shooting curse—taking six shots in five minutes and missing them all. His final stat line read: 0 points, 0 rebounds, 0 assists, 0 blocks, 0 steals, 0 turnovers, 0 fouls—a stat line fit to fry egg rice. Afterward, Lin Fei tried to calm himself.

His second game came when his team led by 20 points with three minutes left. This time, Lin Fei played more freely, sprinting onto the court, only to have his layup blocked. With three seconds left, the opponents scored, giving the Warriors three seconds for a final play. Lin Fei held the ball, raced past midcourt, jumped, and shot. No one bothered to defend—there was no point, as the outcome was already decided. Yet for Lin Fei, those three seconds mattered. He took the shot from midcourt—a long-range three-pointer—and it went in. No one noticed, as there was no defense and no bearing on the result, but for Lin Fei, it was his first NBA points.

Afterward, Lin Fei rarely saw playing time. Perhaps, as many said, he remained with the team thanks to his Chinese identity, his commercial value keeping him on the NBA stage. Amid such voices, Lin Fei persisted, persisted, and persisted again—always believing he would eventually break through, for fate would be fair.

Until he scored 28 points in three minutes...

Thinking of all this, Lin Fei’s tears blurred his vision. Have you watched “Old Boy”? If you have, you’ll understand.