Chapter 263: The Battle Is About To Begin, Chen Yans Bold Words
On a TNT studio show, the analysts were deep into their breakdown of the second round.
"Spurs or Suns? Which team is moving on?" Kenny Smith threw the question straight to the table.
Reggie Miller answered first. "The Spurs are better. They have more experience, and I mean championship experience. Those guys know exactly what to do and when to do it. That is how they sent the Suns home last year."
Charles Barkley snorted. "Reggie, that sounds nice, but you are forgetting one thing. The Suns have Chen this time."
Magic Johnson, already smiling when Chen Yan was mentioned, leaned forward in his chair.
"Chen is the Suns x factor," Magic said. "He just averaged almost thirty seven points per game in his first playoff run. A guy like that can tilt a series."
"Basketball is never a one man show," Reggie shot back. "Not even Michael could win by himself, and Chen sure cannot either."
"I am not saying he can beat San Antonio all by himself," Magic replied. "But when you add a rookie who gives you thirty six a night, it changes everything for that team."
"Yeah," Barkley added. "You give any coach a rookie dropping thirty six in the playoffs, and suddenly the game looks real easy."
Reggie shook his head. "The Nuggets are the Nuggets, and the Spurs are the Spurs. Chen is not going to get the same freedom against that Spurs defense."
Kenny nodded. "I am with Reggie on this one. The Nuggets, like the Suns, live on offense more than defense. Phoenix could run and gun against them all day. The Spurs are not going to let them play that kind of game."
Barkley turned toward Kenny. "What, this is the first time these two teams have met? You did not watch the regular season? You think..."
Before he could finish, Kenny cut in. "Regular season is regular season, playoffs are playoffs, Charles. Two different animals. You know that better than anyone."
Their back and forth got louder and more animated. It was part disagreement, part performance. The more they argued, the more the audience leaned in. And ratings always loved conflict.
Everyone knew one thing from watching that show: Suns versus Spurs was must see TV.
The series opener was set for May 3 in Phoenix.
Two days before the game, the mood at Suns practice was anything but light. Phoenix had rolled through Denver, sweeping the Nuggets four games to none. A sweep showed strength, but sometimes that kind of smooth ride could soften a team, especially when the next opponent was the disciplined, relentless Spurs.
Mike DAntoni sensed the looseness creeping into the locker room, so he responded the only way he knew how. Practices became longer, sharper, and more demanding. The little mustache on the sideline was not just running drills, he was sending a message.
Stay sharp. Stay hungry.
Time slid forward, and soon May 3 arrived.
Game 1 between the Suns and the Spurs was finally here.
A few hours before tipoff, Chen Yan drove his beloved red Ferrari toward America West Arena. You did not need a schedule to know a playoff game was coming. The entire city was wearing orange.
Everywhere he looked, he saw Suns jerseys, banners, and flags waving from car windows and balconies. Phoenix believed this could be the year. With the Spurs on the other side, the atmosphere felt even more intense. This was not just a playoff series. It was a grudge match.
The city had taken notice. Local authorities assigned extra police both inside and outside the arena to keep order. America West Arena officially held nineteen thousand people, but tonight there would be more than that gathered around it.
Fans who could not get tickets crowded into the plaza outside, ready to watch on the giant screen and cheer like they were in the building.
Chen Yan's car moved slowly through the stream of people. It was not traffic that slowed him down. It was the crowd recognizing him, turning, pointing, shouting his name, lifting signs. He had wanted to stay low key, at least until he was inside the arena.
But there was nothing subtle about a bright red Ferrari.
Even so, the fans showed restraint. They waved, shouted, snapped quick photos, but they did not try to block him or drag things out. The last thing anyone in Phoenix wanted was for their star to miss warmups because the crowd loved him too much.
About three hours before tipoff, Chen Yan finally pulled into the arena entrance.
After shootaround wrapped up, he found himself on the sideline with a microphone in his face. An ESPN reporter stepped forward, trying to be heard over the rising noise in the building.
"Chen, some people are calling this series a matchup of spear and shield," the reporter asked. "An elite offense against an elite defense. How do you see it?"
