Lu Ke didn't think too much at first. Faced with Charles Davis's repeated provocations, even a clay figure would get angry. Furthermore, Lu Ke was never a pushover; otherwise, he wouldn't have made it to rookie training camp as a Chinese American player. Naturally, Lu Ke wanted to hit back, and hit back hard.
In a flash, Lu Ke didn't overthink it. An idea popped into his head: if the San Francisco 49ers could defeat the Arizona Cardinals and the Pittsburgh Steelers consecutively and win this bet, could he demand that Charles Davis leave the commentary world forever? This way, he would never have to see that annoying fly again, and at the same time, he could teach him a serious lesson.
The idea came to him instantly, and Lu Ke conveyed it this way: "This suggests that he's not a qualified analyst, that his mind is always on other things, and that he's not doing his job properly. So, maybe the show's producers should consider..." The words "firing him" or "having him voluntarily leave the show and end his career as an analyst" were on the tip of his tongue. But in that split second, Lu Ke vaguely sensed that something was wrong. It was a feeling he couldn't put into words, just an instinct from a reporter, or maybe a primal instinct. If he said that, it might not go well and could lead to uncontrollable consequences.
Although Lu Ke couldn't explain it, the words that came out were different from what he had intended. "In the next episode, they should make him stay silent—for example, turn off his microphone—and have the other professional analysts give their opinions."
What's the most terrifying thing for a commentator or analyst? It's not making a mistake, getting criticized by the audience, or even being dry and boring. It's being completely silenced. To be an analyst and have your voice and position completely taken away, to be erased from the audience's radar—it's like being a public figure; the worst thing isn't negative comments, but being completely ignored, as if you don't exist.
The most brutal part of Lu Ke's proposed punishment was that Charles would have to appear on the show, but his microphone would be off. He would have to watch others talk while he couldn't say a word, or worse, open his mouth to no one's notice. Compared to a simple and brutal firing or an aggressive career-ending move, being on camera but having his voice cut off was undoubtedly the most terrifying punishment—a form of prolonged torture.
In addition to that, regardless of the outcome of the bet, Lu Ke used the reporters to mock Charles: that as an analyst, he wasn't doing his job, was constantly picking on one team, had lost his neutrality and objectivity, and was letting his personal emotions drive him to attack and challenge others. This was an unprofessional and disrespectful act that was disgraceful.
A simple sentence, when carefully considered, revealed layer after layer of meaning. It was an invisible but powerful counterattack against Charles, once again showing off Lu Ke's talent for holding a grudge. With just a fleeting thought, Lu Ke's direction changed completely.
But Lu Ke wasn't sure if this decision was the right one. As his mind calmed down, he realized what that strange feeling was. If he had been overly aggressive, Charles could have played the victim. He wouldn't have to face any punishment, he could pretend to be wronged, and he could leave the condemning and complaining to the internet trolls, whose words alone would be enough to drown Lu Ke. Especially since Lu Ke himself had just mocked Charles for not doing his job. If he then went on to be unreasonable, it would be a perfect example of "the officials can light fires, but the common people can't light lamps." In that case, what would Lu Ke become?
It was a trap with endless trouble. Regardless of whether Lu Ke won or lost the bet, he would be in an awkward and difficult position. Charles would surely have a series of follow-up attacks patiently waiting. Fortunately, in that crucial moment, Lu Ke's hunter's instinct had successfully helped him avoid the trap, or perhaps his four years of professional knowledge at college weren't wasted after all.
When he realized this, Lu Ke secretly felt relieved. He didn't mind being the target of public criticism, but if it affected his preparations for the game, it wouldn't be worth it. The San Francisco 49ers were slowly getting back on the winning track. Their victory over the St. Louis Rams was a start, and the last thing they needed was a distraction. If he had been overly aggressive, those annoying voices would have been like flies buzzing in his ears for the next few days of preparation. That was the last thing Lu Ke needed.
