Chapter 466: David Stern and the Spring Festival Showdown
After beating the Hawks, the Suns boarded a plane and flew straight to Houston. There was no time to breathe. The next night, January 26th, they had a back to back road game against the Rockets.
On paper, the travel made no sense. A back to back that jumped time zones felt like something stitched together after the schedule was already finished, a game forced onto the calendar to satisfy fans.
Which, in a way, was exactly the point.
David Stern had always been a master at giving fans what they wanted. Billions of people across more than 200 countries watched the NBA by this point. The league did not become that by accident, and Stern deserved a huge share of the credit.
The NBA he inherited was not the NBA people saw now.
During the late O'Brien era, the league's growth had slowed to a crawl. Off the court, players lacked discipline and the headlines were ugly, drugs, alcohol, fights. On the court, the product suffered. The NBA could only watch the NFL and MLB thrive while it fought for respect.
Even internationally, the gap was narrowing. European powers were rising, and American basketball no longer felt untouchable.
Stern stepped into that uncertainty and never blinked.
Most fans only knew him as commissioner. Fewer people remembered he started as a lawyer, one deeply involved in the fight that helped push player rights forward, including the free agency era. He joined the league in 1978, became executive vice president in 1980, and eventually took the commissioner's seat.
Once he had it, he went straight to work.
First, he cleaned house. The league launched a hard crackdown on drugs, with lifetime bans used as the ultimate warning. The players' union was pushed toward regular testing, and repeat positives meant expulsion. The message was simple. The NBA was not going global while its stars looked out of control.
Then he rebuilt the authority of officials. Referees stopped being treated like background noise. Under Stern, they were protected, empowered, and respected, not because he loved whistles, but because he wanted order.
One of his most famous changes was the "zero tolerance" era, regulating how players approached referees and keeping conflict from spilling into chaos. With Stern in charge, the old images of all out brawls became history, not tradition.
Finally came the toughest move of all: the dress code.
Before that, players could show up anywhere in whatever they wanted. Oversized shirts, baggy pants, heavy jewelry, cornrows, the whole look. Stern wanted basketball in every household. Parents were not going to embrace a league that looked, to them, like a touring music video.
And above everything else, Stern made the decision that shaped modern basketball.
He put the league behind stars.
The star making machine. Jordan, then Kobe, and now Chen Yan. Stern never stopped pushing the NBA's biggest names to the front of the stage, because stars sold the sport, and the sport sold the league.
Now he wanted Chen Yan to take the baton from Kobe and become the next face of the NBA.
It was not easy. Chen Yan did not look like the superstars before him. But Stern liked hard problems. Chen Yan represented international players, and if he rose to the top, the NBA's global ceiling rose with him. North America was already close to fully tapped. The real growth was overseas.
And Chen Yan was not a marketing invention. He was actually dominant.
Americans respected power. They might debate it, they might heckle it, but they accepted greatness when they saw it.
…
The Hawks game ended early enough that Chen Yan still had time to make a stop after landing in Houston.
He went straight to Yao Ming's house.
January 25th was Lunar New Year's Eve, the night of reunion dinner. Chen Yan's family had not come to the United States this year, so he accepted Yao Ming's invitation to celebrate with Yao's family instead.
Yao's parents had prepared a full table of dishes. The smell alone made Chen Yan feel like he was back home.
"This is incredible," Chen Yan said, eyes bright. "Best meal I've had all year."
Yao grinned. "The year's only been 25 days."
Chen Yan fired back instantly. "Then count last year too."
Everyone at the table laughed, the kind of laughter that warms your chest more than the food does.
Ye Li looked at him with curiosity. "Xiao Chen, I heard your new single is doing really well. And people say you're even planning a movie?"
Chen Yan smiled. "Sister in law, your news is too fast. Singing's just a hobby. The movie is still far away."
Yao leaned in, amused. "A hobby that tops charts. If you ever take it seriously, you'll be in outer space."
Ye Li nudged Yao. "Xiao Chen can do multiple things. Unlike you, you only know basketball."
Chen Yan joined in smoothly. "He also plays Warcraft."
Another wave of laughter.
Eventually, the conversation circled back to what it always circled back to.
Basketball.
Chen Yan lifted his glass and smiled at Yao. "Brother Yao, who wins tomorrow night?"
Yao did not hesitate. "Rockets. We're unbeatable."
Chen Yan raised an eyebrow. "But I heard McGrady's hurt. And the team hasn't been winning lately."
Yao's smile faded a little. He sighed, the weight of the season creeping into his voice.
"Our lineup's been incomplete," he admitted. "And I'm still adjusting. Tomorrow's going to be tough."
Chen Yan patted him on the shoulder. "Stay healthy. Don't rush anything this year. Come on, let's toast."
They clinked glasses.
Both were drinking juice, not alcohol. Their bodies were their careers, and both treated them like it.
Chen Yan did not stay long. There was still a game the next day. After saying goodbye to Yao's parents, he returned to the hotel.
…
On Lunar New Year's Day, people visited family, people stayed home, and a surprising number of phone calls opened with the same question.
"Did you watch the game?"
With Yao Ming and Chen Yan, basketball had never felt so close to home for fans.
This was the most watched game of the year for them, and Houston prepared like it was hosting a festival, not a regular season night.
Lion dances. Dragon dances. Drum performances. Lanterns. Kung fu demonstrations. Even the God of Wealth handing out red envelopes.
You could have walked into Toyota Center and forgotten you were in Texas.
The arena was filled with Spring Festival decorations. Red lanterns and Chinese knots. Chinese signage along the baseline. Awkward prerecorded New Year greetings from players on the big screen.
All of it was exactly what Stern wanted.
He knew how many Chinese viewers would be watching. He wanted them to feel seen. He wanted them to feel respected.
During warmups, Tracy McGrady walked toward midcourt in a dark gray suit.
He was out.
Chen Yan greeted him. Through Yao's connection, they played games together sometimes, and their relationship was friendly.
Chen Yan asked about the injury. McGrady shrugged it off, saying it was an old back issue, nothing dramatic, but he could not handle high intensity games on consecutive nights.
Even before tipoff, some Suns fans were already mocking him. They said he could not survive an 82 game season, called him fragile, said he should go play college ball.
McGrady did not react. His expression stayed loose, like none of it mattered.
But the Rockets were not relaxed at all.
Without their top scorer, they were about to face the most explosive offense in the league, on the biggest night of the year.
And the pressure was written on every face in red.
.....
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