Chapter 468: Will McGrady Never Be Better?
Chen Yan jogged back on defense without a hint of emotion.
These days, whenever the Suns' offense stalled, the ball found its way to him almost automatically. It was both a blessing and a trap.
On the one hand, it showed trust. It showed status. On the other hand, it created a habit, and habits become dependence. If every tough possession ended with, "Give it to Chen and let him fix it," then everyone else slowly stopped sharpening their own handle and decision making. Fans had a word for it, the star "wasting teammates," not because he wanted to, but because the team stopped growing around him.
Houston came down again.
Yao Ming caught at the high post, eyes up, ready to facilitate. Brooks darted off him like he was about to take a handoff. They sold the fake, then Yao whipped the ball to the opposite corner.
At 7 foot 6, he saw everything. He did not need to guess, he could simply look over the entire defense.
Battier caught in rhythm.
Corner 3.
Swish.
9 to 3.
Phoenix inbounded quickly, trying to push pace and seize control of tempo.
Even with the recent weight loss and the new agility, Yao was still 226 centimeters. A big man's speed would always have limits. If you ran him for 48 minutes, the game eventually tilted your way.
But on this possession, Yao was already near the arc and retreated immediately, cutting off the early lane and giving the Suns nothing easy.
Nash slid laterally and flowed into a perfect pick and roll with Stoudemire, who sprinted up from the backcourt. Nash took 1 step into the paint and kicked it to Grant Hill.
Hill caught, showed the shot, then drove hard.
Yao was parked near the restricted area, a giant shadow waiting at the rim. Hill did not force it. Younger Grant Hill might have tried to dunk on a man that size. The older version was smarter.
He turned and fired it back out.
Chen Yan curled into space using a Diaw screen, caught, and rose in 1 smooth motion.
D'Antoni had been calling more off ball actions for Chen lately. It was more efficient and it saved legs. After Chen's earlier explosion, every team started designing coverages specifically for him. Phoenix could not stay predictable.
Clang.
The arena swallowed the sound of iron.
Yu Jia did not even need to say it. The timing said everything.
Chen Yan shook his head and sprinted back. The flight looked right. The release felt clean. Sometimes the rim just disagreed.
Scola grabbed the rebound and pushed it to Brooks. Brooks drifted left and lofted the entry to Yao.
Yao caught with his back to the basket and did not dribble right away.
He saw Chen Yan lurking nearby, eyes locked on the ball. If Yao put it down carelessly, Chen would strike. He was too quick, and he knew Yao's tendencies too well. He could time the steal like a trap snapping shut.
Yao's biggest advantage was his height. His biggest weakness was the same thing. He was so tall that guards loved to swarm him the moment the ball hit the floor.
Yao probed, faked twice, then finally pounded 1 dribble.
Chen Yan instantly collapsed and wrapped around.
Yao did not dribble again. He picked it up and kicked it out.
The ball swung to the wing, and by the time Chen recovered, the shot was already rising.
Von Wafer did not blink. He pulled right over the contest.
Swish.
12 to 3.
Phoenix went back to work.
Nash called for a screen at the top. Chen Yan made several baseline cuts, trying to shake free, then popped out to receive. Battier stayed attached this time. His focus did not break.
Chen caught on the right wing, about a 60 degree angle beyond the arc. Stoudemire, who had just screened for Nash, turned and sprinted into another screen for Chen.
The moment the pick arrived, Chen dipped low and drove left.
Yao stepped up immediately, leaving Stoudemire and meeting Chen about 1 and a half steps away. He did not press. He simply occupied space and applied pressure.
Battier fought over the screen and came from the other side. The trap closed fast.
Most players would accept the only obvious exit, keep drifting left, and try to make something late.
Chen was not most players.
He bounced the ball hard with his left hand like he was committing to the drive, then, as both defenders leaned forward, he stepped back a full stride beyond the 3 point line.
Battier and Yao both lunged to contest, because this was deep in Chen Yan's range.
They were late.
Chen released the ball the instant they left the floor.
Swish.
The shot ripped through the net like a cannonball.
12 to 6.
The crowd laughed in disbelief. He missed the open look, but he drills the double teamed one.
On the sideline, D'Antoni clapped hard. If that possession had failed, he would have called timeout.
Houston answered in the half court.
Scola caught at the high post, handed off to Weaver, then set a screen that freed Weaver on the drive. With the mismatch, Weaver blew past Diaw and went for a scoop finish through contact.
Bang.
Before the ball could kiss the glass, Chen Yan chased it down and pinned it to the backboard.
A brutal rejection.
Grant Hill picked up the ball and pushed immediately.
Chen Yan sprinted the lane. Nash filled the wing. Stoudemire ran straight down the middle. Hill kept the ball and forced the numbers.
Hill threw it to Nash outside the arc. Nash touched it and returned it instantly.
Hill took 2 steps into the paint, drew the defense, and bounced it to Stoudemire.
Unmarked.
Stoudemire hammered it down with 1 hand.
12 to 8.
Chen Yan never touched the ball in the break, but he started the whole thing. That block was the spark.
Houston came back.
Yao wanted the low post touch again, but Stoudemire half fronted him. Brooks hesitated. A lazy lob would become a turnover, and Chen Yan was hovering in the gaps.
So the Rockets flowed into a pick and roll with Scola.
Nash went over the screen. Brooks drove left. Nash leaned on him, stopping him from building speed.
Brooks hit a stop and go, changed pace, created a sliver of space, then pulled up at the elbow.
His jumper was not pretty. Bow legged, awkward rhythm, no clean lines. His crossover looked the same way.
But the ball went in.
It arced, kissed the back rim, and dropped.
14 to 8.
Houston was in rhythm. Every starter had a spark, and that confidence fed the next possession. They did not care that Phoenix was the league's top team. They played like they expected to score every time.
At 6 minutes and 47 seconds in the 1st quarter, Scola added a mid range jumper.
Now all 5 Rockets starters had scored. Carl Landry came off the bench and added 2 points at the line.
"The Rockets have a real total team feel tonight," Kenny said. "Everyone is involved, everyone is scoring, and they've been the aggressor from the opening tip."
Charles nodded. "The team looks better without McGrady. The offense is more balanced."
Kenny's eyes widened.
He knew McGrady's fanbase was enormous. That was the kind of sentence that could start a war online.
But Chuck did not care. He had always spoken straight.
Some fans were already shouting at their TVs. The more rational ones could not deny what they were seeing. When McGrady sat, Houston often moved the ball more freely in normal sets.
McGrady liked to hold it. He liked isolation. In Orlando, that was beautiful, and it was efficient, because his body could still get wherever he wanted. In Houston, as the physical decline set in, more and more possessions ended the same way.
Dribble at the top. Dribble again. Hard pull up jumper.
And there was another detail that frustrated teammates even when they did not say it out loud.
McGrady's pull up had a low arc. When it missed, the rebound kicked out long, taking offensive rebounds away from his bigs. It hurt efficiency, and it quietly drained morale, one empty possession at a time.
.....
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