Champion Rules

Chapter 37 034: How do you know when to retire? I will tell you (please read!)

Dejan Bodiroga's fingertips were stroking the poker cards anxiously. The chips on his table had already shrunk by half due to the losing streak.

The Serbian had bad luck with cards today.

After he had another bad hand of cards for who knows how many times tonight, he threw the cards directly onto the table: "Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!"

George Faka (fvcka), who was sitting across from him, looked at the scattered cards, bewildered. "What for?"

Deyang's face flushed instantly: "No. I'm not calling you!"

"But you were calling me!"

"Fuck me!"

"You called me again!"

At that moment, Dejan Bodiroga swore that he would never curse in English again.

After finishing an unlucky poker game and a blood-pressure-raising conversation tonight, Dejan Bodiroga, Jorge Faka and Carlos Navarro went to the hotel restaurant together to have a midnight snack.

As the venue for this year's European League semi-finals, the restaurant's TVs are naturally broadcasting news about the European League.

The blue light of the broadcast screen danced on the silver cutlery. Dejan Bodiroga glanced at Lynch's statistics on TV: 17 points, 18 rebounds, and 10 blocks.

Bodiroga's fork hovered over the cream-baked shrimp. "Gentlemen, do you see this data? This kid's talent is like a storm in the Aegean Sea—" Before he finished speaking, the corners of his mouth curled into a sarcastic arc. "It's a pity the storm didn't reach here. Madrid lost."

The sound of the food cart pushed by the waiter just covered up George Faka's sneer. Carlos Navarro did not express his opinion and just ate his food.

Dejan stared at the glaring 17 points in the stat column, and before his eyes appeared the human wall built by the Maccabi players. It was a familiar scene to him, a classic cage that strangled genius.

Seeing Lynch's 17 points, you know that Maccabi's shrinking defense must have worked, otherwise Lynch could easily score more than 20 points.

Lynch is the kind of young man who has a strong desire to score. So far this season, he has only scored less than 20 points in two games.

In addition, he is the offensive core of Real Madrid, so his scoring is even higher.

If Real Madrid's offensive core only scores 17 points in a game, it proves that his offense is in big trouble.

"See? What did I say? There's no national derby. Just a 17-year-old kid wants to take the crown from our heads? At least get some adults!"

But then, when the final score of the game appeared on TV, Dejan Bodiroga stopped talking.

The host's excited shout tore through the restaurant's whispers and jeers: "The fourth national derby! We are about to witness the fourth national derby in the history of the European Basketball League! In Tampere! Lynch, can he sweep across Europe at the age of 17!?"

None of the three spoke, and the atmosphere was suffocatingly awkward.

The silver cutlery cast a cold silver light on their stiff faces.

Dejan Bodiroga really wants to see the video of this game right away.

what happened?

Lynch only scored 17 points, and Real Madrid won?
How could the rising star who was trapped by Maccabi's iron defense win with only 17 points?
Did he defend Sarunas Jasikevicius and Anthony Parker?

Anthony Parker might be lost, but Sarunas? No way!

No one in Europe, no, no one in the world can lock up that Lithuanian madman.

When he's hot, he can make the damn shot even from half court!

The only reason he can't play in the NBA is that his defense is too bad there. Otherwise, as long as he is given a tactical position, he can also become an excellent scorer in the NBA.

Soon, the TV news gave a general recap of the game.

Then Dejan Bodiroga was even more speechless.

Because he saw that child become a leader.

He was the defensive anchor, the axis around which everything revolved. He yelled to inspire his teammates and intimidate the opposition. He set pick-and-rolls for the very man he hated, giving his own opportunities to other teammates. But was he betrayed by the numbers? No, no one would argue that 17 points, 18 rebounds, and 10 blocks were bad numbers.

The childish shell shed from him, and Dejan Bodiroga saw a cornerstone figure standing before him. He certainly still had many flaws, but he already had the potential to be a leader.

Finally, the news broadcast what Lynch said in an interview while staring into the camera.