The reporters wouldn't have known about the thought process that went on in Lu Ke's head. But after hearing Lu Ke's proposed punishment, they immediately started to whisper among themselves. As they gradually realized the power and implications of the punishment, their eyes lit up.
Harry Wayans was the first to react. After all his aggressive pressing, he still didn't get the result he wanted. Even a veteran like him couldn't help but grit his teeth, a hint of frustration and ruthlessness flashing in his eyes. This young quarterback was simply too difficult to deal with, leaving no openings. But this only strengthened his resolve. He would see who would have the last laugh in this "public figure versus king of the media" showdown.
He stared intently at Lu Ke. This time, Harry didn't speak again, partly because he knew other questions wouldn't get a response from Lu Ke and partly because a wave of other reporters instantly swamped him. The other reporters began to ask their questions, and the interview once again turned into a lively free-for-all.
"Lu Ke, are you provoking him?"
"No, I'm just playing defense. I'm still new to dealing with reporters and the media. Can anyone tell me how to go on the offense?"
"Lu Ke, what's your personal opinion of Charles Davis?"
"I don't have one. He's an analyst, I'm a player, and that's all there is to it. Of course, I appreciate his continued attention. I've been enjoying this kind of treatment since middle school."
In the rapid-fire Q&A, Lu Ke showed no hesitation or pause. In the close-quarters interview, he was as solid as a mountain, thriving in the moment, handling everything with ease. Even when facing a hundred people at once, he didn't show the slightest panic.
Just then, amidst the clamor of questions, a sudden, explosive question was thrown in: "Lu Ke, Cardinals cornerback Patrick Peterson said that he had never heard of you in rookie training camp. What about you? Have you heard of him?" The question's aggressive tone was unmistakable, brimming with provocation and a declaration of war.
In an instant, everyone turned to look at the source. It wasn't Harry, but a local reporter from Arizona. In other words, he was the Cardinals' official reporter, and his statement about Patrick Peterson was likely a first-hand account. No one expected Peterson to fire the first shot and start the war. Now, things were getting interesting.
The reporters all looked at Lu Ke, their eyes gleaming with excitement. Peterson and Lu Ke were both rookies this year, but their draft rounds were miles apart. Peterson was a first-round pick, while Lu Ke was an undrafted rookie. As rookies in the same year, they would naturally become the focus of reporters' conversations on and off the field. The media would constantly compare their performances and achievements. Even though they played different positions, one on offense and one on defense, it was a more direct confrontation.
Facing the provocation, Lu Ke shrugged calmly. "I'm not surprised. There were a lot of rookies in training camp, and we weren't in the same group. I was in the quarterback group, and Peterson wasn't there. But aside from that, I've heard of a few Petersons, but I've never met him."
He had defused the attack with a simple comment. But the reporters weren't going to give up.
"Peterson also said that if you dare to throw the ball his way in this week's game, he's confident he can get another interception. His exact words were, and I quote:
"'I want to be the best cornerback in the league, and I firmly believe that's where my strength lies. I don't know much about that quarterback, but he's clearly not the best one this year. If he dares to throw in my direction again, my only goal is to get an interception.'"
Patrick Peterson, number 21 for the Arizona Cardinals, was a cornerback. In their last game, Peterson had intercepted Lu Ke twice. Lu Ke's passer rating when throwing in Peterson's direction was only 27.8—a catastrophic failure below 50, let alone a passing grade.
This Peterson reminded Lu Ke of the Seattle Seahawks' rookie cornerback, Richard Sherman. Lu Ke nodded thoughtfully, then broke into a big smile. "I guess that's assuming he makes it onto the active roster."
"Ouch," came a collective murmur from the press. With that understated comment, full of disdain and provocation, Lu Ke had thrown a vicious right hook with devastating effect. Patrick Peterson still wasn't a starting player in the Arizona Cardinals' defense. That was the difference, that was the gap. Lu Ke pointed this out bluntly, with the subtext being... Peterson wasn't even in a position to be making such a statement.
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