Chapter 269: A brief slump, approaching the three point record
"Wow, that was a poster dunk!"
"Hahaha! Duncan is Chen Yan's wallpaper again!"
"Chen Yan hit so many deep threes we almost forgot he can jump like that!"
"Nash and Chen Yan are a cheat code. One tosses it up, the other hammers it down!"
"Somebody check on Duncan's mental health."
During the timeout, the arena buzzed with laughter and disbelief, still replaying Chen Yan's dunk in their heads. The break was short, and play snapped back to life.
San Antonio had the ball.
Duncan went right at Stoudemire. Two straight post ups pulled Phoenix inward, and Raja Bell slid over to double. Duncan never forced it. Calm as ever, he pivoted out of pressure and kicked to Parker on the perimeter.
That composure was Duncan's trademark. Even after Chen Yan embarrassed him on the last possession, he showed no sign of rage.
No jawing, no retaliation, no pointless battles.
That steadiness was a big reason he'd dominated the league for so long. When Boris Diaw first came in, people jokingly called him "White Duncan" because of his smooth mid range game and clean fundamentals. But the gap between the nickname and the original was obvious. Diaw could lose his cool after a single shove, and that temper was part of why his career never climbed to Duncan's level.
Bell sprinted back out the moment Parker caught it. You could not leave Parker alone, not with Duncan pulling double teams like gravity.
Parker read the closeout and lofted it back inside.
The Spurs ran it perfectly, making Bell pay for every step.
Duncan caught, turned, and floated a low hook.
Swish.
53 to 44.
Phoenix came back.
Two steps outside the left wing three point line, Chen Yan took Nash's pass and rose immediately.
Bang.
Hard miss.
The shot had no logic to it. The rhythm was rushed, the timing was off, and his teammates were still shifting into position. Even if it hit iron, nobody was set to crash for a second chance.
Chen Yan was still riding the high of that dunk. The crowd noise, the rush, the feeling that everything was breaking his way, it all made him a little too free. Over the next few trips he went into solo mode, forcing three after three.
Each one clanged.
The shots felt good in the moment, but the misses drained the air out of the Suns' offense. Nobody complained out loud, yet no team enjoys sprinting up and down the floor for empty possessions.
San Antonio stayed patient and methodical, chopping the lead down to five.
53 to 49.
Seeing Phoenix stuck in a brief drought, Mike D Antoni called timeout before the Spurs could steal the momentum heading into halftime.
"Chen! Settle down," D Antoni snapped, rare sharpness in his voice. "Work with the team. This isn't a one man show."
"My fault, Coach. I rushed it," Chen Yan said right away, hand up in apology. No excuses.
He knew it. Against a team like the Spurs, even a tiny mistake could snowball into disaster.
D Antoni's expression eased. "You're staying in. Attack the paint, use your speed to crack their defense. If the perimeter look is clean, take it. But trust your teammates. Always."
He wasn't benching Chen Yan for a few bad possessions. That trust had been earned over an entire season.
"Understood," Chen Yan replied, nodding.
Timeout over.
Nash brought it across half court. Chen Yan stepped up for the screen.
The Nash Chen Yan pick and roll was Phoenix's signature. Both could drive, shoot, and pass, and if they got in rhythm together, defenses turned into guessing games.
Chen Yan's screen was sharp, locking Parker on his hip. He popped back to about a meter beyond the arc.
San Antonio switched. Bowen slid to Nash.
Nash glanced over his shoulder and fired to Chen Yan.
Parker hustled to recover. Even after those misses, he still left no breathing room. Chen Yan's first quarter barrage from deep had carved fear into the Spurs' perimeter defense.
The mismatch was obvious. Chen Yan could have settled for another three, but he didn't. He put his shoulder down and drove.
He dribbled sideways, leaning into Parker, bulling his way inside as D Antoni shouted for the floor to spread. Phoenix cleared out, giving Chen Yan space to isolate.
Near the free throw line he stopped and backed Parker down.
Chen Yan had picked up post up footwork and a bit of that Mamba rhythm from Kobe, though he usually saved it for smaller guards.
Like now.
Parker pushed with everything he had. The strength and weight gap showed. On the bench, Parker's newlywed wife Eva watched with wide eyes, probably wondering why she had never seen him fight that hard in the bed.
Chen Yan nudged him a step deeper, still no double coming.
Honestly, Chen Yan hoped they would send help. His build made him harder to strip on the block, and a double would open passing lanes for his teammates.
Since the Spurs stayed home, he spun and rose.
Beep.
The whistle blew the instant the ball left his hand. Parker had slapped straight across Chen Yan's shooting arm.
He wasn't about to let Chen Yan bully him without paying a price.
Chen Yan walked to the stripe, breathed out, and fired.
Swish.
Swish.
Both down.
55 to 49.
D Antoni clapped on the sideline. "That's it. That's the play."
San Antonio answered. Parker crossed half court, swung to Ginobili, and Manu attacked.
He slipped past Chen Yan, stopped on a dime, and hit a quick step back into a mid range jumper.
He got the space, but it was a tough look. The ball rattled and spun out.
Chen Yan grabbed the rebound, turned, and pushed the break. He accelerated, pulled defenders with him, then flicked a slick no look pass behind his back.
The crowd gasped, fooled for a heartbeat.
Nash caught it in rhythm and let a transition three fly.
Swish.
Wide open, in stride, that is cash for a point guard like Nash.
58 to 49.
Next possession, Chen Yan sprinted hard in the half court, timing his cut perfectly with the Spurs' retreat. He threaded a pass to Amar'e Stoudemire through the narrow gap between Duncan and Oberto.
That window was razor thin, the kind where a great pass and a turnover are separated by a breath. Chen Yan hit it perfectly.
Stoudemire detonated at the rim.
Boom.
A violent one handed dunk.
Phoenix's sudden shift from forced threes to sharp interior pressure jolted San Antonio, and the lead jumped back to 10.
The final possessions of the half turned into a grind. Both teams traded misses.
Halftime.
60 to 49.
Chen Yan had 28 points, 4 assists, and 5 rebounds heading into the locker room.
Phoenix didn't celebrate. They had been here too many times with San Antonio to get sleepy. The Spurs were the kind of rival that never blinked, and an 11 point lead meant nothing if you relaxed.
Third quarter came with playoff gravity. Both teams cooled off. That was normal under postseason pressure. Phoenix's first half shooting had been a touch too hot to live forever.
Chen Yan toned down his own attempts early in the quarter, leaning into playmaking. On paper, his scoring looked quiet, but that was exactly what made the Spurs sweat. When Phoenix spread the offense, San Antonio couldn't load up on one guy without getting burned elsewhere.
Then, in the second half of the third, Chen Yan drifted along the three point line and started firing again.
Not because he flipped a switch out of nowhere, but because the Spurs' attention had softened. Helping teammates score forced their defense to widen, and wider defenses leave daylight.
Simple math.
By the end of the third quarter, Phoenix led 83 to 73.
Chen Yan's line had climbed to 39 points, 7 assists, and 6 rebounds. He was 8 for 13 from three.
The arena locked onto one question.
Could he break the playoff single game three point record?
The record stood at nine, shared by Ray Allen, Vince Carter, and Rex Chapman. With eight already, he was one away from tying it and one more from owning it.
During the break, teammates and fans kept reminding him.
"One more, Chen!"
He just smiled.
In the playoffs, the only thing that truly mattered to him was winning. If Phoenix lost, he did not care whether he made 9 threes or 100.
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