Ford Center Arena.
The super showdown between the Thunder's "Big Three" and the Heat's "Big Three" has reached the fourth quarter, with just 1 minute and 27 seconds left on the clock.
Thunder (118) : (119) Heat.
The Heat lead by one.
Thunder possession.
Durant holds the ball on the left wing, once again facing LeBron's ironclad defense. The two, who have been trading blows all night, are on the verge of deciding the outcome.
"Whoosh!"
One hard dribble, then he rises suddenly.
Durant pulls up for a three right over LeBron. With his astonishing height and terrifying wingspan, even LeBron can't get a hand on it.
"Swish!"
Nothing but net.
"That was gutsy from Durant,"
the commentator can't help but praise.
LeBron stays calm. He brings the ball up and fires back immediately with a sudden pull-up three of his own, reasserting control.
Westbrook pushes the ball up, accelerates, and goes into a pull-up jumper.
"Clang!"
No good.
Durant soars in and snatches the rebound, but Wade and Bosh rush over instantly to double-team him. Durant muscles through the pressure.
"Whoosh!"
A forced fadeaway.
His height and bounce are enough to get the shot off, but the contest throws it off. It doesn't fall.
LeBron secures the rebound and outlets to Wade. In the frontcourt, LeBron asks for the ball again on the left high post, only to be met by a double-team from Durant and Westbrook.
"Whoosh!"
Sensing danger, LeBron immediately kicks it out. Wade cuts to the free-throw line, strings together a smooth euro-step, sends Perkins flying, and finishes easily with a soft scoop.
The Heat go up by three.
Only 22.4 seconds remain for the Thunder.
"Last possession. The Thunder have to hit a three to tie the game and force overtime. How will they play this?"
As expected, the ball goes to Durant.
At the top of the arc, Durant faces LeBron. He doesn't rush, bleeding the clock, slowing the rhythm, searching for the best possible shot.
Ten seconds. Eight seconds.
No screen. No help.
Durant lowers his center of gravity, drives right—no, it's a fake—he rises straight up and shoots over LeBron's defense.
Does it go in?
Ah—no.
Bosh grabs the rebound and flings the ball into the air as time expires. The Heat win on the road by three.
It was a thrilling, all-out battle, but the Thunder's "Big Three" are still just a bit too young.
The Heat's "Big Three" were assembled to hunt the league, to chase championships. From the moment they came together, they were at their peak—overwhelming and unmatched.
If even the Thunder's "Big Three" can't stop them, then who can?
"Boom!"
As the commentator's impassioned voice echoes through the arena, deafening cheers erupt. The Heat's Big Three soak in the roar of victory.
"Smack!"
LeBron, Wade, and Bosh slap hands. In each other's eyes, they see a trophy—a golden championship trophy.
Their existence is for one thing only: the title.
...
Back to the Suns versus Hornets matchup.
With a center like Blake Su spinning a top-tier guard like Chris Paul in place on the perimeter, the Suns' home arena is completely ignited.
Even with the score still tight, the Suns have fully seized control of the momentum.
"Beep—beep!"
Coach Monty has no choice but to call a timeout.
After the timeout.
Paul deliberately cuts down his direct matchups with Blake Su. On the wing, Ariza can't keep up speed-wise. In the backcourt, Belinelli doesn't have the height. And out on the perimeter stands Blake Su, armed with the "Peak Anthony Jump Shot."
He's nearly unstoppable.
By the end of the second quarter.
Blake Su pours in another 13 points in the quarter, along with 2 rebounds and 2 assists.
"Twenty-eight points, seven rebounds, four assists, and two blocks in a half—leading a bottom-tier Western team to a seven-point lead over a playoff-level opponent. Rookie Blake Su… he's incredible!"
Jon Barry marvels.
"Absolutely,"
Mark Jackson nods repeatedly. "Not just the scoring. Every one of Blake Su's perimeter attacks is a spectacle. Especially that play where he shook Chris into spinning in place—that was jaw-dropping."
"And don't forget the face-up grab block on Chris earlier. That was just as insane."
"Exactly. A rookie center dominating the 'Hornet King' on both offense and defense out on the perimeter—that's not just impressive, it's downright phenomenal."
"..."
Halftime.
The two commentators shower Blake Su with praise.
Meanwhile, in the Hornets' locker room, Coach Monty scratches his head as he urgently discusses with Paul and the others how to limit Blake Su—how to deal with this center's completely unconventional offensive style.
Soon.
The second half begins.
Sides switch.
Hornets ball.
Paul dribbles, probing for an opening. He calls for a screen, drives left to sell the fake, then snaps a lightning-quick pass to the right high post. West bursts out to catch it and pulls up for a mid-range jumper.
"Swish!"
It's good.
Nash inbounds from the baseline. Blake Su takes the ball and brings it up, reaches the top of the arc, calls for another screen, and once again finds Paul. Big attacking small—he goes straight at him.
"Whoosh!"
Paul lunges forward, hands quick, precise, and ruthless.
"Smack!"
He slaps the ball out of Blake Su's hands. But—Blake Su reacts instantly, recovers it before losing possession, resets his dribble, and squares up against Paul again.
"Easy."
Paul shrugs.
It's obvious.
He's echoing the same word Blake Su used after blocking him earlier in the first quarter.
Blake Su hears it and smiles faintly.
"Hey, Chris, you don't seriously think stealing the ball once means you can really guard me, do you?"
"Doesn't it?"
Paul spreads his hands, deliberately trying to provoke him.
Just as he hoped, Blake Su gets annoyed. And then—
"Whoosh!"
No dribble. No move.
Blake Su simply rises up and pulls the jumper right in Paul's face.
"What?!"
Paul is stunned. He rushes to contest, but the gap in height and wingspan is far too great. His block is meaningless—the ball sails out at a height his fingertips can't even dream of touching.
"Swish!"
The net snaps crisply.
"Wow~ Blake Su just pulls up through the defense and drills Paul in the face?"
Yes.
Straight in his face.
10:13 on the clock.
Using a screen, Blake Su slips past Ariza and drives to the right high post. Paul rotates over to help. Blake Su stops on a dime, rises again, and shoots right over Paul.
Another face-up jumper.
"Swish!"
It drops.
8:13.
Blake Su catches Nash's pass at the free-throw line. Paul immediately wraps around him, but Blake Su stays calm. He raises the ball high and then—pulls up again right over Paul.
A "cute" height difference—no, a sheer, absolute height advantage.
An utterly unreasonable shot.
Another face-up jumper.
"Damn it!"
Paul roars as he leaps to contest, his hand slapping down on Blake Su's arm.
"Beep! Beep!"
The whistle blows.
"Swish!"
Even slightly disrupted, Blake Su's mid-range jumper still falls.
5:14.
On the fast break, Blake Su runs into Paul again. Just like before, he ignores the defense, pulls up right in front of him, and hits an unstoppable jumper.
Another face-up shot.
"Mu… god."
Jon Barry shakes his head, clicking his tongue.
"After getting stripped once by Paul, Blake Su stopped driving altogether. Instead, he switched to a far more brutal method.
He just ignored him, rose up over Chris's head, and buried mid-range jumper after mid-range jumper.
He crushed Chris."