90: 063: We don’t need MJ, now you all just need me!
(Vote for monthly ticket) 90: 063: We don’t need MJ, now you all just need me!
(Vote for monthly ticket) At 18 years old, most players are not even sure to make the starting lineup in college.
Yet Roger had pushed the most defensively fearsome team on the planet to a Game 7.
Once you understand the gap, you can understand why Pat Riley blew his top during the press conference.
He could accept being eliminated by Michael Jordan, but being crushed by someone who should have been facing trials in the NCAA, Riley felt nothing but shame.
Last summer, many saw Roger’s decision to go straight to the NBA as a presumptuous leap beyond his abilities.
Now, Roger was almost at the point of breaking through.
New Yorkers were also furious, this group of the world’s most demanding fans first lambasted every player on the Knicks.
In the call-in fan shows on car radios, fans complained about Ewing’s roughness, Starks’s inconsistency, griped that Derek Harper was completely played for a fool by Roger, and earnestly advised Greg Anthony to go work at a factory instead.
Of course, they did not forget Roger.
New York fans collectively shouted “Fvck Roger!!!” in subway stations, squares, and in front of reporters’ cameras.
From now on, Roger had one more identity.
Roger, a Chinese man, movie actor, well-known basketball player, honorary mayor of New York.
How popular was Roger now?
When the Bulls’ team bus drove through the streets of New York, all the passersby would salute Roger, flashing international friendly gestures, and bursting with fervent chants of “Fvck Roger”.
In just six games, Roger had achieved what took Michael Jordan many years to accomplish.
Now, in the “New Yorkers Most Hated NBA Players” ranking, Michael Jordan could only be third, while Roger and Miller took the top two spots.
No matter if he wins this Game 7 or not, Roger had already achieved one thing: he had told Pat Riley that the Bulls without MJ were no garbage!
At this moment, Riley was serious in the training facility, and any player whose defense was even slightly off would be fiercely berated by him.
He was like a despicable man who took his frustrations out on his wife after getting aggrieved outside.
Only at the Knicks, it was the players who bore the brunt of his rage, not a wife.
Riley drove everyone like mad; he could not afford to lose this Game 7, it was his best window for a championship.
If he couldn’t win even without Michael Jordan, he would never forgive himself.
For Riley, basketball was similar to going to war.
There was no place for joy or relaxation in this sport, victory was the only pursuit.
And he forced his players to accept this as well.
After practice, all the Knicks players were utterly exhausted in the locker room.
Riley was like a sexually frustrated 40-year-old woman, determined to drain the stamina of her people every night before she would retire contentedly.
However, no one in the locker room complained.
Patrick Ewing, with his ascetic-like leadership and Riley’s training philosophy, meshed perfectly.
If the team leader didn’t say anything, the other players naturally didn’t complain either.
Starks, as an undrafted player, had no right to complain.
But he truly felt that his physical endurance was reaching its limit; after practice, he was so tired he couldn’t lift his arms, and his already injured knee throbbed painfully.
Thankfully, there was only one game left in the Eastern Conference Finals.
Just grit the teeth, and should be able to persevere.
When the Knicks players were so tired they could hardly speak in the locker room, Pat Riley, dressed in a custom Armani suit, had already appeared in front of the reporters’ cameras: “I’m not the least worried that we will lose in G7,” The New York Times reporter said it right, Madison Square Garden is not a place for a little brat to run wild.”
Riley, borrowing from The New York Times, had issued his ultimatum to Roger.
In a luxurious mansion in Chicago, Michael Jordan met with his personal attorney and agent David Falk.
Falk brought a piece of not-so-good news: “The major league labor negotiations are not going smoothly.”
“How badly?” Jordan asked, puffing on a cigar, the entire room filled with smoke.
“Worst-case scenario, we might have a lockout next season.
But it’s also an opportunity.
If the major league players strike, they will definitely fill in the roster with players from the minor leagues.
Michael, playing in the major leagues has always been a childhood dream of yours; this is a godsend opportunity.”
Jordan set down his cigar, waved his hand, and a glass of whiskey was promptly delivered to him: “David, this is not some godsend opportunity.
If I accept a call-up, that means I’m taking a stand against all the striking players; I cannot take to the field at such a time.”
The two fell into a brief silence; at this moment, the TV in the room was tuned to NBC’s pre-game NBA broadcast, and the classic tune of Roundball Rock began playing.
Many fans don’t even know the name of this jingle, but the familiar melody signaled the start of the NBA game.
Only then did Falk realize that Jordan was preparing to watch tonight’s NBA game, the Game 7 between the New York Knicks and the Chicago Bulls.
Finally, Jordan broke the silence: “Is a major league lockout unavoidable now?”
Falk nodded: “It looks that way, currently, there’s an 80% chance for a lockout.”
“Then,” Jordan took another puff of his cigar and then focused his gaze on the TV, “what about us returning to the NBA?”