Champion Rules

Chapter 141, Section 137: Shared Interests (Seeking Monthly Tickets!)

DeShawn Stevenson is the first and only man in NBA history to have his draft comparison set as Michael Jordan.

This absurd talent show template made him famous, and it also made him realize for the first time that there is an insurmountable gap between reality and fantasy.

As a player whose ceiling was Jordan and who was projected to be selected in the lottery, he was ultimately selected 23rd overall, paying homage to his own archetype in a very ironic way.

DeShawn Stevenson dreams of triumphing and making the 22 teams that missed out on him regret it.

Then he realized for the second time that there was an insurmountable gap between reality and fantasy.

DeShawn Stevenson failed to live up to expectations and become a star, much like other teams had imagined.

He possesses outstanding athleticism, but his excellent ball handling and shooting touch from high school completely disappeared in NBA-level games.

Since entering the league in 2000, he has consistently played as a role player for various teams. It has been proven that the 23rd pick was the most fitting draft position for his abilities.

But Stevenson never gave up the chance to prove himself. Even if he didn't become the star in the spotlight, he always did his job well. His defensive intensity was unquestionable; he was always that mad dog who did everything he could on the defensive end.

Although his IQ isn't particularly high, his attitude is professional enough—who among the smart would openly challenge Nike's face and say, "LeBron James is an overrated guy"?

After putting up 11+2+2 stats in Orlando last season, DeShawn Stevenson confidently declined his $300 million player option and chose to test the free agent market.

He felt that based on his performance, his salary should at least double that of last season—270 million last season, and he might be able to get a 500 million annual salary by testing the free agent market.

His agent also believes that the 500 million annual salary is not greed, but rather a reward for his many years of hard work.

He rejected offers from most teams last summer, including a three-year, $1000 million extension from the Orlando Magic, sticking to his $500 million annual salary standard.

He thought to himself that with his performance, no matter how badly he fell on hard times, he wouldn't lose his job.

Then he almost lost his job.

This cruel world has a way of dealing with those who don't submit, and he once again falls into the huge chasm between reality and ideals.

Because of his high asking price, DeShawn Stevenson didn't sign a contract with the Wizards until a month before the start of preseason training camp, with an annual salary of $93.

DeShawn Stevenson's move to turn down a $300 million annual salary in Orlando and only take a $93 one was truly brilliant.

But he remained the same as before, neither succumbing to despair nor complaining about the unfairness of fate.

He just fired his idiot agent and kept playing hard.

This season, DeShawn Stevenson has played with tremendous intensity, displaying maximum effort on defense and fighting for every loose ball with a do-or-die attitude.

This do-or-die fighting spirit is not only to prove his own worth, but also to accumulate leverage for the upcoming second round of free market competition. He firmly believes that a true warrior will never bow to fate.

During his half-season with the Washington Wizards, DeShawn Stevenson not only secured a starting position but also became Gilbert Arenas' most reliable defensive partner, allowing the "General" to focus entirely on offense.

Based on this performance, he felt that the Wizards would definitely offer him a contract extension with an annual salary of 500 million.

He knew that his efforts would be rewarded.

At this moment, this tough guy was lying on the physiotherapy bed with ice on his knees, and the skin under the gauze could still feel the burning pain from his battle with LeBron James the night before.

That guy who calls himself "Emperor" always disgusts him—he talks about bringing a championship to Cleveland, but he signs a 2+1 contract that allows him to leave at any time; he boasts that he never flops, but when he breaks through his defense, he leans back exaggeratedly like a ballet dancer.

Stevenson didn't tolerate him. Since you like acting so much, then let you experience it for real—he slapped LBJ on the head during a layup, almost causing the two to get into a fight.

The television was showing footage of him nearly getting into a fight with LBJ yesterday. Although he was fined $2000 for it, he didn't think he was wrong.

"This drama queen deserves a taste of real confrontation!" DeShawn Stevenson laughed triumphantly.

The physical therapist frowned: "You need to rest, DeSean."

Yesterday's game left him physically exhausted, but he still continued to practice his jump shot tonight.

He knew that no one was willing to offer him a $500 million annual salary last season because of his offense; he lacked a three-point threat, which was increasingly out of step with modern basketball, which was beginning to emphasize three-pointers.

So this season he practiced his jump shot like crazy, and managed to raise his three-point shooting percentage to 40.4%.

