aircannonsinc Chapter 2 You Know Nothing About Talent 1
Chapter 2 You Know Nothing About Talent 1
时间：2008年4月8日，晚10:30
Location: Alamo Dome, University of Memphis locker room
Champagne sprayed into the air like free tap water, mixing with the smell of male hormones and sweat, making the air frenzied.
"We are the champions! We are the damn champions!"
Chris Douglas-Roberts was standing on the bench, swinging a net that had been torn from somewhere like a madman. In the corner, Derrick Rose, who had just won the Most Outstanding Player award, was clutching the gleaming gold trophy, burying his face in a towel, his shoulders shaking, crying like a child who had lost his candy.
For Ross, it was a very heavy night. He almost became a sinner, but it was the "madman" who came on at the last moment who pulled him back from the brink.
However, the locker room door was violently pushed open.
The cameras and microphones that should have been surrounding Rose and Coach Calipari now swarmed around him like a group of sharks that had smelled blood, ignoring the hottest number one draft pick and all rushing to that corner of the locker room.
There, Li Xiangbei calmly wiped the champagne off his hair with a towel, holding a bottle of Gatorade in his hand, his expression serene.
"Li! Li! Over here!"
"Was that logo shot a bluff?"
How dare you vote back then?
The microphone was practically shoved into Li Xiangbei's nostril.
Coach Calipari had straightened his suit, ready to give his remarks, but then realized the reporters had all fled. He could only awkwardly rub his nose and give the only local reporter beside him a wry smile: "Lee? Uh… to be honest, just yesterday, I even had to look at the roster to remember his full name. But after today? If my wife agrees, I'll tattoo his name on my back, right below 'God'."
In the center of the crowd, Li Xiangbei picked up a bottle of champagne, but instead of drinking it, he gurgled it twice in his mouth like he was rinsing his mouth, then turned around and spat it into the trash can.
"Ugh, this tastes awful."
He turned around to face Andy Katz, the star reporter from ESPN.
"Li, that was the craziest 58 seconds in NCAA history! The whole world wants to know, when you were down by 12 points, what were you thinking? Were you praying to God?" Katz asked excitedly.
Li Xiangbei raised an eyebrow.
"Pray? No, Andy." Li Xiangbei pointed towards the Kansas locker room next door. "The Kansas people should be praying, praying that I don't have to come on in the 39th minute."
"As for what I was thinking..." Li Xiangbei paused, "I was thinking that the game was ending too slowly, and the barbecue restaurants in San Antonio only seem to be open until 11 o'clock. I'm going to miss it."
The entire audience erupted in uproar. Insane! Absolutely insane!
But that wasn't all. Katz, clearly a master of stirring things up, immediately threw out that pointed question: "So, Derrick Rose scored 18 points, while you only played 58 seconds but scored 15. Who do you think is the real hero tonight?"
This is a trap. Admitting to being a hero can seem disrespectful to the leader, while humility can seem hypocritical.
Just then, Ross, his eyes red from crying, walked over and wanted to give Li Xiangbei a hug.
Li Xiangbei naturally reached out and put his arm around Rose's broad shoulder—although he was thinner than Rose, his presence completely overwhelmed the future youngest NBA MVP.
"It's very simple."
Li Xiangbei patted Ross on the shoulder, facing the camera, and said matter-of-factly, "Derek is a hardworking and good employee. He did all the dirty and hard work for the first 39 minutes; that was manual labor. As for me..."
He pointed to himself: "My job is to walk out in the last minute, tell the world who's in charge here, and then clock out."
Ross was stunned. He blinked his not-so-bright eyes, scratched his head sheepishly, and then... he smiled?
"Hey, Lee's right." Ross grinned at the camera. "If it would save me from doing so many shuttle runs, I'd be happy to."
Click!Click!
This scene was captured on film. The next day's headline read: "Coolie Ross and Godfather Li Xiangbei."
