Chapter 147: The Locker Room

"Hey, man, pass the ball, understand? I had at least ten wide-open opportunities, and if you had just passed it over, the game would basically be over by now."

"Shut up, Ricardo. Your three-pointers are worse than shit. Even if I passed it to James, I wouldn't pass it to you."

No sooner had they returned to the locker room for halftime than Robert Lee found himself under attack by his teammate Ricardo Lance. Yet, Robert could not care less about this Hispanic perimeter player with merely a quarter of Chinese ancestry. In Robert's eyes, Ricardo Lance's greatest talent was undoubtedly his mouth.

The main reason Ricardo Lance managed to secure a spot on the North American Chinese Youth Team was that his maternal grandfather happened to be the primary sponsor of the North American youth squad. Among the old man's grandchildren, Ricardo Lance was the only boy, and Ricardo also hoped to use this opportunity to see if he could land a basketball-related job back in the Republic, seeing as he was, after all, a young man deeply passionate about basketball.

"Li Ran, I've told you many times, don't call me James. My name is Zhu Guoqing."

Just as Robert Lee and Ricardo Lance were still bickering, a black player of roughly Robert's height spoke up suddenly.

Compared to Robert Lee, who was "yellow on the outside and white on the inside," James Sales—or rather, the young man who much preferred to be called Zhu Guoqing—could genuinely be considered a true Chinese.

Zhu Guoqing was raised in a single-parent household. He had never laid eyes on his African-American father, and had been brought up solely by his mother, Zhu Junlan, since he was a child.

Although raised in North America, Zhu Guoqing had always held a deep affection for that ancient Eastern country far across the ocean, because the people who came from that land made him feel love and kindness, whereas those around him, regardless of whether their skin was white or black, offered him nothing but discrimination and insult.

Consequently, Zhu Guoqing studied Mandarin diligently, even though very few people around him could converse in it. Even though his official documents read James Sales, he consistently insisted that those familiar with him call him Zhu Guoqing—a name he had actually chosen for himself, as he was born on the Republic's National Day.

The reason Robert Lee brought up Zhu Guoqing was actually because Zhu Guoqing was the sole "quasi-professional player" on their team. Having similarly played in the North American collegiate league, Zhu Guoqing—otherwise known as James Sales—had been selected 19th overall in the second round of this year's NBA draft, making his prospects practically boundless.

Robert Lee harbored a mixture of envy, jealousy, and resentment toward Zhu Guoqing: he envied the other's dark skin, grew jealous that the other had been picked by an NBA team, and resented the fact that someone would actually pass up an NBA team's preseason games for some National Games tournament that, in his view, was merely a reluctant obligation.

Zhu Guoqing was viewed by North American youth team head coach Gao Ming as the team's secondary core. Although Zhu Guoqing could already be regarded as a "quasi-professional player," his style did not quite suit Gao Ming's tactical blueprint. This black youth, prized by NBA teams for his running ability and catch-and-shoot prowess, served as little more than a steady scoring option in Gao Ming's tactics, holding no other significant utility.

"Quiet. Whoever speaks another word won't play in the second half."

The relatively young Gao Ming cared deeply about team discipline. To lend greater authority to his words, he frequently restricted the players from speaking while he was laying out tactics.

"In the first half, the opponents' scoring outside the three-second zone accounted for eighty-six percent of their total points, three-pointers accounted for thirty-two percent of their total points, and perimeter shot attempts made up seventy-five percent of all field goal attempts. Anyone who has studied basic math can draw the conclusion that our perimeter defense is unsuccessful, and the pressure we put on their shooting is far too small."

It was Gao Ming's signature data-driven tactical analysis. Though it sounded somewhat abstract at first, upon careful reflection, it was actually quite clear.

"On the offensive end, our interior scoring exceeded sixty percent of the total points, and interior shot attempts accounted for sixty-nine percent of total attempts. Li Ran, your efficiency has dropped. The opponents do not play with the style we've encountered previously; in the second half, you need to reduce your shot attempts and pay attention to your movement on the perimeter."

Hearing the head coach's words, Robert Lee curled his lips in low-spirited frustration, while Ricardo at his side wore a self-satisfied smile.

"We lost the rebounding battle by six. And this was just the half. The rebounds secured by a single opposing interior player, Hawul, amounted to roughly seventy percent of our total rebounds. In the second half, attention must be paid to protecting and fighting for rebounds. Li Ran, that is your job."

"Compared to our average number of offensive and defensive possessions per half in past games, this game's first half was four possessions higher than average. The game's pace is faster than usual, which does not align with our pre-match arrangements. In the second half, attention must be paid to controlling the tempo."

"Zhu Guoqing, your running distance is decreasing, which indicates your low level of engagement in this match. Compared to the sacrifices you've made for this tournament, this is hardly worth it. If you don't want to win, tell me now, and I'll arrange for you to sit on the bench."

Gao Ming's words were devoid of emotion, sounding precisely like synthesized electronic speech from a computer. Yet the content compelled the players to sharpen their focus, for each of them knew how ruthless this ice-cold head coach truly was. He had even expelled the team's original and sole professional player—a genuine NBA professional at that—during the initial formation of the squad, even though that Chinese-American player named Steve Chen had merely been a towel-waving benchwarmer for the Los Angeles Lightning.

"The same adage applies: obey my tactics, follow my arrangements. I don't need sudden bursts of individual brilliance from you; I only require you to play a disciplined, standardized game. Winning is your glory; losing is my mistake. That is all."

As chillingly detached and as ruthlessly succinct as ever, Gao Ming's remarks left the players of the North American youth team feeling somewhat disgruntled, yet these youngsters simultaneously set aside their psychological burdens. Compared to Wang Lei's approach, Gao Ming's methods, however abrasive they might appear on the surface, possessed an inherent cleverness.

In sharp contrast to the atmosphere within the North American youth team's locker room, the locker room of the Frontier youth team was infinitely more animated. Even though this was already the final showdown, Wang Lei still gave his players the freedom to express their own interpretations of the game.

"The opposing players have an intense desire to block shots, and they jump very easily—perhaps because they are far too confident in their leaping ability. I feel we could try incorporating more head-fakes and body movements, though there's certainly a chance they might still contest us."

Hawul's remarks during usual team meetings were often somewhat unreliable, but today he actually brought up a rather perceptive point, having keenly observed the opponents' tendencies.