The intense training left him physically exhausted, but when faced with the trainer's advice, DeShawn Stevenson simply shook his head: "Rest? There's no such thing as rest in the survival rules for bottom-tier players. Only those old guys on max contracts deserve to talk about load management. We fighting dogs who have our lives tied to our belts, even taking a breather could get us thrown to the G League."

The news on the TV screen began to shift, from his conflict with LBJ to trade rumors involving Michael Pietrus and Kobe Bryant.

These are the two most talked-about players before the trade deadline.

DeShawn Stevenson knew the deal between the two had nothing to do with him, so he joked:

"I'm fucking curious if the Cleveland management has all gone into overdose. Why hasn't the Cavaliers put LBJ on the trading block yet? If they traded this softie in his number 23 jersey for the real Black Mamba, along with Jermaine and TyShone—believe me, they could shove the championship banner up LeBron's ass by next June?"

The physical therapist smiled and waved his hand: "Wake up, DeShawn. LeBron isn't that much of a trade asset."

"Hahahaha, you're right, that bastard isn't worth that much. He couldn't even score 20 points over us last night. If we had a better defense inside, I'm even confident we could limit LBJ to 8 points!"

After the joke, the physical therapist pressed on his swollen knee and reminded him again: "Seriously, you need to control your training volume. The Wizards rely heavily on your defense right now, and the management will definitely offer you a $500 million contract extension. Don't get injured at this time."

DeShawn Stevenson stared blankly at the water stains seeping from the ceiling, then chuckled self-deprecatingly: "Maybe...you're right. Damn, that $500 million a year wasn't easy to come by. At least everything's settled now. Finally, a team recognizes my value, and I don't have to be tossed around like a stray dog ​​anymore, much less..."

ESPN's breaking news interrupted his reflections: "The Washington Wizards and the New York Knicks have reached an agreement."

Upon hearing the sound from the television, DeShawn Stevenson suddenly sprang up from the treatment bed, scattering ice packs all over the floor.

"Damn it! What kind of deal are they talking about?" He gripped the edge of the bed tightly. "Who's being traded!?"

The physical therapist, staring at the rolling news, spoke with difficulty: "It seems... you and Darius were sent to New York in exchange for that Frenchman."

"This is fucking impossible! How could this happen?! There must be some mistake; the team didn't even notify us!"

The words were swallowed back down, as if the cold trading news on the LCD screen had choked them.

Yes, the team didn't even notify him in advance.

This shows that he is far less important than he had imagined.

He only deserves to see news of his trade on television.

His breathing became uncontrollably rapid, and the bulging veins in his neck were clearly visible under the stark white light. The fighter who had shouted "Let the Clevelanders go home crying" in the locker room just 24 hours earlier now lacked even the strength to reach out and turn off the television.

On the news, the host is telling a more cruel truth.

"It is understood that DeShawn has been pursuing a $500 million annual salary, but the Wizards have made their choice. They have chosen Michael Pietrus. If they have to pay $500 million annually for a starting wing, they would prefer Michael. Wizards general manager Ernie Grunfeld believes that Michael is a more reliable option."

Just a minute ago, DeShawn Stevenson thought his $500 annual salary in Washington was already secured.

Now, however, he has been easily replaced by that Frenchman.

The gap between ideals and reality plunged him into the abyss once again, and fate tore apart his newly mended dignity once more, just like that contract worth only 93 last summer, which came out of nowhere.

The difference between people is as great as the difference between fighter jets.

The F-22's first appearance was just an inflatable aircraft, while the J-10C's first appearance featured three French girls and two tall, beautiful Eastern European women.

The physical therapist didn't know what to say, so he could only pat the defensive stalwart on the shoulder and say, "Wherever you are, stay healthy, okay?"

DeShawn Stevenson paused for a few seconds, then nodded and got up to leave.

"Thank you, Grant. Thank you for talking to me these past few months. Thank you for everything you've done for me."

"where are you going?"

DeShawn Stevenson turned around and smiled wryly: "Go home, pack your things, and get back on the road."
-
DeShawn Stevenson arrived at the Grinburg training center with his Lithuanian teammates.

Lithuanian striker Darius Sangella was calmly adjusting his shoes, as if being traded was nothing more than changing a training shirt.

