Champion Rules

Chapter 51048: God

Stephen Marbury returned to the United States early.

He had no plans to revel in Athens and had no interest in appearing at the closing ceremony.

I have no interest in watching the Olympic finals.

He returned to home, sweet home.

But not so sweet either.

Because his home is in New York, the center of the vortex.

The New York Times called his three misses in the clutch "the basketball shame of the century" in a front-page column.

The Internet was flooded with abuse, and most New York fans believed that the Smiling Assassin should trade Stephen Marbury and replace him with a capable assistant to Lynch.

One of them was the most outrageous: "Okay, I know Stephen's trade value is not high now, so let's trade this piece of crap for a Doberman. At least it can protect Lynch's safety!"

The sarcasm that pierced his heart with every word danced on the TV screens and in the newspapers, like countless sharp knives repeatedly piercing his retinas.

Looking at this, he collapsed in silence.

He locked himself in the bedroom, and the faint light coming through the gaps in the curtains drew a cage-like fence on the ground.

He stayed in his room all day, his mind was in a mess, and he even suddenly wanted to taste Vaseline.

He would listen to music alone, and whenever the key changed, his tear glands would suddenly burst and he would burst into tears.

He poured Sprite on his head, making a mess in the room.

His mother came into his room and he hugged her and cried like he was four years old.

As the only hope of the whole family, he hit rock bottom.

"My hometown doesn't need me anymore." Stephen Marbury leaned on his mother's waist, which was thicker than the pier of the Brooklyn Bridge.

Mabel Marbury stroked his child's head and said, "God will guide you, Stephen. Go to sleep, have a good sleep, and you will see God reaching out to you in the holy light."

Marbury had a good sleep. In his dream, he curled up on the wooden floor of Madison Square Garden. The spotlights burned the maple floor into a pale execution ground. He was surrounded by angry New York fans, and millions of bloodshot eyeballs poured down from the stands.

A reporter in a suit and tie pressed the microphone to the corner of his bleeding lips, his eyes behind the lenses flashing with hypocritical pity: "Stephen, as the most useless dog in New York history, how do you evaluate yourself?"

Before he could answer, he was met with a barrage of insults, boos, and jeers.

"Screw you, Steph. All you can do is play high school basketball!"

"Go back to the Coney Island ghetto and eat garbage!"

"Jason Kidd could crush your shit with his little toe!"

"Cancer, get out of New York!"

"You are a disgrace to New York!"

The shouting and cursing grew louder, and the fans gradually moved closer to surround him. The stadium became packed, as if the air had been sucked out, making it difficult for him to breathe.

He lay powerlessly on the ground, about to be suffocated by the public opinion in New York.

At this moment, the dome suddenly burst open, and a beam of holy light pierced through the haze.

Someone reached out a hand to him and hovered over his bloody forehead.

The light was too bright, and Marbury's irises shrank to pinpoints in the glare. He couldn't see the man's appearance, only the outline of a dark shadow.

He heard the man speaking to him: "Get up Stephen, get up."

"call!"

Stephen Marbury sat up in bed. There was no holy light around him, no scary fans and reporters, only a wet pillow and his chest heaving violently.

He wiped the sweat from his forehead, knowing clearly that he had had a nightmare.

But it all felt so real that he still remembered every detail of what had just happened.

Who pulled me up? Who was that dark, deep shadow? God? Damn, God is actually a Ni Ge!?
The Son of New York has no answers, and this summer is still a long one for him.

While Marbury was mired in self-doubt, half a world away in Athens, a new legend was unfolding. New Yorkers' eyes were still fixed on Greece, witnessing Lynch's conquest.
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After defeating the American team, Lynch saw the system that appeared so rarely that it was always forgotten.

At 32, you are about to create historic glory with your national team. Although your physical fitness has deteriorated, your knees ache, and your movements are not as flexible as they were in your youth, this may be your last Olympics. Don't leave any regrets in your career!

[New goal: Win the Olympic gold medal.]

[Reward: Increase the training speed of a specific acquired talent by 50%. This is the only thing you definitely wish you could be faster.]

Yes, this reward is very old. A 32-year-old player really doesn't have much time to achieve anything.

Although 18-year-old Lynch still has a lot of time, who can refuse to become stronger faster?

