Chapter Sixty: Chattering More Than Yongbo

On the very day the Orlando Magic staged a dramatic comeback on their home court, a thrilling match was also unfolding far away at the Ford Center in Oklahoma. The home team, the Oklahoma City Thunder, entered the game with a record of six wins and two losses, facing off against the Western Conference leaders—the Los Angeles Clippers, who had seven wins and one loss.

Both teams, nearly matched in their previous records, battled fiercely on the court. With just a minute and a half remaining, the score was tied at 104:104!

At this crucial moment, the soul of each team stepped forward, influencing the outcome in their own unique ways.

First, it was Chris Paul on the Clippers' side who took charge. Using his deft ball-handling and keen court vision, he broke through the defense and passed to his teammate. DeAndre Jordan forced his way to the basket, putting the Clippers ahead by two.

Immediately after, Andre Roberson of the Thunder committed a fatal error, handing possession to the leading Clippers. Paul once again orchestrated the offense, setting up his teammate for a priceless three-pointer.

109:104. With forty seconds left, the Thunder found themselves trailing by five.

At that moment, the fans at Ford Center felt a sense of defeat for their team.

But Russell Westbrook, so different from Paul, rose to the occasion.

He took the ball in the backcourt, advancing with explosive force. Driving into the paint, he leapt high, almost throwing himself into the air.

The referee’s whistle sounded; Westbrook earned two free throws, both of which he sank, cutting the deficit in minimal time. With little time left, the Thunder resorted to fouling. Austin Rivers, son of the Clippers’ coach, stepped to the line and missed both free throws.

Westbrook seized the opportunity, pushed forward rapidly, and scored two more points. 108:109—the Thunder were now just one point behind!

They continued the foul strategy. Jamal Crawford, the exceptional sixth man, made only one of two, giving the Thunder a chance for a three-point buzzer-beater.

But in the final 0.3 seconds, Westbrook, who had been miraculous all game, couldn’t save his team. His three-point attempt bounced off the rim, and the Thunder lost at home, 110:108—a heartbreaking two-point defeat.

“This was my fault. If I had made the last shot, everything would have been different.”

After the game, facing the cameras, Westbrook was visibly dejected. “It’s that simple. The responsibility for this game is mine.”

“But Russell, you almost had a triple-double, just one rebound short,” the reporter continued, “We all believe you were the standout performer tonight!”

It was clear that Westbrook’s terrifying performance this season had won over many journalists.

“I never care about the stats. If you can’t win, those numbers mean nothing.”

In the Orlando Magic’s training facility, Bismack Biyombo hugged a basketball, shaking his head in front of Michael Wu before looking at him. “Did you know, Michael? Last night, Russell Westbrook almost had a triple-double!”

“So, were you quoting Russell with your opening line?” Wu took the ball from Biyombo. This was the one ball that felt perfect to him this morning, and Wu was determined to use it for some serious shooting practice.

“Of course, that’s what Russell said in his interview last night.” Biyombo clapped his hands, full of disdain. “Michael, do you really believe that?”

“Why not? He said it himself,” Wu replied, not thinking much of it, raising the ball overhead and shooting. The basketball slipped through the net without deviation, making him secretly pleased. He ran to the basket, retrieved it, and said, “Bismack, if we use this ball in a game, I’ll definitely score in double digits!”

So far in his career, Wu’s highest-scoring game had been last night against the Utah Jazz, where he scored seven points—two from dunks and the rest from free throws. Shooting remained his Achilles’ heel.

Not that Wu was still the same as before, unable to shoot. After many days of practice, he had mastered the essentials of shooting. In training, he could sink three or four out of ten shots, but once in a game, his shooting touch seemed to vanish.

Frank Vogel had told Wu not to worry about it: seize the opportunity and shoot boldly. These obstacles would eventually be overcome. Wu trusted this excellent coach, but he was still anxious.

Dunking, after all, is not a reliable way to score. Even those known for their dunks are outstanding shooters.

Take Vince Carter, nicknamed “UFO,” for example. Everyone marvels at his superhuman dunking skills, but his shooting beyond half-court cannot be ignored. Often, Carter’s shooting dazzles the crowd, and his shots can decide a game.

“You could propose it to Adam Silver. Maybe he’d agree with you,” Biyombo joked before steering the conversation back to Westbrook. “Michael, I can’t believe you actually trust what Russell Westbrook says. If you watched the game, you’d see he was lying!”

“For rebounds, he abandons his defensive assignment. When his assist numbers aren’t enough, he passes frantically. Once he hits the mark, he goes solo!” Biyombo grew more agitated. “And this guy has the loudest MVP buzz? I just can’t understand it!”

“Bismack, our next opponent is Russell’s Thunder. You’ll have your chance to vent your frustrations,” Wu said, unfazed by Biyombo’s tirade and continued his training.

Truthfully, Wu was equally impressed by Westbrook’s astonishing performance this season. So far, the point guard—who resembles a ninja turtle—was averaging 31.1 points, 9.8 assists, and 8.9 rebounds, an eye-catching stat line.

But no matter how well Westbrook played, Wu felt it had nothing to do with him. With his own shooting still so inconsistent, did he have any right to critique an MVP-caliber player?

“Michael, don’t you think Russell’s behavior is wrong?” Biyombo pressed, chasing after Wu. “Just watch the Oklahoma games this season. You’ll be even more upset than I am!”

“Imagine—your offensive rebound is stolen by your own teammate. Two points from a put-back dunk blocked by your own teammate!”

“Catching the ball in your weakest spot and having to shoot—miss, and you might never touch the ball again. Could you tolerate such a teammate?”

Biyombo finished and looked at Wu, who returned his passionate gaze.

“OK, Bismack, I don’t care about anything else.”

“But I can’t stand someone stealing my rebounds.”