Time: March 2008, 5
Location: Chicago, NBA Combine
If March Madness is the breeding ground for dreams, then the Combine is a cold slaughterhouse. Miracles are not believed here; only measuring tapes, stopwatches, and vertical take-off testers matter.
Although the "black 58 seconds" from a month ago is still hot, the fervor quickly cooled down as NBA scouts obtained Li Xiangbei's physical test report, turning into doubt and whispers.
Inside the gymnasium, Li Xiangbei, wearing a gray vest, stood in front of the height measuring device.
"Barefoot height: 6 feet 3 inches (191 cm)." The staff member announced the number indifferently.
"Wingspan: 6 feet 3 inches (191 cm)."
The scouts behind the scorer's table couldn't help but burst out laughing.
"God is fair." The scout from the Memphis Grizzlies shook his head and made a heavy mark on his notebook. "He was given a soft touch, but he was given arms like a Tyrannosaurus Rex. Height to wingspan 1:1? In the level of competition in the NBA, he can't even protect the ball."
Next comes dynamic testing.
Vertical jump: 60 cm.
In the NBA, that's barely enough to touch the bottom of the backboard. It's even less than some high school players with explosive athleticism.
3/4 sprint: 3.45 seconds.
Slow. Too slow for a defender.
"He's a typical NCAA-style shooter." A veteran scout wearing a Celtics polo shirt pushed up his glasses, his tone sarcastic. "Without Calipari's screens, he wouldn't even get a shot off against NBA-level defense. His lateral movement is too slow; he's just a walking ATM on defense."
"I was just lucky; I had a hot streak that night."
"Maybe in the second round, or maybe after failing to qualify, we can try signing a summer league contract."
"With that kind of physical condition, he can't play in the NBA. Going to Europe might be a better option."
These discussions were quite loud, and there was absolutely no attempt to avoid mentioning the parties involved.
Li Xiangbei stood in the center of the field, listening to the buzzing of flies around him, his expression still that infuriatingly indifferent one.
He looked at those "experts" shaking their heads at the data sheets, feeling nothing at all, and even a little amused.
The wisdom of mortals.
They see basketball as a clash of muscle bars, a physical game of higher, faster, stronger.
But what they don't know is that in this coming era, there is something called "space," and there is a cheat called "guaranteed win."
When my shooting range covers the entire half of the court, when my shots ignore all interference, who cares whether I can jump to the stratosphere?
"Hey, Li."
Russell Westbrook, a rookie from the same draft class, had just finished his physical tests. That guy was practically an alien; he almost broke the jump tester. Looking at Li Xiangbei's dismal stats, he walked over with some sympathy. "Don't mind what those old guys say. Your shooting is great, really."
Li Xiangbei glanced at Westbrook, the future triple-double king, who still had a buzz cut and looked somewhat immature.
"Russell," Li Xiangbei adjusted his wristband, "Do you know why they're scouts, and we're players?"
Why?
"Because they only believe the numbers they see, while we create history they can't understand." Li Xiangbei patted Westbrook on the chest. "Keep your drive, future sewer... oh no, future MVP."
Westbrook looked completely bewildered: What the hell is a sewer?
That evening, in the hotel room.
Li Xiangbei lay on the bed, his consciousness sinking into the system.
[NCAA Finals mission completion.]
[Achievement Acquired: Savior of Memphis.]
[Reputation Level Up: Rookie (Although controversial, you're already a celebrity).]
[Rewards being distributed...]
1. Solidify basic skills: [Absolute Ballistics (NBA Level)]
Effect: Gain 5 guaranteed wins per game.
Note: Credit limits are non-accumulative and non-transferable. Regardless of defensive intensity, there's no such thing as a shot that can't be made, only shots that you don't want to make.
2. Passive skill unlocked: [Trash Talk King (Beginner)]
Description: A true killer not only destroys the spirit, but also feeds on it.
Effect: When your verbal attack successfully enrages your opponent (opponent's rage value > 50%), your adrenaline will be secreted abnormally.
