Chapter Sixty-One: Spiritual Awakening

The voting for the All-Star game was in full swing, but the competition was escalating, especially in the Western Conference, where the battle among the top eight teams was nearing the fiercest in history. The Lakers, Spurs, and Mavericks formed the first tier, while the Warriors, Thunder, Grizzlies, Trail Blazers, Hornets, Rockets, Nuggets, and Suns made up the second tier. The difference in wins between the Warriors and the Suns was only about three, with six other teams sandwiched in between. Although the Warriors had beaten the Grizzlies, in this second-tier competition, a moment’s lapse could drop them all the way to tenth in the West.

Despite their victory over the Grizzlies, Coach Nelson was gradually realizing the team’s problems. Nearly forty games into the season, the players were visibly fatigued. Even with Nelson’s efforts to rotate the lineup, his starters were still running far more than the league average, their offensive possessions too numerous to count. This was Nelson’s most vexing issue: the relentless pace was draining his players’ energy, and declining stamina often led to the most dreaded word of all—injury. Injuries had destroyed countless promising careers and championship dreams; Nelson’s anxiety for the team’s future was not unfounded.

Tired as they were, the Warriors refused to stop running on the court. In their next game, the Rockets were set to face the Nets on the road. The Nets boasted Deron Williams, whose strong physique was a challenge for any point guard. Many considered Deron the league’s true top point guard; his exceptional athleticism allowed him to orchestrate the offense with ease, keeping everything in order. Even Deron himself had boldly claimed to be the best point guard in the league, and his arrogance was justified by his stellar stats. Whenever he faced guards like Chris Paul or Steve Nash, he would dominate them effortlessly.

Against the Nets, the Warriors had the advantage in lineup, but the highlight of the match would surely be the battle between the point guards. Deron would likely match up more with Curry, but many were eagerly anticipating a direct clash between Deron and Lin Fei—a contest between a physically gifted point guard and one whose speed was unparalleled. Such a duel promised sparks.

When Lin Fei attacked, he relied on his speed to shake off defenders, seldom giving them a chance for physical contact. Coupled with his deep shooting range, many believed Lin Fei was the most difficult point guard to defend in the league. Deron, on the other hand, was a point guard who played with his body—he would muscle his way past the three-point line, find his moment to shoot or pass, or draw a defender’s foul. In fact, Deron was the player Lin Fei least liked to defend.

Deron, an All-Star caliber player, was eager to seize the chance to shine in the second phase of the All-Star voting contest.

Before tip-off, Coach Nelson reminded his players to pay special attention to help defense on Deron and double-teaming their center, Lopez.

With raucous applause, the game began.

Deron dribbled the ball, facing Curry. Against guards like this, Deron was always confident. He easily dribbled past Curry, changed direction, and finished with a layup. Although he looked a bit heavy, his movement was surprisingly light when attacking the basket.

It was the Warriors’ turn to attack, and as usual, they played fast. Curry’s speed was not much greater than Deron’s, but with a cohort of teammates sprinting, their quick style was fully on display. As Curry brought the ball to the three-point line, Aix and Keynes were already positioned at the forty-five-degree marks. Curry and Deron were both in motion; Curry passed to Aix, who stopped abruptly and nailed a jump shot. The play looked effortless, but only those on the court knew how exhausting it was—every second demanded focus on the defense, and even your own running path and speed required careful study.

On defense, Deron was again in control. The Nets’ powerful center, Lopez, was not to be wasted. Deron didn’t try to break through himself; instead, he passed to Lopez, who had his back to the basket. Defended by Claudson, Lopez—young and strong, steps sure—took two dribbles, spun, and hooked the ball in. Shockingly, no Warriors player came over to help; such a glaring gap, and Nelson hadn’t noticed.

The Warriors inbounded, Curry passed to Claudson, who returned it, and Curry pushed up the court. Deron, now more alert, used his body to block Curry’s path, neutralizing his speed. Curry passed to Jobbs, and the Nets had time to set their defense.

Nelson’s usual strategy here was to attack inside—the Warriors’ frontcourt was highly agile: Claudson was mobile, Jobbs was an agile power forward, and Aix was versatile. When the Warriors couldn’t push the pace, they would rely more on interior tactics, though most of their scoring still came in transition. Their set plays for post offense were essential but secondary.

Jobbs and Aix moved along the baseline while Claudson tangled with Lopez at the free-throw line. Curry dribbled and directed traffic; Jobbs cut, his defender lagged, he caught the ball, spun, and scored. Simple as it seemed.

