Champion Rules

Chapter 65061: There can only be one true helmsman (Please subscribe!)

The outcome of the game sparked a sense of humor in the Cleveland media.

Before the game started, the front-page headline of the Cleveland Herald read: "Invincible."

After losing the game, their front-page headline became "Enemy from the Sky."

The 41-point victory over the Cavaliers allowed Lynch to get the epic reward he wished for.

He immediately wanted to get into the flexible step training that never took any steps.

When he arrived at the Greenburg Training Center at noon the next day, he saw Stephen Marbury, with his muscular upper body naked, practicing catch-and-shoot training in the empty gym. Sweat was like dewdrops on his dark skin, as if he had applied a layer of essential oil on his body.

Lynch leaned against the entrance of the training ground, watching the basketball draw precise arcs into the net.

He couldn't believe his eyes, because the formal training would not start for another hour. But the sweat on Marbury's body and his soaked sports shorts showed that he had been sweating for more than an hour.

In other words, the famous lone wolf actually practiced for himself two hours in advance.

This is fucking crazy.

"Group eight is done, yeah!" After completing the set number of exercises, Marbury suddenly pounded his chest and growled, and when he turned around, he noticed the audience at the door.

He grabbed a towel and wiped his dripping chest, raising his eyebrows jokingly: "Damn it, our busy man is willing to leave Jessica Alba's gentle embrace?"

Lin Qi was stunned: "What nonsense?"

"Come on, bro," Marbury said, throwing the towel over his shoulder and grinning, revealing his white teeth. "There are more cameras in Madison Square Garden than the neon lights in Times Square. Last night in the tunnel after the game, that Hollywood sweetheart practically stuck to you." He used his fingertips to draw graceful curves in the air. "Kurt Thomas could smell Chanel No. 5 through the crack in the locker room door. That old guy was so close to the door that he almost rubbed the paint off his nose!"

"Then he should be a drug detection dog." Lynch stepped onto the court and began stretching with the help of the trainer.

"How do you feel? What was it like last night?" Marbury sat next to Lynch.

"It feels great, so good it penetrates my bones."

"Wow, you're really direct, man. Tell me specifically how good it was?"

"That feeling goes straight to the depths of my soul."

The black point guard whistled: "Oh my God, the media still said Jessica is a traditionalist. What's the detail, brother? Is that sweet lady's waist like in the movie?"

Lynch slapped the shiny bald head: "WTF? I thought you were asking me how it felt to beat LeBron James!"

"Fuck!" Marbury rubbed his head and instantly jumped three meters away. "Who cares about LeBron? The whole of New York saw that girl's Gucci high heels caught in your Reebok shoelaces!"

"I didn't take her home, Steph. I like something a little plumper. I'm not Kobe or Karl Malone, who always has a soft spot for Mexican girls."

"Man, you're really embarrassing the New York Knicks! Is it hard to say it in front of Tyreke (trainer)? Don't worry, he's very tight-lipped."

The trainer nodded frantically with an expression as if he was eager to eat a cucumber.

"Shut up Stephen, what about you? Why are you here so early?" Lynch continued to warm up and changed the subject.

He grabbed the sports water bottle and took two gulps, his Adam's apple rolling violently.

"During yesterday's game, I realized our offense could use some significant improvement. When Grant was attacking with the ball, I could only wait like a fool. If I could increase off-ball cuts and catch-and-shoot options, perhaps our offense would be more efficient. Grant can pass, and we have two playmakers on our team, so I can play more off-ball. My good friend AI only became a true offensive weapon after developing off-ball play. I've decided to start practicing catch-and-shoots starting today."

Lynch paused in stretching his leg muscles. This was the second time Marbury had shocked him today.

Marbury's biggest problem is that he is much better at shooting off the dribble than with the ball, but he has rarely played without the ball throughout his career.

This is normal. From the time he became famous in elementary school to the present, Marbury has always been a ball handler and is used to having the ball in his hands.

But at this moment, he is actually actively seeking change, wanting to step out of his comfort zone and make himself more adaptable to the team's style of play.

Seeing Lynch staring at him, Stephen Marbury waved his hand: "Hey, don't look at me like that. I want to be the pride of New York, too."

"I hope you can stick with it and not just do it on a whim."

"Of course I can. By the way, Lynch, let me teach you something."

"what?"

"How could you insist on coming to practice early after sleeping with someone like Jessica Alba? Didn't you even think about waking up?"

"Ask your wife, Stephen!"

In fact, Stephen Marbury's teasing in the training hall was just the tip of the iceberg. The whole of New York was spreading rumors about Lynch and Jessica Alba.

The topic of "Is Lynch Jessica Alba's partner?" is even more popular than "LeBron James lost by 41 points."

After all, this likely wouldn't be the only time LBJ lost by 40 points, but a Hollywood sweetheart's chastity only comes once in a lifetime. Facing the rumors, the rising star displayed a carefree attitude that matched his playing style. When TMZ reporters surrounded him in the parking lot, Lynch, wearing Oakley sunglasses and leaning against the door of his Maserati, sneered, "I don't have anything good to say to you. Think whatever you want."

