Chapter 451: Even Brushing Is an Art
Linus was fuming. He had just gotten yanked without scoring a single point.
The Clippers replaced him with Fred Jones, a 193 cm swingman.
Chen Yan stepped to the line and knocked down the free throw. The score moved to 4 to 16, and he was already sitting on 14 points.
"Run the pick and roll. Move it decisively. If you are open, shoot it. No hesitation."
Clippers head coach Mike Dunleavy barked from the sideline, voice sharp with frustration. The game was not even halfway through the 1st quarter, and his team already looked like it was slipping into quicksand.
Baron Davis brought the ball over half court. He saw Nash's stance was a little high and his angle was sloppy, so instead of following the call, he changed direction and drove hard.
A step inside the free throw line, Baron spun and fired the pass out.
Fred Jones caught it and dropped into triple threat, then lifted his head.
Chen Yan, assigned to him, was 2 full steps away.
That was disrespect.
Jones was not a pure sniper, but he was shooting around 36% from deep this season. Leaving him that open was basically daring him.
He rose from beyond the arc, angry at the space, and let it fly. Chen Yan only reached lazily, then turned and started jogging upcourt, already thinking about the fast break if it missed.
Swish.
7 to 16.
Jones' jumper briefly stopped the bleeding, and the crowd reacted like the Clippers had finally shown a pulse. They had no idea Chen Yan had already flipped into his "pace control" plan, loosen the defense, stay on the floor longer, keep the game alive long enough to rack up numbers.
He was not worried about a defensive reputation.
If the Suns kept winning and he kept scoring, how many people would really care about a few lazy closeouts in January?
Phoenix came right back. Nash crossed half court, Chen Yan sprinted off ball, took the pass, then used a push dribble change of direction at the top of the arc. The instant Fred Jones turned his hips, Chen Yan slammed on the brakes and pulled up.
The move was clean. The line was perfect.
The shot just had a little too much juice. It clanged off the rim.
That was the Suns' identity. They finished in 7 seconds, 10 seconds at most. No dragging possessions. No staring at the clock.
The benefit was obvious. Even when you miss, you raise the number of possessions. More possessions means more chances. Over a full night, that becomes points.
Clippers ball.
After a few swings, Baron Davis launched from outside and tossed up an air ball. It was a snapshot of his season, a lot of attempts, not enough efficiency.
"Get inside," Dunleavy shouted, furious with the shot selection.
The miss kicked long. Fred Jones grabbed the rebound near the free throw line and immediately rose again. Chen Yan was still a comfortable distance away, giving him all the air he wanted.
This one came up short too, but it caught friendly rim and rolled in anyway.
9 to 16.
A defense first coach like Van Gundy or Popovich would have been losing his mind watching Chen Yan float around like that. But D'Antoni was cut from a different cloth. He lived for offense. He did not micromanage defensive details, and he did not want to put a leash on Chen Yan's scoring.
He understood Chen Yan's style. Chen Yan was not a stubborn gunner who forced volume no matter what. He increased his attempts when he had feel, and when he did, the Suns almost always won. Phoenix's record in Chen Yan explosion games was the proof.
Phoenix answered with a sharp sequence.
Nash and Chen Yan ran a beautiful cut. Chen Yan back cut, caught Nash's pass on the baseline, and finished with a reverse layup.
9 to 18.
That made it 16 points for Chen Yan.
Jones was clearly distracted on that possession. Two straight makes had him thinking more about staying hot than staying locked in.
Clippers ball.
Baron Davis finally got on the board. After a few passes, he cut toward the rim, took the ball, sold a big pump fake, slipped past Diaw, and laid it in off glass.
11 to 18.
As he jogged back, Baron grabbed at his waist. The injury was still there. Moves like that cost him more than they used to.
Phoenix slowed for a heartbeat.
Nash held at the top. After getting burned once, Jones was glued to Chen Yan now.
Chen Yan did not rush. He walked casually toward Nash and they flowed into a handoff.