If he gets the reward, Lynch will undoubtedly invest it in Korver's shooting talent to make his spot jump shot improve more quickly.

However, Lynch never likes to borrow the championship. Everything has to wait until he actually wins the Olympic gold medal.

Although they beat the US team, it is no exaggeration to say that the rubbish US team was only fourth in Group B.

The next opponent will be a greater challenge.

Semi-final, China VS Argentina.

Luis Scola stroked the cross pendant on his chest. The power forward who would later be known as the "Diamond" had a solemn expression on his face.

He and Nocioni really wanted to go to the magical East to find someone to tell their fortunes and ask if there was anything unclean on their bodies that specifically attracted Lynch!

They have become a must-see attraction that Lynch visits every once in a while!

The headlines in the Greek media before the fight read: "Ladies and gentlemen, Lynch hasn't played against Louis and Andres for a whole week."

Of course, this game is not easy.

The Pampas Eagles are different from the chaotic American team. They had the chance to win the world championship as early as 2002, but Manu Ginobili's accidental injury made everything come to nothing.

However, they were not discouraged. The failure did not defeat them, but instead allowed Argentina's golden generation to forge sharper eagle beaks.

From Spain to Italy, these fighters in blue and white jerseys are scattered across the country, absorbing the essence of European basketball and looking forward to reuniting in two years. They have strong determination and an unyielding will.

The Argentines quickly proved this on the court. With the forwards unable to do anything, Carlos Delfino, the first Argentine player ever selected in the first round of the NBA draft, stepped up.

His decisive shots and accurate three-pointers scared the Chinese fans into a cold sweat. Commentators around the world repeatedly emphasized: This is the tactical sting that hits the Chinese team's vital point!

Everyone knows that the Chinese team's pitifully weak backcourt can hardly contain the firepower from beyond the three-point line.

Manu Ginobili continued to create visual miracles with his sharp breakthroughs and incredible passes.

The Argentines' basketball art is extremely perfect. When Delfino hit his fifth three-pointer in the third quarter, the red numbers 66 to 54 on the scoreboard made the Athens Olympic Stadium fall into two extremes - the Argentine bench raised their arms like a forest in the boiling heat, while the Chinese fans' stands were filled with a sense of anxious suffocation.

But the script of competitive sports is always tempering heroes.

As Ginobili held his knees and gasped for breath, and as the warmth of Delfino's palms dissipated with the Greek evening breeze, the halo of heroism fell on Lynch and Yao Ming.

The defensive vortex created by the two of them shattered Argentina's smooth offense into pieces. The Chinese team gradually closed the gap. With three minutes left in the fourth quarter, Yao Ming received the ball and made a fadeaway shot with only three seconds left in the 24-second offensive time. The Chinese team and Argentina returned to the same starting line!
"A 226-centimeter center shoots a fadeaway jump shot, huh? Poor Argentines, what are they going through!" The NBC commentator felt a little sympathetic to Argentina. Many people think of the Dream Team when they talk about talent, but to be honest, apart from the Dream Team, which other team can gather two NBA draft No. 1 picks like the Chinese team?
In the final three minutes, Jue Jing Yao Dao squeezed out every last bit of his strength. Two years ago, he missed the game due to injury, and two years later, he would never let victory slip through his fingers again.

With 38 seconds left in the game, Argentina was still trailing by 3 points. Ginobili called for a screen, and Lin Qi switched defense immediately when he saw the screen.

Seeing the opportunity to play against a bigger opponent, Ginobili chose to retreat to the three-point line and single-handedly challenge Lynch.

Lynch's help defense is strong, but defending guards alone is not his strong point.

Ginobili was full of confidence. He kept moving his hips, starting to the left and changing direction to the right, and had already surpassed Lynch by half a body length.

But Yao Dao did not break through the defense line. Instead, he suddenly stepped back to the three-point line, wanting to directly shoot a three-pointer to tie the score, just like Yao Ming had just done.

This was the stupidest decision he had ever made in his life.

Lynch was rooted to the spot precisely because he was certain Ginobili would go for a three-pointer. If he went for two, even if he made it, the Argentinian would have to commit a tactical foul and force a free throw. Given Ginobili's ruthless nature, he wouldn't do that; he would have definitely opted to tie the score.

When Ginobili broke through, Lynch almost doubted his judgment, but the Argentine sword's step back came as expected.