"Render unto Caesar the things that are Caesar's, and unto God the things that are God's. Obviously, this match is my domain. And, by the way, the crown on Dejan's head is mine, too."

The young man who had shed his youthful appearance was looking directly at Bodiroga through the screen with a determined gaze beyond his age.

Bodiroga suddenly tasted blood on the tip of his tongue, and he realized that his tightly clenched teeth had bitten his tongue.

The little brat whom he despised the most was now standing in front of him.

With an attitude even prouder than he was back then.

"Damn it, we have to do it ourselves to kill a kid. Maybe I overestimated Sarunas." Dejan Bodiroga put down his knife and fork. He hadn't eaten a bite of his cream-baked shrimp yet, but he had no appetite at all.

"Let's do it. Let that genius who calls himself Caesar die again. Please enjoy, gentlemen. I'm going back now."

After saying that, Bodiroga stood up angrily and left alone.

George Faka and Carlos Navarro looked at each other and shrugged.

"We have to help him," said Faka.

Carlos Navarro nodded. "Of course, it's not just about helping him, it's about helping Barcelona defend their title."

"No, no, no, I mean, we have to help him eat that baked shrimp. It's such a waste. Wasting delicious food will bring punishment from God."

Carlos Navarro:
He suddenly understood how the Germans and Italians felt when they teamed up.

At this time, Bodiroga clenched his fists and prepared to go back to his room to have a good sleep, completely forgetting what he had just ordered.

But if Bodiroga had seen the movie "Tactical Unit," he would definitely have eaten a bite of his own baked shrimp in cream, because the ponytail guy in the movie never ate a bite of beef until he died.
-
At five in the morning after the semifinals, the dim light filtered through the window screens. Lynch stared up at the ceiling, the burning sensation in his throat from his triumphant cry, the muscle aches from his 18 rebounds still lingering.

Although he was very tired, he was no longer sleepy.

He had many dreams, all of which were related to Dejan Bodiroga.

The Serbian player's iconic fadeaway jump shot was nailed on the backboard by himself, and Barcelona's red and blue jerseys were submerged in the white waves of the Nokia Arena. The championship trophy reflected his young but ferocious face.

He dreamed that he defeated the King of Europe, won the European Championship, and watched the arrogant Serbian leave in disgrace.

When a person desires something extremely deeply, there is a high probability that this thing will happen in your dream.

The intense excitement dispelled his fatigue, making Lynch feel that every minute was torture.

He really wants the finals to start immediately.

After finally making it to dawn, Lynch finally didn't have to lie in bed in a daze anymore.

There was no training or media meeting today, so Lynch, Theo and Louis Bullock decided to go out for a walk.

On the street, Lynch spotted a Rolls-Royce dealership. The morning light cast a honey-colored halo on the waistline of the Phantom, and Lynch's eyes were drawn to the fine golden light reflected from the goddess statue on the front of the car.

Lynch, who was extremely interested in cars, stopped in front of the window. Louis Brock smiled and said, "Let's go, Lynch. There's nothing to see. We can't afford it."

Louis Brock, who was usually arrogant, suddenly became very low-key at this moment. He was timid with a conditioned reflex when it came to things he couldn't afford.

Just as they were hesitating, the saleswoman stepped forward in red-soled high heels, her black stockings snaking down her long legs and disappearing under her custom-made skirt. "Are you Real Madrid players? I've seen you on TV!"

After seeing several people nod, the saleswoman leaned over and made an "invite" gesture: "Are you interested? Come and take a look, three presidents, please enjoy your Rolls-Royce Phantom."

"Three presidents," she said, leaning slightly forward, the platinum nameplate pressed against her chest. The fragrance drifted softly through her hair. "When the spotlights of the Nokia Arena chase you, this Phantom will be waiting in the exclusive passage to take you back in triumph."

The long, slender nails knocked on the eternal double R logo in the center of the floating wheel cover, and the aluminum alloy rims that were hand-polished 30,000 times reflected the breathless faces of the three young people.

