TL: 300PS
Chapter 356: Classic Finals Moments
The instant Chen Yan sat down, teammates swarmed him.
A perfect first half, a buzzer beater, and the kind of rhythm that makes a whole bench feel ten feet taller. Phoenix was buzzing, the building was buzzing, and the broadcast booth sounded like it needed oxygen.
Online, the reactions came just as fast.
"This dude is on autopilot."
"They need 2 defenders. No, 3."
"Has anyone ever shot like this in the Finals?"
"This is either a superhero movie or a horror film for Cleveland."
"One word, ridiculous."
…
In the locker room, Mike D'Antoni did not waste time celebrating. He slapped the board and pointed like he was drawing up a clinic.
"If they keep defending you like they did, keep isolating," he said. "Keep attacking. No hesitation. Do what you do."
Chen Yan nodded, eyes steady. He had dropped 30 plus in the first half and it felt like the rim was inviting him to keep going.
Steve Nash stepped in and patted him on the shoulder.
"Same thing, keep moving without the ball too. The second you're open, I'm getting it to you."
Diaw chimed in right away.
"Shoot with confidence. No second guessing."
The trust in the room was obvious. Chen Yan had earned it across the regular season and the playoffs, possession by possession.
Amar'e Stoudemire, always practical, added a warning.
"Second half, they might start doubling, try to trap you. If they do, move it. Don't get sucked into the crowd."
Chen Yan smiled.
"If they double me, just get ready. I'll serve you easy ones."
That made Amar'e laugh, because it was not talk. It was a promise.
The Suns locker room stayed loose at halftime. They had a double digit lead, Chen Yan looked unstoppable again, and the group felt like they were driving with the road wide open.
…
The third quarter started with Phoenix still running offense through Chen Yan.
But his touch cooled right away. A couple clean looks, a couple misses. Then another.
On the Cleveland bench, Mike Brown quietly lit up inside. This was what he had been waiting for.
Let Chen Yan play 1 on 1. Let him take a mountain of shots. Then wait for the numbers to drop. If that happened, the Cavaliers could climb back into it.
The problem was, Cleveland did not have the kind of offense that could instantly cash in on a cold streak.
The game stayed stuck in mud until Chen Yan changed the way he scored.
He did not keep firing to find rhythm. That was not his style, and it was too risky. If the misses piled up, the whole team would pay.
So he attacked the body instead.
He blew past Larry Hughes, got into the lane, and drew contact from Varejão.
Swish.
Swish.
49 to 61.
2 free throws, a steadier lead, and a reminder that he did not need the jumper to control the game.
…
Cleveland answered by feeding Shaq.
LeBron brought it up, Varejão screened, and instead of driving he floated a high lob into the paint.
Shaq caught it deep, dropped his weight, and went up.
He looked slower than the highlights, his movements heavier, but the size was still the size.
Phoenix did not take chances. Stoudemire and Chen Yan both collapsed.
Two hands slapped down, hard.
The whistle hit, foul on Stoudemire.
Shaq went to the line and split the pair, which was basically his normal math this season.
50 to 61.
…
Phoenix came right back.
Nash crossed half court, Chen Yan stepped up to screen, and Cleveland switched. The moment the matchup flipped, Chen Yan cut into the lane.
Nash hit him with a bounce pass.
Chen Yan caught it near the free throw line, backed Gibson down twice, then leaned into a fadeaway.
Gibson tried to contest, but he was already displaced, too far under Chen Yan's shoulder to get real lift.
So he reached.
The slap on Chen Yan's wrist was loud enough to be heard in the upper deck.
Shooting foul.
Chen Yan went to the line and made 1 of 2.
…
Cleveland forced the ball back to Shaq again.
This time, as he turned to shoot, Diaw and Stoudemire brought him down together. The whistle came, foul on Diaw.
Clang.
Clang.
Shaq missed both.
Mike Brown covered his eyes for a second, like he was trying to erase the sound from his life.
Shaq's touch was bad even by Shaq standards tonight.
Phoenix noticed immediately.
On the next 2 possessions, they committed off ball fouls on Shaq for one reason only, to send him back to the line.
Mark Jackson leaned forward, amused.
"Here it is. Hack a Shaq in the Finals."
Jeff Van Gundy sounded like he was watching a science experiment.
"This is the test Cleveland does not want to take, and Phoenix does not mind administering."
Shaq went 1 for 4 across those trips.
Including the earlier attempts, he was 2 for 8 from the line in the second half.
Every miss brought a louder reaction from the crowd, and every reaction tightened his face a little more. Shaq's frustration started to spill over.
…
Phoenix possession.
Chen Yan caught it at the top.
Cleveland still insisted on single coverage.
He palmed the ball casually with 1 hand, watching Larry Hughes like he was studying a mirror.
Then came a crossover, followed by a sharp shoulder fake.
Hughes did not lose his spot, but his weight shifted, just enough.
Chen Yan hit the gas.
One clean burst, and he was gone.
He had a straight runway to the rim.
The crowd rose, expecting a violent finish.
Instead, Shaq stepped across from the side and hammered Chen Yan to the floor.
No subtlety. No pretending it was just a basketball play.
Shaq had been hunted defensively in Game 1, then dragged to the line with Hack a Shaq in Game 2. He was 36, irritated, and tired of being the punchline.
The contact sent Chen Yan sideways in midair.
He flung the ball up anyway, off balance, body tilted, falling.
The shot went high, soft, almost disrespectful.
Swish.
And 1.
The Suns bench exploded. Guys were up, screaming, waving towels like they were trying to start a storm.
The arena announcer stretched Chen Yan's name until the building shook.
On the replay, Shaq's face was pure disbelief. He knew he had lost his cool. He just did not expect Chen Yan to still finish that.
Chen Yan stayed down for a moment.
Not hurt.
Just enjoying the big screen angle, like a man watching his own highlight tape in real time.
Stoudemire and Diaw pulled him up.
Chen Yan brushed at his jersey with his right hand, flicking imaginary dust away, like to say, you can play it clean or you can play it rough, it does not matter.
The camera caught it perfectly.
Another swagger moment, stamped into the Finals.
Another classic.
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