Nelson had long emphasized that even when the fast break couldn’t be executed, all five players must keep moving off the ball. While a superstar point guard could orchestrate beautifully, the opportunities created by one player could never match those generated by five.

Many experts claimed that playing under Nelson was perfect for padding stats. Look at the Warriors: Curry averaged 13 points and 7 assists; Keynes with 10 points, 5 rebounds, 2 assists, and 1.3 steals; Aix with 17 points, 5 rebounds, 5 assists; Jobbs with 20 points, 10 rebounds, 2 assists; Claudson with 9 points; and Lin Fei averaging a remarkable 29 points. The numbers were intimidating, and Nelson’s task was to integrate them for maximum effect. The Warriors’ strategy was a testament to this: relentless pace, every player required to attack with the ball, supported by a competent point guard. When the defense was set, they intensified off-ball movement and used their playmaking to keep the offense flowing smoothly. The Warriors’ philosophy was about the big picture—it was like fishing: you could catch a single fish precisely, but casting a wide net gave you a far better chance.

Suddenly, the Warriors missed four shots in a row—a peril for a team dependent on speed and shooting, but the Nets seized the opportunity and scored ten straight points, widening the gap.

Nelson brought in Lin Fei to match up with Deron. Deron was delighted, thinking to himself, “This is exactly the kind of guard I love to face, ha, everyone knows.”

Lin Fei, sizing up Deron’s physique, felt a bit uneasy.

Deron dribbled, Lin Fei defended at the arc. Deron smiled, turned, and backed down Lin Fei, bumping him until Lin Fei was forced back several steps. Keynes came to help, but the Warriors’ rotation was too slow; Deron passed, and his teammate scored.

Lin Fei brought the ball up and launched a signature jumper from midcourt—missed. The Nets grabbed the rebound, sent a long pass to Deron, who powered his way past Lin Fei for the layup. Lin Fei could only smile wryly.

Lin Fei bit his lip, accelerated to the frontcourt, leaving Deron behind, but missed the layup. It echoed the common wisdom: no one can maintain a hot hand forever. Lin Fei’s shooting had been smooth for dozens of games, but tonight wasn’t his night.

Deron, now on the perimeter, dribbled and lightly bumped Lin Fei before calmly sinking a three-pointer—like no defender was present.

Lin Fei grew anxious, quickly dribbled past half court, launched a drifting three—missed again. Luckily, a teammate grabbed the offensive rebound and passed back; Lin Fei, without hesitation, shot—still no luck. He shook his head.

Nelson, exasperated, pulled Lin Fei off the court after only a few minutes, during which he’d dominated the shot attempts and failed to close the gap—in fact, it had widened.

Deron was elated. The league’s fastest, most accurate, most explosive scoring guard had been benched after just a few possessions.

Nelson’s decision to substitute Lin Fei was a cautious one—he couldn’t let the deficit grow. Lin Fei disrupted the team’s rhythm; when he couldn’t score, neither could the team.

Lin Fei was frustrated—why was his touch so off tonight?

After Lin Fei left the court, the team finally steadied itself. The gap, now in the teens, didn’t expand further, but it was still a problem.

Even against Curry, Deron was able to carve through the Warriors’ defense, but now the Warriors’ offense was clicking.

What to do? The gap was so large! Nelson was anxious. Losing to a strong team was one thing, but to be dismantled by a perennial bottom-dweller? In the NBA, there are no weak teams, but this was hard to swallow.

Nelson urged his starters: “Speed, speed, speed!” During a Warriors fast break, every player sprinted; Keynes led the pack, Curry delivered a quick diagonal pass that flew just past Keynes, who dove desperately, nearly parallel to the floor, but the ball went out of bounds—Keynes ended up far beyond the baseline.

Losing possession, Nelson should have been frustrated, but instead, his eyes lit up.

He called another timeout and addressed his players: “I’ve always said, all martial arts are invincible, only speed is undefeated. But what is speed? No matter how fast a player is, he can’t outrun the ball. Keynes’s failed save just proved it—he ran as fast as he could, but still couldn’t catch up. Why? Because the ball is always faster than the person. I’ve told you to work on your ball-handling, but now, I want you to pass the ball at full speed while running, ensure the ball gets to the frontcourt and the basket as quickly as possible!” Nelson was as excited as if he’d won the lottery.

The Warriors players were a bit bewildered, but also somewhat enlightened.

The game continued!