Chapter 359: Conflict, James's Mom Loses Control!
After the poster dunk, Quicken Loans Arena went dead quiet.
If that had happened at US Airways Center, the roof would have come off. But this was Cleveland's building, Cleveland's night, and Cleveland's pride. The only cheers came from a small pocket of Suns fans who had traveled with the team, including Chen Yan's parents.
Just like the first 2 games, they were in the stands again tonight. Chen Yan had brought them to the United States for one reason, to let them witness his first title run with their own eyes. Leaving them back in Phoenix while he chased history on the road would have felt empty.
The dunk rattled Cleveland for a heartbeat, then the Cavaliers steadied themselves fast.
On the next trip, O'Neal backed down hard on the left block, absorbed the double, then kicked the ball back out. James caught it at the top, swung it to Gibson on the right wing, and Gibson immediately moved it to Larry Hughes in the corner.
Hughes let it fly.
Swish.
2 to 5.
Phoenix came back looking to answer, but their possession bogged down. Nash crossed half court and suddenly changed pace, knifing toward the lane. Near the free throw line, he whipped it to Raja Bell. Bell did not have a clean look, so he lobbed it into Stoudemire on the inside, then sprinted to the opposite corner to clear space.
Stoudemire spun, faced up, took 1 hard dribble, and powered into his move.
Cleveland was ready. Gibson slid down to trap and crowd him.
A calmer big might have kicked it back out. Stoudemire had never been built that way. He tried to go right through both defenders.
Clang.
The ball hit the rim and bounced away.
Up on the ABC call, Mike Breen noted the early tension. "Stoudemire has had 2 rough touches to start. Phoenix is going to need him settled."
Jeff Van Gundy followed, blunt as always. "That's what a road crowd does. You miss 1 shot, it's noise. Miss 2, it's pressure."
Mark Jackson kept it simple. "He has to breathe and play through it. They need him."
Cleveland kept rolling.
James pointed, directed traffic, then fired a quick pass to Varejão near the elbow. Varejão caught, lifted into a pump fake that got Diaw off his feet, then took 2 steps into the paint and laid it up off the glass.
2 to 7.
The Cavaliers were humming, and the building fed off it. Every dribble sounded louder, every closeout felt faster. Phoenix could feel the weight of Game 3, because a 2 to 0 lead was supposed to be freedom, but it can also become a burden. When you want a win too badly, you start playing like you are afraid to lose.
Phoenix's next possession turned into exactly that kind of mistake.
Nash found Chen Yan, and Chen Yan quickly moved it to the corner without holding. The ball reached Raja Bell, but Bell hesitated for a beat and the window slammed shut.
He held the ball for 3 seconds, then tried to return it to Chen Yan.
James read it instantly.
He exploded into the lane, got a hand on the pass, and knocked it off its line.
Chen Yan reacted at the same time, turning and sprinting after the loose ball. At this stage of the Finals, every 50 50 ball was a possession worth bleeding for.
Chen Yan and James crashed as they accelerated in a straight line.
Bang.
Both hit the floor.
The whistle blew, and even though it was a true scramble, the call and the ball went to Cleveland.
Chen Yan did not argue. He understood what the building meant. Still, something sharp flashed in his chest. Not panic, not fear, just anger.
Cleveland went right back to feeding O'Neal.
This time Shaq sealed deep. James delivered the entry pass immediately. O'Neal turned into his hook, and Diaw and Stoudemire wrapped him up before he could get comfortable.
The whistle.
Two free throws.
And uncharacteristically, O'Neal buried both.
Swish.
Swish.
It was luck, but it was also work. Cleveland media had reported he arrived 4 hours early to get extra free throw reps in, a rare sight for a 36 year old giant who had already done everything in the league.
For those 2 shots, the effort showed.
2 to 9.
D'Antoni called Phoenix's first timeout.
The score itself did not scare him. What bothered him was the body language. The Suns were missing, but worse, they were getting cautious. They were passing up looks, second guessing themselves, playing like the lead was heavy.
D'Antoni clapped his hands hard.
"Cut the turnovers. Play our basketball. Shoot it free. If you miss, it's on me."
Then his eyes locked on Chen Yan.
"And when we come back, Chen, I want you attacking. Use your scoring to pull everybody out of this."
Chen Yan nodded once. "Got it."
That was exactly what he was thinking.
…
Out of the timeout, Nash followed the instruction immediately, feeding Chen Yan near the elbow.
Larry Hughes was there, isolated.
Chen Yan dropped his shoulder, took 2 quick dribbles, snapped into consecutive crossovers, then rose without warning.