Buff: The higher the opponent's rage, the faster your defensive lateral movement speed and reaction time will increase. Up to 20% increase in physical abilities (defensive only).
System comment: As long as your mouth is foul enough, your defense won't be leaky. Go for it, make the whole league want to beat you.
3. Special Consumables: [Unlucky Sticker (Disposable)] x1
Effect: Designate an object and cause it to experience unspeakable embarrassment (such as diarrhea, shoe sole falling off, or being chased by a dog) within the next 24 hours.
Li Xiangbei's lips curled into a wide grin as he looked at the second reward.
Is this the "defense patch" provided by the system?
The scouts say I'm slow lateral movement and can't defend? That's based on the premise that I'm a civilized person. If I push the opposing team too far, I'm the Gary Payton of defense!
This is perfect for me.
He closed the system panel and glanced at the time. Even with the increased buzz, his draft stock was plummeting due to his poor physical test results. If he didn't do something, he might really fall to the end of the second round, or even end up on a terrible team with no tactical role.
He needs a big stage. A stage where he can do whatever he wants, even if he's just a novice.
His gaze fell on a copy of the New York Post on the bedside table.
The 2008 New York Knicks were a complete mess. Isaiah Thomas had left a saga, and newly appointed president Donnie Walsh was in a state of utter disarray. They held the 6th pick, and media predictions suggested they would select the Italian—Danilo Gallinari.
"New York..." Li Xiangbei narrowed his eyes, "The people there are the most snobbish, and the most insane. It's the perfect place to create gods."
He picked up his phone and dialed a number. This was a connection Coach Calipari had left him, but Calipari would never have imagined that Li Xiangbei would call the Knicks' general manager directly.
"Beep...beep..."
"Hey? Who is this?" A tired old man's voice came from the other end of the phone, with people arguing in the background.
Good evening, Mr. Walsh.
Li Xiangbei's voice sounded exceptionally clear in the dead of night, carrying a composure and a sense of pressure that didn't belong to someone his age.
"I am Li Xiangbei. The man who destroyed Kansas in 58 seconds."
There was a two-second silence on the other end of the phone; they clearly hadn't expected it to be this young Chinese man who had recently been embroiled in controversy.
"Kid, if it's for a trial, you can contact my assistant..."
“No, Mr. Walsh, I’m not here for a job,” Li Xiangbei interrupted him. “I’m here to give you a chance to redeem yourself.”
"What?" Donnie Walsh laughed in exasperation. "Redemption?"
"I know you're watching Gallinari. That Italian's good, but he can't save New York." Li Xiangbei held the phone, walked to the window, looked at the Chicago night view, and spoke arrogantly as if he were already the best player in the league. "Take your eyes off Europe. Give me a promise, even if it's just a second round, or you can buy a draft pick."
"What if I don't?"
"Then you'll make the biggest mistake of the 21st century. You'll watch me, in Brooklyn or somewhere else, blast Madison Square Garden to smithereens every night with three-pointers."
Li Xiangbei's voice was deep and seductive, like a devil.
"Pick me, and I'll double the Knicks' stock. I'll get Spike Lee dancing on the sidelines again. I'm the only one who can save the Big Apple."
"Because I am of Chinese descent, I represent a market of 13 billion people; I am the box office."
After saying that, Li Xiangbei hung up the phone.
No need to wait for a reply. The seed has been planted. For a desperate gambler, the most audacious bait is often the most deadly.
Donnie Walsh, stunned by the disconnection, stared at the receiver in his hand.
If it were someone else, he would think they were crazy.
But what lingered in his mind was that night, that figure standing at the center circle logo, making a shushing gesture to tens of thousands of people. And then there was the recent market in Houston.
"This kid..." Walsh lit a cigar, his hand trembling slightly, "He's fucking like a New Yorker."
At the same time, Li Xiangbei was fiddling with the "bad luck sticker" in his hand.
"If we're going to cause trouble, let's go big."
His gaze fell upon the names ranked ahead of him on the draft prediction list…