But when Stevenson caught sight of the sticker with Michael Pietrus's name still on the locker, a surge of anger welled up inside him, and he slammed his fist into the metal locker door, making the hangers clang loudly.

"I'm not fucking sitting in this sissy's doghouse!"

Stevenson was furious at the thought of the Wizards replacing him with Michael Pietrus. Those suit-wearing jerks would rather have a perfumed French vase than him, a California scoundrel who fought his way through the mud. He didn't want to use the locker room he'd used; he didn't want to live in his shadow.

Stephon Marbury thought this notoriously temperamental player was deliberately picking a fight: "What's wrong with you? Do you think this is Disneyland? Whether you wanted to play in New York or not, you're a Knick now, and—"

Marbury leaned close to DeShawn Stevenson, nose to nose: "Remember this, you jerk, nobody in this locker room can boss me around. Watch your tone! Nobody can—"

"Stephen!" Lynch's roar echoed through the locker room, "What are you doing? Get out of there!"

"Oh." The Lone Wolf, who had just said that no one could boss him around, immediately stepped back.

He wasn't lying. In his mind, Lynch was a god who saved his career, and his treatment was certainly different from that of a human.

Last season's Finals MVP, with a wet towel still draped over his shoulder, scanned the two men locked in a tense standoff with his gaze, finally settling on the violently shaking cabinet door.

"DeSean, did this cabinet bite you? Why don't you want to use it? You'd better give me a reasonable explanation."

“No problem, I just don’t want to use the French cabinet. I can’t stand the smell of losers. The perfume in this damn cabinet makes me look like a sissy from the Champs-Élysées!” Stevenson said, defiantly kicking away a clothes rack that had rolled off his feet.

"Where would you like to sit?"

DeShawn Stevenson pointed to the cabinet next to Lynch: "I want the cabinet next to you. That's where a warrior should be. I'll be your most capable right-hand man."

A few snickers came from the corner, but Lynch raised his hand to silence them. He walked to the cabinet, his fingertips tracing the name sticker that Michael Pietrus hadn't completely removed, and suddenly ripped off the last piece of adhesive.

"You know it's impossible. In the Knicks, in this locker room, everyone knows what the seat next to me represents. You can't just come in and sit in this seat; you have to prove yourself."

If you don't want to use Michael's locker, trade with your Lithuanian teammate. Whichever locker you choose, whether it ends up filled with sweat or perfume, it's your choice.

“Fine,” DeShawn Stevenson clenched his fists. “I’ve spent my whole life proving myself, I’m not afraid to do it again!”

The minor conflict subsided temporarily, and Lin Qi sat back down in front of his locker to change his clothes.

When they arrived at the training field, Sam Presti ran breathlessly from his office to Lynch's side.

"Damn it. Really? Is it true?" he gasped for breath.

"Sam, you need to work out more. Look at you, you're like Tracy McGrady in double overtime. What are you talking about? What's true or false?"

"DeShawn caused trouble in the locker room, almost got into a fight with Stephen, really? I know drafting him is risky, but damn it, I have to get rid of him right now! Maybe try Desmond Mason from the Hornets? But that guy needs to make sure he gets a starting spot, he starts complaining if he doesn't get enough playing time, doesn't seem like a good fit."

“Don’t add to your workload, Sam,” Lynch said, watching DeShawn Stevenson practice his long-range shooting alone. “I think he’s doing great. Like you said, he’s the kind of guy who wants to win.”

"Are you sure he's okay?"

"What could be wrong with him? He's just a guy who's eager to prove himself and hates LeBron just as much."

Sam Presti squinted: "Yeah, I forgot you guys had that in common. Damn, I wonder what LeBron will get into next time he meets you guys. That bastard DeShawn almost smashed LBJ's head the other day."

“I don’t know either, but since LBJ is my archenemy and DeShawn is also my archenemy, then we should be able to become friends.”

On the first day of practice matches, DeShawn Stevenson's rough play on the defensive end caused the whistle to blow frequently.

DeShawn Stevenson expected the Knicks players to complain about his behavior, but no one said anything.

On the contrary, all the Knicks players seemed to take it for granted.

In the Knicks' team culture that values ​​tough defense, his unconventional behavior was actually accepted.

After training and showering, the locker room at the Greenburg training center officially opened, and a large number of reporters flooded in.