Chen Yan caught it with 1 hand, a step beyond the arc, smooth like it was scripted. The rest of the Suns instinctively spaced out. No words needed. Their chemistry was automatic.
With Chen Yan possessed, the rule was simple.
Clear the runway.
Dunleavy watched the setup with growing anxiety. Was this going to be another one of those nights?
With the floor opened, Chen Yan went into isolation.
Jones was not some elite defender, but Chen Yan stayed sharp. If a weak link was in front of him, he was going to squeeze every drop out of it.
He dribbled between his legs to his left and dragged 1 step. Then he went between his legs back to his right and dragged another step.
Left. Right.
Those drag steps were not just movement, they were a test. He was shifting Jones' center of gravity, waiting for the moment it leaned the wrong way.
The moment it did, Chen Yan exploded to Jones' right.
Jones stayed attached.
So Chen Yan snapped a behind the back dribble and immediately stepped back beyond the arc.
The space between them widened in an instant.
Jones threw his hand up and jumped to contest, but the second his feet left the floor, he knew it.
He had been baited.
Chen Yan did not wait for him to land. He leaned his shoulder into Jones' chest, clever and controlled, letting the defender's airborne momentum do the rest.
Beep beep.
Whistle.
Foul on Fred Jones, and because Chen Yan was clearly in the act beyond the arc, it was 3 free throws.
Charles Barkley laughed. "That's smart. That's veteran stuff. If you jump, he's gonna make you pay."
Kenny Smith nodded. "Perfect use of the rules. He creates contact after the defender commits. That's high level shot creation."
Chen Yan hit 2 of 3, pushing his total to 18 points.
On the other end, Thornton answered with raw athletic force. He drove hard, drew contact, and earned 2 free throws.
Raja Bell preferred guarding skill players. Thornton was a different assignment, pure power and burst.
Thornton made both.
13 to 20.
Phoenix inbounded, and the moment the ball came in, the entire building started chanting for Chen Yan to get it.
The game was turning into a show.
A personal scoring exhibition.
Every Suns possession, the crowd leaned forward, waiting to see how Chen Yan would put the ball in the basket this time.
The noise fed him. The adrenaline rose. For a stretch, he saw nothing but the rim.
He caught it, crossed hard, and blew past Jones. Snell and Thornton collapsed, and Jones chased from behind.
Three bodies closed around him.
Chen Yan forced a big horizontal fadeaway anyway.
Clang.
The rim sound snapped him back to reality.
He knew that was a bad shot. Too emotional. Too much crowd.
Plays like that were inefficient, and worse, they were the kind of possessions that could make teammates start thinking the wrong thoughts.
Clippers ball.
Baron used a screen and drove straight to the rim, decisive this time. In the paint he dumped it to Snell, who finished a simple layup off the glass.
15 to 20.
Phoenix's lead was not huge anymore.
Nash did not immediately force feed Chen Yan. He organized up top, trying to bring the offense back to something cleaner.
Off a screen, Nash shuffled sideways, then swung to Diaw. Diaw faked the shot, took 1 step inside, then snapped the pass to Chen Yan on the wing.
Chen Yan caught and attacked without hesitation. He used a slow 3 step rhythm, changing gears as he entered the paint.
Paul Davis left Stoudemire and rushed over.
Double team again.
This time, Chen Yan stayed disciplined. His reputation was an efficient scorer, not a reckless bulldozer.
He rose into a fadeaway, and in midair, turned it into a pass, flicking the ball to Stoudemire like it was part of the shooting motion.
Stoudemire caught and laid it in easily.
15 to 22.
If Chen Yan wanted to be stubborn, he could still score through endless double teams. But it would drop his efficiency, it would strain the offense, and it would invite the worst label a star could get.
A team killer.
He was not going to play that game.
Because scoring, real scoring, was an art.
And the best artists knew when to take the shot, and when to paint the assist instead.
.....
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