"Come on, CEOs, please get in the car and take a look at the interior."

The salesperson's delicate white hands traced the silver lines that stretched from the roof to the rear of the car, and her fingertips suddenly stopped at a secret compartment. "This is a cigar thermostat designed specifically for CEOs. When you light a Cohiba Siglo VI for victory," she leaned over and flipped a switch. The grooves appeared, and the rear seats automatically unfolded to a golden angle of 38 degrees. "The entire Greek night sky will fall overhead."

As she chuckled, the largest starlight roof in Rolls-Royce history flowed over Lynch's head.

Yes, this so-called starry sky roof has no practical value. But being impractical is the standard for a top luxury car.

Lynch's palms were pressed against the hand-stitched Arctic white calfskin seat. The leather from the softest belly of a Nordic bull was so delicate and soft.

The salesperson's red lips pressed close to Lynch's ear, and her gentle voice lingered in his ears: "When you sit in here with the championship trophy, the goddess of celebration on the front of the car will split the night sky and burst into light for you, and every inch of asphalt in Europe will make way for the magic carpet."

As she spoke, she pressed the start button. The V12 engine roared like a beast awakening, and the flying goddess statue on the front of the car slowly rose.

"The umbrella is hidden in the door panel. Of course, CEOs don't need to remember this, because someone will definitely help you open the umbrella before you get out of the car. You don't need to get it yourself."

Looking at all this, Lynch suddenly understood the meaning of that sentence: Where affection cannot enter, Rolls-Royce will take you in.

As soon as you sit down, this ambiguous atmosphere suddenly makes you feel very hot and you can't help but want to take off your clothes.

The salesperson placed the car keys in Lin Qi's palm, brought his red lips close, and smiled politely yet with a fatal allure: "Want to take a ride, young president?"

In the end, there was no rotation because Lynch, the genius who dominated the European basketball world, did not have a driver's license.

After walking out of the dealership, the three young men's minds were blank.

"Damn it," Louis Brock's Adam's apple rolled up and down. "What a piece of crap I was driving before."

Lynch's inner desire was aroused. It was not just a car. In just less than half an hour's introduction, the powerful professional salesperson made Lynch experience the great satisfaction created by women, luxury cars, power and success.

There is no man who does not desire these things.

Lin Qi looked at the sky and said lightly: "I will own one."

Tickets for the Europa League final are going hot, and Lynch is even more eager for the next game.

After securing Bodiroga, Lynch will go to the NBA draft and sign a huge endorsement contract.

Herreros was right; these things had long been destined for Lynch. Lynch only needed to focus on one last night, and he would have everything he could only dream of now.

He turned around and took another look at the car, as well as the saleswoman standing next to the car, waving goodbye gently. She was so beautiful that he wanted to have her immediately.

"I'll own one." Lynch muttered again and turned to drive away.

Two days later, at the Nokia Arena, the century-long battle between Real Madrid and Barcelona will finally begin.

Lynch has no distractions and all his desires turn into motivation.

He knew that this was a night he couldn't afford to lose.

Dejan Bodiroga came on the court, and Lynch seemed to see a crown on his head.

The Serbian walked into the Real Madrid camp without hesitation. Real Madrid captain Herreros came forward and saw the familiar, annoying pride in Bodiroga's eyes.

"Dear Alberto, tell your ignorant little brother who wants us to be afraid of him, huh? He will take you to the podium, but you can only be runner-up. This is why I like the European League. They also prepare consolation trophies for losers, unlike the NBA, which is so heartless.

Also, congratulations on your decision to retire. How did you know it was time to retire? Was it because you knew you could never get past us?

Alberto Herreros was not angry and kept smiling.

"How do you know when to retire? The younger generation will tell you. Tonight, someone will tell you."

(Thanks to the leader of the bear kid's whip kick, kneeling and licking!)
(Thanks to Lin Di, Tian Cang Ren, Shao Nian Qing Liu Bu, Yinhe Da Mo Wang 1 and other big guys for the reward, thank you everyone!)

(End of this chapter)