Lynch just wanted to thank Sam Presti.

Thanks to him watching a lot of Spurs game videos, he was very familiar with the habits of the Spurs players.

"Want to learn how to play basketball properly in the NBA? Look at our Spurs." Sam Presti often said this.

Thank you Sam, that's absolutely right.

When Lynch's palm blocked Ginobili's life-saving three-pointer, the Spanish commentator could no longer tie himself to the chair: "Oh my God, the hand of God blocked Manu!"

For Argentines, the Hand of God is a special phrase that reminds them of Diego Maradona in the quarter-final of the Mexico World Cup on June 22, 1986.

But today, the Hand of God appeared in the world of Argentine basketball.

The hand of God destroyed the last hope of the Pampas Legion and forever froze the South Americans' championship dream under the starry sky of Athens.

Lynch picked up the basketball and ran all the way. Ginobili grabbed Lynch's jersey roughly and committed a tactical foul.

When he reached the free throw line, half of the people were booing and half were cheering. The two voices merged into a huge pressure that appeared on Lynch's shoulders.

He carries the expectations of hundreds of millions of people and the gazes of countless eyes.

But in Finland, Lynch, wearing a Real Madrid jersey, has long been accustomed to such pressure.

His experience in Europe not only made him the top pick, but also gave him some more precious wealth.

One of the treasures turned into two crisp sounds of passing through the net at this moment. Lynch made two consecutive free throws at the critical moment!

Yao Ming raised his head and shouted, beads of sweat dripped down his chin, and his knees trembled slightly.

He wasn't tired, he was excited.

Not long ago, they were still mired in a 12-point deficit, but now the blood-red numbers on the scoreboard announced the most magnificent comeback in Olympic history.

The Chinese team is going to the Olympic finals, and he can't believe it's true.

In the end, the score difference remained until the end of the game, and the Chinese team made it to the Olympic men's basketball final for the first time in history.

In the final against Italy, the plot was not so ups and downs, it was more like Lynch's coronation ceremony.

The Italians have always been good at inexplicably going offline in the middle of a battle, and today was no exception.

They were like Venetian warships shrouded in the fog of the Adriatic Sea. They were still able to fight with the Chinese team with accurate three-pointers in the first half, but suddenly lost their way after the change of sides.

In the end, Italy lost by 14 points and there was not much suspense in the game.

As Yao Ming threw the game ball, which was stained with palm prints, high into the starry sky, the moonlight of Athens was gilding the coronation ceremony with a silver glow, and the golden age of Chinese basketball officially arrived in the night breeze of the Aegean Sea.

For countless Chinese fans, this is the best day of their lives.

But to New York fans, this seemed just a hazy outline of future glory.

At 18, he swept across Europe, was the top draft pick, and became an Olympic champion.

In the vast galaxy of the NBA, never before has such an unprecedented bright star been about to dawn.

He is about to write an epic of a new era of basketball on the other side of the ocean, carrying with him the hurricane of Europe, the brilliance of the Olympic flame, and the expectations of Madison Square Garden that have not yet awakened.

Spike Lee cried. He didn't cry when the Dream Team was eliminated, but he cried when the Chinese team won the championship.

When CCTV footage showed him, Coach Zhang said something quite nonsensical: "Actually, Spike Lee is a black man with a Chinese heart!"

Of course, the reality is that this has nothing to do with skin color or cultural conversion, but stems from the bitterness that has long been pent up in Madison Square Garden.

As a guardian of New York basketball, he knows that he will no longer have to sit in the same position and eat the same shit day after day.

The next day, the New York Times broke the rules and printed a huge color photo of Chinese team members hugging and crying on the front page. If you didn't know, you would think it was the North Today News.

The headline on the front page questions the expectations of the entire city: Can God's hand bring salvation to the sinking New York?

Curled up in his Brooklyn apartment, Stephon Marbury clutched the newspaper. The dark figure shrouded in holy light from his dream reappeared. He stared at the title "Hand of God" in the report, his heart racing.

Lynch... No, no, it couldn't be him.

Because God is clearly a Ni Ge.

(Thanks to Mucha Shijiuhao, Yuexiawenyaowenyao, Feichangkeke2022, Dabingfangpao, Jingxindeyi, Please Call Me Wolf Xiaoye and other big guys for the rewards, thank you all!)
(End of this chapter)