nba grind Chapter 159: I Won’t Join a Team That Just Beat Us (Patreon)

National-team practice was set for nine-thirty.

Link was in the gym a little after eight. Habit.

The building was empty except for one tall figure already working at a hoop. Yao Ming.

The ball left his hands on a familiar arc.

Swish.

He had a touch that did not match the size. On a lot of nights he was the first name they called for a technical free throw.

Yao picked the ball up, saw Link coming through the door, and smiled.

“This early?” He fed the pass.

“Habit, Yao. Same as you.”

Link caught it, took two dribbles, and knocked down a mid-range jumper.

They worked in the quiet for a while. Nothing in the gym but net and shoes on wood.

A little more than half an hour later Yao walked to the sideline, grabbed two bottles, and handed one over. They leaned on the scorer’s table and looked at the empty floor.

“The Lakers—” Yao took a drink and glanced at him. “Mitch Kupchak called again a few days ago. Formal. He made the trade pitch a second time.”

Link did not fill the space. He listened.

Yao had a decision to make.

“Those terms—” Yao turned. The look on his face was complicated. “Honestly, Link, they’re tempting. Playing with Kobe. Playing with you. Going after a title. That’s the combination every player draws up in his head.”

“My people ran the numbers. Career. Business. Los Angeles is the better city. No argument.”

Link waited. He could hear the rest coming.

Yao sat with it a long time. Then he let out a breath that had more than air in it.

“I thought about it. A lot of nights. What it would look like in a Lakers jersey. What Houston’s fans would see when the news hit. Those seven games we just played—every one of them is still sitting in my head.”

His voice dropped.

“And I can’t live with the picture.” A small, dry smile. “Walking back into Toyota Center in purple and gold. Looking at people who yelled for me for seven years. People who stayed when we lost.”

“I don’t have a sentence for that. Why, after we emptied the tank and went down, I turn around and join the team that put us there.”

He looked at Link. The eyes were clear.

“This is not disrespect. Not to the Lakers. Not to you. Not to Kobe. You gave me the highest respect and the best chance on the board. This is just how I do it. My roots. My word. They’re in Houston.”

“We lost. Then we try to win it back. We don’t take the road that looks easier.”

“I will not join a team that just beat us in the playoffs. That’s the decision.”

The gym held still except for the low hum of the air system.

Link looked at the giant who had been carrying other people’s expectations until the body showed the miles. There was no disappointment in it. Respect came up hard instead.

Years later another superstar would face a version of the same fork and take the other path—the one people joked was “the hardest road.” It bought him the highest honors and a heavier argument. That was not a verdict. It was just a different man.

“I understand, Yao,” Link said. He meant it. “If it were me, I might make the same call.”

It was not courtesy. He knew what Houston was to Yao.

Yao’s shoulders eased a fraction. He patted Link’s arm.

“Thank you for getting it. Thank the Lakers for me too. Tell them I valued the invitation. It told me what I’m worth. Some things sit above a ring.”

“I will.” Link nodded. “So next season—”

“Next season we’re still on opposite benches.” Yao smiled. The competitive heat came back into his eyes. “And we’ll come get it. You, Kobe, the Lakers—get ready.”

Link laughed. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

The talk left something standing between them that did not belong to either roster.

“Enough of that.” Yao waved it off. “These exhibitions matter. A lot of the young guys have never seen a night like this.”

Link nodded.

“The talent is there. Talk to them when you can. Next year is home.” Yao’s face tightened.

Beijing. 2008.

It sat on every basketball man in the building like a ceiling. A country had waited a long time for that floor. A generation might only get one. Opportunity and weight in the same package. The whole world would watch what basketball had become, and a whole country would lean on the result. Not everyone could carry that.

“We’re not here to win it,” Yao said. “We’re here to play like ourselves.”

Even a United States second team was still world-class. No one in the room was allowed to treat it like a scrimmage.

While they talked, the rest of the roster and the staff started coming through the doors. The empty floor filled up fast.

Yao and Link stepped into the work.

“Defense! Defense!”

“Watch the shot!”

In the intra-squad, Sun Yue drew Link. Yao barked at him from behind.

Sun Yue locked in. No one was treating this like a courtesy run.

Jonas had them in colors. Link had the reds, Yao the whites. Twenty minutes. The intensity stayed controlled.

Link held the ball beyond the arc and read the cuts. He hit Zhu Fangyu flashing out of the post. Zhu had nothing, kicked it back, and cleared to the weak side.

The floor opened. Isolation on the wing. The rest of them made room like they wanted a look at the visitor.

Link understood. A guy who dropped in from the outside always had a few people in the room who needed convincing.

He kept the ball.

Hips down. Sun Yue in front of him.

[System]

Ball-Handling Specialist Lv2

Active

A fast jab. Sun Yue’s weight drifted a fraction.

Crossover, left side.

Sun Yue recovered and glued himself back on.

Link did not force the paint. Behind-the-back to the right hand, both feet already behind the line.

Sun Yue feared the jumper and leaned.

That was the window.

Right hand into a low between-the-legs, body almost on the floor, and he was gone.

No circus. Just one clean chain. The read on the defense was the part that mattered.

He was in the paint before Yao’s help arrived. Soft floater.

[System]

Soft Touch Lv2

Active

The ball went up on a high, easy arc, kissed past the tips of Yao’s fingers, and dropped.

Good.

On the way back Yao’s face showed it. Surprise, unfiltered.

The handle Link had just used was not the one from the playoffs. Two months. Not even.

Yao looked at him again, and the look had a different weight in it.

Work alone did not explain that.