Champion Rules

Chapter 54 051: New York is clearly a paradise (please read!)
After yelling, Isaiah Thomas glanced coldly at the other side of the training ground - veterans Anfernee Hardaway and Alan Houston, who were plagued by injuries, were stretching.

These two glass-man guards are a thorn in his throat. If such fragile bodies are pushed into the starting lineup, it would be like dancing on a time bomb.

Thinking that the team's most lethal shooting guard had to huddle on the bench and could only pick up some leftovers when Stephen Marbury was resting, the smiling assassin's nails almost pierced his palms.

Isiah Thomas firmly believes that the backcourt combination of Marbury and Jamal Crawford carries the genes of the Bad Boys' golden age.

They may not be able to achieve the same dominance in offense, passing and defense as he and Joe Dumars did in the past, but their all-around attributes of being able to switch freely between scoring and organizing are the concrete projection of the perfect backcourt in his mind.

This is the standard answer for the defensive line in Assassin's mind.

Thomas left the training ground after making his threats, and the loud bang of the door slamming echoed throughout the gym.

Head coach Lenny Wilkens gritted his teeth and picked up the tactical board that was broken into five or six pieces. The cracks seemed to be mocking his naive fantasy of wanting to change the New York Knicks.

He looked up at Lynch.

He's a player with incredible talent and a chance to be great.

It would be a blasphemy to basketball talent if he were to perish in New York's curse.

Lenny Wilkens knew very well that Lynch could bring changes to New York, and all this could not be ruined in the hands of that idiot Isiah Thomas.

He tossed the broken tactical board into the trash, tearing the mocking thoughts from his mind to pieces.

Karl Malone's elbow must have caused something to go wrong in the assassin's brain, and he must correct it all.

Lenny Wilkens also left the training ground. It can be guessed that he and the assassin will have a second round of quarrel in the general manager's office.

"Then who should we use to start at the second position? Anfernee? Alan? Their knees are filled with glass shards! Damn it, I made timely, beautiful and correct reinforcements, but my head coach refused to let that person start!" The assassin put his hands on his hips, and he was trying hard to control his temper.

"Listen, Isaiah, you and Joe are legends, and legends can't be replicated. Jamal can't play the ghost of Joe Dumars, and Steph can't wear your mask! You're imitating Chuck, but you're not him!"

The last words stung the assassin.

Yes, he's been imitating Chuck Daly.

When he was in Toronto, he wanted to be the "Isiah Daddy" of the Raptors players, but failed.

When he was in Indianapolis, he wanted to be a great defensive coach but failed.

Now, he is still trying to build a team using Chuck Daly's ideas, but has been refuted by his own coach.

He's no Chuck Daly, just a poor imitator.

What was wrapped around his neck at this moment was the thorn of self-deception.

Just then, Lynch pushed the door open.

Both sides immediately realized that this was a person who could break the balance.

A tall figure cut into the tense atmosphere. Thomas straightened his back reflexively, with a burning light flashing in his pupils - this young man he had chosen with his own hands was his sharpest dagger.

"Just in time!" The general manager took two steps at a time and approached Lynch. "Tell this stubborn old fogey that modern basketball needs a two-guard who can handle the ball and playmaking! We need fresh blood!"

"Isaiah," Lynch said with a cold expression, his voice as sharp as the wind, "You shouldn't challenge the head coach's authority and question his decisions in front of all the players."

The smiling assassin's eyes widened.

He thought Lynch was here to assist him!
"I'm not challenging him," Isaiah Thomas yelled, trying to assert his authority. "I'm correcting a fucking mistake! I..."

"There's nothing to correct. We're fine, and Jamal has adapted to the role of sixth man," Lynch's tone remained calm, which made the yelling assassin seem like an unreasonable clown.

"We're on track to win," Lynch continued, closing in on the assassin, his shadow casting a shadow over him. "Why don't you just wait and see? If the Knicks want to make the playoffs, no one can afford to make mistakes. Not me, not Lenny. And that includes you, Isiah. I just know that if we lose again, it won't be me who's gone."

Isaiah Thomas looked up and met Lynch's gaze.

What was dancing in the boy's pupils was not the cowardice or flattery that young players usually show in front of management, but a fighting spirit as sharp as a tempered steel blade, which made him subconsciously lean back half an inch.

This is the way Michael Jordan looks at himself!

"It's none of your business to tell us what to do!" The assassin crumpled his tie into a ball and slammed it on the mahogany desk. Veins bulged from his temples to his neck, but his voice dropped. "Listen, you have a chance to try and fail in the preseason, so use your strategy. But if it turns out that benching Jamal was a mistake, you have to listen to me."

"Deal with Isaiah. Just wait and see the result. Everything is fine between us." Lenny Wilkens responded immediately, then pulled Lynch out of the general manager's office.

At the end of the corridor, away from the office, Lenny Wilkens stopped and turned suddenly to face Lynch.

"You just did a very dangerous thing, kid, like lighting a match in a powder keg. You shouldn't disobey him to his face. I know you have achieved great success in Europe and the Olympics, but the NBA is a more complicated system."

Wilkens looked out at the practice court. "It's all about struggle here, struggles in the locker room, struggles in management. It's about basketball, but it's not just about basketball. Make Isiah angry, and he might get in your way."

"But Isiah is wrong, you and I both know it. When a wrong theory becomes the truth, silence is complicity." Lynch had already made up his mind not to let the Knicks' chaotic management become a stumbling block for him, and he would never blindly obey anyone.

"I just want to remind you that he is currently the most powerful person on the team besides James Dolan. He is the regent under King James' throne. He controls the absolute power over everything from player transactions to roster construction, and this will directly affect your achievements."

