Chapter 61: A Thirty-Second Discussion

Wu Rui believed that, for now, there was only one reason Coach Vogel was willing to give him any playing time: his advantage in rebounding. To ensure control of the boards within the rotation was invaluable for a team needing to stay within striking distance or maintain a lead.

However, if someone were to snatch away a rebound that Wu Rui had fought so hard to secure—especially if that someone was a teammate, and did so purely for the sake of padding their own stats, even after Wu Rui already had the ball firmly—he could only think of one word for such a player.

“Michael, are you sure you don’t want to watch Russell’s game footage?” Biyombo glanced at the young man in front of him, whose expression was more solemn than he’d ever seen. Wu Rui’s face was like a mask of deep resentment.

“Absolutely not necessary,” Wu Rui replied, his face rigid. “After hearing your description, I already have a pretty good idea of how he gets those jaw-dropping stats. Frankly, it’s not worth the hype.”

To be honest, in Wu Rui’s mind, if someone inflates their scoring, it proves they’re the core of the team and have the ability to do so—and scoring isn’t a bad thing for the team, so that’s understandable. If someone pads their assists, it means they have complete control of the ball, and they might even give fringe players a chance to shine and change their lives—that, too, can be justified.

But padding rebounds?

Especially when you’re a point guard, not a big man—Wu Rui didn’t know, nor did he care, what kind of impact that would have on the team. He only knew it would break the hearts of his teammates.

“I owe you an apology for what I did before.” That thought prompted Wu Rui to suddenly say, “Before this, I’d only ever seen Russell Westbrook’s highlight reels—he really is explosive.”

“But I have no intention of losing to a stat-huffer like him!”

With that, Wu Rui shot a look at Biyombo, then clutched the ball, charged down the court with a few quick steps, and soared up for a thunderous one-handed slam.

“Michael, maybe you really should enter the dunk contest,” Biyombo muttered, unable to hide his amazement at Wu Rui’s explosive burst.

Of course, whether Wu Rui would actually participate in this season’s dunk contest would be up to the NBA. After all, the official invites come from the league itself.

Yet one thing was certain for everyone: tonight’s TNT broadcast would be anything but quiet.

“Okay, Charles, tomorrow is the moment everyone’s been waiting for—do you have anything you want to say?” The TNT commentary crew was assembled, and it was Kenny Smith, the former NBA champion, who spoke first. He glanced over at Charles Barkley. “This time you have to talk about Michael Wu.”

“Of course, Kenny, this kid’s been on fire lately.” Charles Barkley cleared his throat before continuing. Just last night, in the NBA’s official Top 5 Plays, Wu Rui’s poster dunk over Gobert took the top spot again, making the young guard the subject of heated discussion everywhere—including TNT.

“I watched his career highlights—about thirty seconds long? So I figure thirty seconds is all he needs,” Barkley said, glancing at the sparse hairs on his wrist. “Twenty-eight… twenty-nine… thirty!”

“Bingo! Man, I think we can move on to the next topic.” Sir Charles straightened his jacket. “Russell Westbrook is one three-pointer away from hero status. Shaq, what’s your take?”

“Charles, did you oversleep?” Shaquille O’Neal’s broad face formed a slight frown. “Don’t forget, Michael Wu posterized Rudy Gobert!”

“Because of him, the Orlando Magic managed to come back against the Utah Jazz at home, while Russell suffered his second straight loss,” Shaq recited the previous night’s results with practiced ease. “I think you owe this Chinese-American player the basic respect his performance deserves. We should talk about him.”

“Or maybe you guys just think thirty seconds isn’t enough?” Barkley dismissed Shaq’s words outright. “But Shaq, you have to understand, for a player whose career highlights can fit in thirty seconds, it’s already a huge honor for me to mention him at all.”

“As for last night’s victory—if you insist on giving all the credit to a guy who scored seven points, ignoring the ones who posted double-doubles, then Shaq, you should go back to bed. You’re delirious.”

Just as Barkley said, though Wu Rui had produced two top-ranking dunks in the day’s highlight reels, what fans remembered most about him were those two dunks. Otherwise, Wu Rui was known only for his skin color—a Chinese-American—and for being a second-round pick who saw little time on the court, averaging more rebounds than points (since his scoring average was below three).

“Michael, did you watch last night’s TNT broadcast?”

In the gray light of dawn in Orlando, there was always a gym where the sound of sneakers squeaking against the hardwood broke the silence. Frank Vogel, pushing open the facility’s door, saw Wu Rui already hard at his routine and asked him.

“Coach Frank, I didn’t,” Wu Rui replied, bowing politely and answering honestly. “To be honest, I prefer ESPN’s coverage. A lot of their analysts really know the game.”

Last night, Wu Rui had spent almost the whole night reading every article about Russell Westbrook on ESPN’s website. Many of the journalists had sharp analysis; the guard, averaging a near triple-double for the season, was indeed suspected of padding his rebounding stats.

“Hmm... you’re not wrong...” Vogel had no rebuttal; ESPN did have many true professionals. “But you should check out their nightly show sometime—think of it as relaxation.”

As he spoke, Vogel took off his coat and pulled a stack of documents from the side. “You know, last night, they were talking about you and Russell Westbrook.”

“Russell again?” At that, Wu Rui paused his workout and walked over to the coach. “Is everyone always talking about that stat-huffer?”

“Michael, maybe Russell does chase rebounds, but he’s an outstanding player—an MVP-caliber guard,” Vogel replied, watching Wu Rui’s eyes smolder with frustration. “In other words, he’s earned the right to pad his numbers. It’s because he’s so good that he can do it.”

“Is it really that hard to pad stats?” For the first time, Wu Rui disagreed. “Coach Frank, rebounds aren’t even the hardest thing to pad, but even MVP-level Russell can’t get double digits every night!”

“That was last—”

“This game was the same!”