"Sorry, say that again?" Chen Yan bent down slightly, cupping his ear.
It was not that he could not hear, but the sound inside America West Arena was already roaring. With fans pouring in and music blasting, the first half of the question had been swallowed by the noise.
The reporter raised his voice and repeated the line.
Chen Yan smiled. "When a great offensive team meets a great defensive team, something special always happens. I am just as excited as the fans to see how it plays out."
"Do you think the Suns will win the series?" the reporter followed up.
"Of course," Chen Yan said calmly. "No doubt."
"Then how many games do you think it will take for the Suns to advance?"
Chen Yan rested his hands on his hips, his tone light but steady. "I do not know how many games it will take. I just know we have to win four. Whoever we face, that is our job. Four wins. That is the mission."
With the crowd buzzing behind them, those words came out stronger than usual. A simple answer turned into a quiet challenge.
The reporter laughed. Interviews with Chen Yan never lacked material.
"Chen, you have played very well against the Spurs in the regular season," the reporter continued. "How do you plan to attack their defense tonight?"
"I will use more mid range jumpers," Chen Yan answered without hesitation.
He understood the Spurs better than most. Their strategy was clear. They packed the paint to stop drives, chased shooters off the three point line, and were fine with giving up long twos, the most inefficient shot in modern analytics.
Kobe Bryant had once carved them up almost entirely from that space.
If the Spurs were going to give Chen Yan that shot, he was ready to live in that zone.
The interview ended, and Chen Yan headed back into the locker room.
Most of the Suns were already in their game uniforms, listening as DAntoni laid out the final points on the whiteboard. Only one player stood out.
Steve Nash was not sitting on a bench or leaning against a locker. He was lying flat on the carpet.
It was not a lack of respect. It was a special exception.
Nash's back had been acting up again.
It had never really stopped.
He suffered from congenital spondylolisthesis, a spinal defect where one vertebra slipped over another. A flaw in the joint near his lumbar and sacral spine left the whole structure unstable. It was like playing with a door whose hinge never quite tightened. The more you opened and closed it, the more it warped.
As Nash aged, that vertebra gradually shifted forward, pressing on the nerves nearby and sending sharp pain through his lower back. His torso would shorten a little, his abdomen would start to push out. On the surface, these changes were not obvious, but his nerves felt every bit of it. Standing fully upright became an effort.
So whenever Nash had a moment, he lay down. Not to rest out of laziness, but because that was the only way his back got even a little relief.
If he kept playing, the pain would always be there. Surgery could fix it, but a long rehab would cost him crucial years, maybe even keep him from ever returning to the court. For a veteran still chasing a championship, that option was off the table.
"Steve, you good?" Chen Yan asked with a smile, carefully reaching down to help him up.
He made sure his grip was gentle. The last thing he wanted was a headline saying he injured his own point guard in the locker room before Game 1.
Nash grinned. "It is just my old friend in there. I am used to playing with him."
Seeing that Nash could joke about it, Chen Yan felt a bit more at ease.
In the tunnel before tipoff, Nash's energy shifted. He stood at the front of the group, voice rising above the noise.
"Hey, guys, wake up! This is our payback game!"
"You hear that out there? You hear those fans? Give them something to scream about. Bring them a win!"
The Suns lined up behind him, their focus sharpening. His words, more fired up than usual, ran through the team like a jolt of electricity.
Together, they charged out of the tunnel.
The roar that met them was almost physical.
The arena announcer shouted over the sound system, "It has been a long wait, Phoenix! Twelve days since the last time we saw these faces on this floor. Let us welcome back your Phoenix Warriors!"
The last home game for Suns fans had been April 21, Game 2 of the first round. The wait since then had only stacked more energy on top of the building.
Led by the announcer, the crowd responded with a wall of noise that shook the arena.
Standing on the hardwood, Chen Yan felt his pulse match the beat of the building. The noise, the lights, the smell of the floor polish and sweat, it all wrapped around him.
As he crossed the sideline and stepped fully onto the court, he quietly triggered his system.
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