DeShawn Stevenson stared at the dense mass of recording pens in front of him, almost poking his nose, and broke out in a cold sweat with nervousness.

In his previous career, it was considered unusual for him to have more than three reporters in front of him.

But today, he witnessed for the first time what the New York market and the Lynch effect were all about.

"DeShawn, what are your thoughts on the trade between the Wizards and the Knicks?"

"How do you see it? I saw it on the news."

"You mean the Wizards didn't notify you beforehand?"

"No, I only received text messages from them before I left. However, many teammates, such as Gilbert and Caron Butler, called me. Although it was a short time, I will miss the time we fought together."

What did Gilbert say to you?

"Wish me all the best, oh, and that bastard even laughed and said 'Lynch's New York is hell' four times."

"So, how was your first time training in New York? Is it hell here?"

"It's fantastic. I love the style here. I love the atmosphere of treating every practice like a Game 7. Trevor Ariza, that madman, bit his tongue while defending, and before he could even wipe the blood off the three-point line, he was still jumping to block. Everyone's giving it their all. Here, you have to sweat it out before you can say you've done your best," DeShawn Stevenson said with a sly grin.

Do you think the Knicks will offer you the $500 million annual salary you've always dreamed of?

"I don't think it matters. Give me ten games and I'll prove I deserve it."

"Compared to last season, the Knicks' main acquisitions this season are Tyson Chandler and you. If the Knicks fail to defend their title, how much responsibility do you and Tyson think you should bear?"

"Don't drag that tough center into this; he's integrated well with the team. If the Knicks don't win the championship this year, then I should definitely take the biggest responsibility. If the Knicks don't win the championship, then it proves that I don't even deserve a $93 annual salary, and I will continue to take a pay cut."

DeShawn Stevenson once again demonstrated his "low IQ" side; he was too blunt and didn't know how to leave himself room for maneuver in his speech.

He's practically the opposite of LeBron James, no wonder the two of them always seemed to clash.

The interview then lasted for 20 minutes.

After everything was over, DeShawn Stevenson was drenched in sweat.

Every player who comes to New York for the first time is amazed by the popularity of the Knicks.

He went to the shower and took another shower, closed his eyes, and vowed that he would make a name for himself in New York and never be abandoned by anyone again!
When he came out of the shower, he saw Lynch tying his shoelaces.

"Why haven't you left yet? Wasn't training over?" DeShawn Stevenson asked.

Lynch's fingers flew deftly through his shoelaces as he replied without looking up, "I still have a few sets of jump shots to practice. I heard you often practice extra shots with the Wizards, always practicing with Gilbert until the early hours of the morning."

"Yes, do you want me to come with you?"

“Absolutely not,” Lynch waved his hand. “Save your knees for the playoffs, don’t fucking do anything stupid. Rest well and save your energy for the game. You know why Michael left, you know what kind of players we need. Tell me, DeSean, what are you hoping to achieve in New York?”

"I'd absolutely take a $500 million annual salary! And of course, I'd help you win the championship!" he said bluntly.

“But…” DeShawn Stevenson glanced at his knees, “I don’t know if I’ll fall into that huge gap between reality and fantasy again. I’m not a lucky person. I don’t want to hold you back. If you think I’m not up to par this month, you can trade me anytime.”

"A championship, a $500 million contract, you'll have them all. Just play serious defense, just make those damn open threes, just keep that hunger! This is DeShawn New York, anything can happen here. Here, there's no gap between reality and fantasy, even if there is—"

Lin Qi, having finished tying his shoelaces, stood up and stomped his foot. "Even if there is, I'll flatten it for you. Don't think too much, just fight well."

Looking into Lynch's resolute gaze, DeShawn Stevenson didn't have the slightest doubt about what he said.

It was as if what he said would definitely come true.

Stevenson gritted his teeth as he watched Lynch turn to leave the locker room.

This time, between fate and oneself, it should be oneself who wins!

“Oh, right,” Lin Qi turned back as he was about to leave the locker room, “you must have another goal you haven’t told me.”

"No, I really am."

"Don't you want to humiliate LeBron James? Our last game before the trade deadline is against the Cavaliers. Hey, teach my arch-rivals a lesson. I think that's one of the few things we both enjoy."

DeShawn Stevenson laughed heartily: "Damn, I'm already looking forward to that day. It's such a rare shared interest."

(End of this chapter)