A rhythm dribble into a pull up jumper.
Hughes stayed balanced, but it did not matter. Chen Yan's release was clean, high, and perfectly timed. The ball floated over Hughes's fingertips and fell straight through.
Swish.
4 to 9.
Mark Jackson's voice lifted. "That's the shot. No fear. No hesitation."
Cleveland answered with a solid look, but it did not fall.
Gibson brought it up and swung it to James. James sent it wide to the right side, and Hughes called for a pick and roll with Varejão. Hughes rose for his favorite midrange pull up.
The ball rolled along the rim and spilled out, and the crowd groaned.
Then the groan snapped into a roar.
O'Neal had position.
He grabbed the offensive rebound, landed near the baseline, and as he started to lose balance, he flung the ball out with force toward the 3 point line.
The pass was hot.
Gibson retreated 2 steps to catch it, but a dark blur streaked through the gap.
Chen Yan.
He stole it clean.
In 1 motion, he pushed forward and ignited the fast break.
For all of Chen Yan's skill, this was still his most lethal weapon, open floor speed with a finisher's nerve.
Cleveland's floor balance was poor on the play. Only Varejão, who had drifted up to set the earlier screen, had recovered to half court.
Chen Yan did not slow down.
He blasted into the restricted area and took off, ignoring Varejão's contest like it was a practice cone.
Boom.
Another dunk over Varejão.
Varejão landed, shook his head, and looked like a man questioning every decision that had led him here.
Up in the booth, Jeff Van Gundy sighed. "He is going to see that dunk in his sleep."
Mike Breen laughed under his breath. "Phoenix turning defense into offense, and Chen Yan turning a steal into a statement."
Online, fans were already firing off jokes like they were trying out for a late night writers' room. Some praised Chen Yan's speed, others joked that O'Neal had accidentally recorded an assist by saving the ball directly into the wrong team's highlight reel.
Cleveland did not have time to enjoy the comedy.
James immediately waved for the switch.
He took Chen Yan himself.
And unlike the controlled, patient approach he had shown earlier in the series, James came out more aggressive tonight. More contact. More grabbing at angles. More pressure on every cut.
It started to look familiar, like the kind of ugly, physical battle that turns a Finals game into a personal argument.
On raw tools, James was bigger and stronger than Kobe. But Kobe's will was pure steel, the kind that never relaxed, not for a second. Tonight, James was trying to match that energy, possession by possession. He did not want another Finals sweep on his record, not in back to back years, not with the whole league watching.
The 2 of them fought through bumps and pulls, sliding from the left baseline to the right baseline like they were chained together.
And the referees let it go.
In the Finals, star players do not get touched gently. They get held and hit, and whistles come slower. Everyone in the league knows that. Kobe had lived off that truth. James understood it too.
Chen Yan understood it now as well.
So when James kept leaning, Chen Yan answered with his own message.
On a baseline cut, Chen Yan threw an elbow into James's chest.
Bang.
A hard shot, right on the sternum.
It was the kind of contact that makes fans gasp and makes defenders rethink how much they want to crowd the next cut.
James gritted his teeth and stayed attached anyway.
The tugging continued. Jersey pulls, arm checks, constant pressure to keep Chen Yan from slipping free.
Then Chen Yan made a sharp back cut, trying to loop out and catch the ball.
He felt a pull from behind and his balance broke.
In the same instant, Chen Yan turned, wrapped James up, and both of them tumbled out of bounds, still locked together.
The crowd exploded into jeers.
The referee finally stepped in and blew the whistle to stop the chaos before it turned into a full wrestling match.
Chen Yan got up first.
And that is when the noise shifted.
A Black woman seated near the baseline began screaming at him, unloading a stream of curses, loud enough for players on the floor to hear.
Chen Yan recognized her immediately.
LeBron's mother.
He had seen her on television, in photos, in magazines, in every frame of LeBron's story that the media loved to tell.
At first, it looked like raw emotion, a mom defending her son.
Then it escalated.
She kept going, louder, angrier, moving forward like she was ready to step onto the floor.
Security tensed.
The nearest official glanced over.
Her control was slipping.
And then the most unexpected thing happened.
James sprinted over and jumped in front of her, eyes sharp, voice even sharper.
"Stop."
She froze, stunned.
James did not soften.
"Sit down. Get back to your seat."
The arena went weirdly quiet again, this time from surprise.
LeBron almost never snapped in public, and certainly not at his own mother. But his reason was simple and practical. If she crossed the line, the league could ban her from arenas, and that was the last thing he wanted hanging over his head in the middle of the Finals.
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