Lynch disagreed: "Just now in the office, we have already rewritten the power script once. As time goes by, I think I can continue to rewrite it."

Wilkens was surprised to find that the clamor of the training ground had faded into silence. The overhead lights cast a cold silver shadow on Lynch's silhouette. This young man, who should have been trembling with fear in his rookie season, now looked like a knight standing on a chessboard with a sword.

He didn't want to be a pawn of Isiah Thomas, he wanted to be a chess player, a chess player like Michael Jordan. Lynch's leadership surprised Lenny Wilkens, and his toughness in the face of management surprised him a second time.

Yes, Lynch won this time.

As Lynch continues to win in the upcoming season and as he actually leads the Knicks into the playoffs, the balance of power in the Knicks will tilt further.

Isiah Thomas is the most powerful person on the team besides James Dolan, but it won't always be that way.

The squeaking sound of a cleaner's cart came from a distance, breaking the stagnant air in the corridor.

Lenny Wilkens came to his senses and patted Lynch on the shoulder.

"Focus on the game, kid. Don't overthink it. Also, if any disagreements arise in the future, Isiah and I will handle them. Don't let this nonsense hold you back."

The two returned to the training ground, and Lenny Wilkens saw Jamal Crawford with an expectant look on his face.

"Boss, so I can start?"

"roll!"

"Oh."

This was about Jamal Crawford, but he couldn't get a word in.
-
The Knicks' preseason performance excited New York fans, as they beat the Bobcats by 43 points in their first game.

The prologue to this massacre was written by the No. 1 pick Lynch himself - in just 20 minutes of playing time, he efficiently scored 15 points, 13 rebounds and 3 blocks, a near double-double. After suppressing the second pick Dwight Howard in the summer league, he also relegated the third pick Emeka Okafor to the background.

The Knicks were able to win so many games not only because of Lynch's strength but also because of the effectiveness of Lenny Wilkens' rotation strategy.

When Lynch, Marbury or Grant Hill left the court, when the Bobcats players thought they could finally take a breath, Jamal Crawford would come off the bench and push their heads back into the water.

Jamal Crawford's appearance in the rotation has greatly improved the Knicks' offensive firepower sustainability, and he also plays very well personally because he can play one-on-one as he pleases in the rotation and show off his gorgeous dance choreographed with dribbling.

He flourished at the sixth man position, perfectly solving the chronic problem of lack of firepower in the transition period that many teams have.

At the end of the game, when all the New York fans were celebrating, the smiling assassin in the crowd had a gloomy expression.

Good news: The Knicks won big.

The bad news: The team won big because the head coach didn't listen to his own instructions.

The assassin is so angry now that even the cleaning lady at Madison Square Garden looks pretty to him.

The Knicks won several consecutive games afterwards, and there was no sign of any discomfort on Lynch's part. His integration into the NBA was almost seamless.

Watching him play in the NBA seems no different than watching him play in Europe.

In the end, the Knicks ended the preseason with a brilliant record of five wins and no losses. This team, once regarded as the laughing stock of the league, is now reshaping the glory of New York basketball with overwhelming force under the leadership of Lynch.

The winning expert did what the son of New York had never done, writing a perfect prologue that even Patrick Ewing had never touched.

After playing against the Wizards, his last preseason opponent, and returning to the locker room, Lynch held up the New York Times. The cover featured a picture of him raising his arms to the sky at Madison Square Garden. The title was simple and straightforward - King of Xinxiang.

Lynch's gaze passed through the locker room and fixed on Stephon Marbury in the corner. He deliberately shook the newspaper lightly, making a crisp sound, and raised an eyebrow and smiled at his teammate who had become taciturn.
"Look Stephen, New York is clearly paradise."

Stephen Marbury still didn't respond, but he knew in his heart that he was completely finished.
-
On the morning before the regular season began, the Assassin drove to the Knicks' training center in Fort Greene, his Cadillac whistling harshly in the autumn wind.

On the car radio in New York, almost every channel is talking about the new season opener between the Knicks and the Heat.

Shaquille O'Neal had already said a day earlier: "Lynch's dream of becoming a superstar ends with me."

In the past, the Sharks could play however they wanted in New York, and after the game they even had extra energy to fuck three New York girls at once.

But this season, New York fans are confident that the Sharks will be stranded at the mouth of the Hudson River.

Stephen A. Smith thinks so too.

"We have a perfect rotation. We have Grant Hill and Alan Houston, who are both healthy for the time being. Most importantly, we have Lynch. This Olympic champion has proven his worth through the preseason. He will rebuild the power in the Eastern Conference. Shaq is the first step in Lynch's rebuilding of power."

The words "reconstructing rights" were like poisoned arrows, accurately piercing the smiling assassin's throbbing temple, reminding him of the quarrel with Lynch that day.

His right foot pressed the accelerator pedal hard against the chassis, and the instrument panel pointer broke through the red alert zone in a crazy tremor. The eyes reflected in the rearview mirror were covered with spider-web-like bloodshot.

No one can restructure the New York Knicks' power structure.

No one can!

Ahead, a crimson river of brake lights forced his right foot to hover between life and death. The engine's unwilling roar echoed in the sealed cabin, like a beast trapped in an iron cage.

The assassin finally let go of the accelerator, letting the embers of anger smolder in his chest.

There was no way, in the wave of public transportation, he could only go with the flow.

If you have to go upstream, there is a high possibility that your car will be destroyed and you will die.

But the assassin seemed to have forgotten that this was also the eternal rule of the game under the dome of Madison Square Garden.

(End of this chapter)