Lynch didn't care about the rumors. Come on, this is New York. If a New York basketball star doesn't have scandals, then he must be a fake basketball star.

To some extent, Reebok and other sponsors are happy that this rumor has emerged, as it shows that Lynch's fame is no longer limited to the basketball circle.

It's not forced, so what's there to be ashamed of?

While Lynch was teasing the nerves of gossip reporters, in the general manager's office on the top floor of the Greenburg Training Center, Isaiah Thomas was enjoying the long-awaited benefits of public opinion.

He flicked his cigar cutter as his eyes glanced at the "Best Trader of the Year" feature on the cover of Sports Illustrated.

The media praised him highly. People believed that his series of operations of resolutely selecting Lynch despite the temptation of superstar chips, trading Tim Thomas for Grant Hill and trading for Jamal Crawford, were the key to changing the fate of the New York Knicks.

Even Bill Simmons, the renowned assassin, lamented in his column: "When the assassin translated his power into victory on the court, I had to put aside my prejudice and re-examine the legendary point guard's operating philosophy."

As the media's overwhelming praise poured in, his tactical disagreements with the head coach at the beginning of the season and his heated argument with Lynch about Jamal Crawford's positioning in the team were now hidden in a dark corner.

At this moment, the phone on the manager's office desk rang.

The assassin picked up the phone and found that it was James Dolan calling.

"James, are you satisfied with yesterday's game?"

"Great! Hahahaha, we beat LeBron by 41 points! Great! Step up, Isaiah, step up! Lynch is absolutely right. Our goal this season is not just to make it to the playoffs. We have to make a difference in the playoffs. Make my team better before the trade deadline. You have the authority to trade any player!"

Thomas subconsciously straightened his back. He felt the trust conveyed by James Dolan.

and supreme power.

Through the newspaper, he saw Lynch on it and couldn't help but smile.

Boy, who's the boss on this team in the end, huh?

You are not Michael Jordan, and I am not the incompetent Jerry Krause!
"As you wish, James." Isaiah Thomas answered lightly, but bloodthirsty excitement surged in his throat.

After hanging up the phone, the assassin's thumb slowly stroked the sharp edge of the cigar cutter, as if grasping a sword of power. The social etiquette, superstar privileges, and locker room politics that once bound him now became insignificant cigar wrappers that could be cut at will.

After all, this is your own team, and you are the key to everything!

The next morning, as Lynch's sneakers touched the wooden floor of the training hall, his eardrums were shaken by Kurt Thomas's furious roar.

"What the hell is going on? Is Isaiah crazy? What on earth does he want to do?!" The veins on Kurt Thomas' neck rose and fell violently with his breathing, as if they would burst through his skin at any time.

"Kurt, what happened?" Lynch immediately intervened.

"The team wants to trade me for Eddie Curry from the Bulls!"

"What?" Lynch took the newspaper handed to him by Kurt Thomas. The news headline on it was unexpected.

"Sources reveal that the Knicks hope to acquire Chicago's 22-year-old center Eddy Curry, who is averaging 16.1 points and 5.4 rebounds per game this season, in a package primarily consisting of Kurt Thomas and draft picks. Negotiations are ongoing. Could this be another great move for Isaiah Thomas?"

The fluorescent tubes in the training hall cast a cold white glow on the newspaper, and Lynch noticed a line of small print in the corner: The deal may involve at least two first-round draft picks and two second-round draft picks.

"Damn, stupid, so stupid. Is this madman going to dismantle the locker room and use it as Lego toys?" Lynch threw down the newspaper and walked straight towards the Smiling Assassin's office.

But he wasn't in the office because the team was flying to Milwaukee today and he might go straight to the airport.

Four hours later.

James Dolan slumped lazily in the custom-made Maybach seat, his crocodile-skin shoes tapping rhythmically against the Italian calfskin upholstery to the beat of blues jazz. Suddenly, a burst of breaking news flashed across the car's LCD screen, causing him to freeze. The Montecristo cigar between his fingers hovered in mid-air, its gray ash falling off in a flurry.

"A heated argument erupted between Knicks general manager Isiah Thomas and star player Lynch on the team's official plane, nearly leading to a physical altercation."

The smoke rings Dolan slowly exhaled twisted into a chaotic vortex in front of the screen, reflecting his squinting eyes.

This damn team always makes him unable to see the future, just like the smoke in front of him.

But this time, the smoke dissipated quickly, the future seemed to become clear, and he almost immediately knew the crux of the problem.

It seems that apart from himself, this reborn New York Empire is destined to have only one true helmsman.

He must make a choice.

(Thanks to Ximen Buai Chuixue, Lin Di, Tian Cangren, Confirm that the product has been signed for, What to do, Sword of Vow Victory S and other big guys for the reward, thank you very much!)

(Also, fathers, please be patient.)
(End of this chapter)