Inside the NBC studio.
The ga itself was unremarkable. While the Nicks might have started out sluggish, like a dozing tiger, a tiger is still a tiger. Once they woke up, they imdiately started wiping the floor with the Magic.
So, Kevin Johnson and his co-comntator spent more ti discussing the finer points of the outfit worn by one of the Nicks’ on-site comntators, legendary player "Heroic Clyde"—Walter Fraser.
Just then, Fraser cried out, "Shit, Grant’s on his feet! Is he going to play? No, wait, he’s arguing with Paul. Look at his lips... he’s saying, ’You guys are playing like a pile of shit. Move aside and let in.’"
Kevin Johnson silently scoffed, ’Since when do you know how to read lips?’ But he perked up all the sa, and the caras on site obligingly panned over to the Magic’s sideline.
It was proof enough that the real focus of the ga wasn’t the match itself, but Hill’s sudden return to action.
And it really was an argunt.
On cara, Pleasance was shaking his head, saying sothing with agitation.
Hill, in contrast, maintained his gentlemanly composure even while arguing, calmly retorting with a placid expression.
Beside him, Hanna said, "Is he unhappy with the team’s performance? We all know Hill is a very competitive player."
Johnson glanced at Hanna. ’Competitive? Since when has Hill ever been associated with that word?’
"Don’t tell there’s actual infighting," Johnson muttered.
Just then, the cara pulled away to follow the Nicks on offense. Johnson sighed in frustration, wishing the Nicks’ possession would just end already.
But then Camby snatched an offensive rebound, and a full thirty seconds passed before the cara finally returned to the Magic’s bench.
The argunt was over.
"Walter, what in the world happened?" Johnson asked urgently.
Fraser was right beside the scorer’s table and had a clearer view.
Fraser’s shocked voice ca through. "Shit, Grant is actually warming up! Good God, he can’t be about to play, can he? Paul, have you lost your mind? The man just returned from his injury yesterday! This is just a regular-season ga, and there’s no sha in losing to the Nicks."
They cut to a cara from another angle, aid right at the Magic’s bench.
Hill was going through so simple warm-up exercises, with Chen Yu standing right next to him.
Seeing this, Johnson couldn’t help but curse, "Fuck," and exclaim, "He’s really warming up."
If he was warming up, he was definitely going to play.
"What the hell is Pleasance thinking? He’s going down the sa disastrous road as Rivers. Hill just got back from his injury! Letting him travel with the team was already pushing it, but now he’s actually going to put him in the ga? Good God, the Magic’s front office is terrible. You don’t treat an All-Star player like this."
"Chen, what are you doing? Why aren’t you stopping him?"
On cara, Chen Yu just stood to the side, arms crossed, watching Hill warm up.
Hill ticulously stretched his wrists and ankles, then suddenly said, "Chen, you asked a little while ago... why do I step onto the court to play this ga?"
"Why?"
If you asked most NBA players why they play, aside from their love of the ga and the joy it brought them as kids, the answer would definitely be money.
Chen Yu himself knew this from deep personal experience.
Back in the seventies and eighties, the United States was going through an economic downturn. Before that, Chen Yu’s father had been a professional athlete with a hefty salary. As a child, Chen Yu had lived in a large house with a big yard.
But after his father was forced to retire due to injury, took to drinking, and couldn’t find a good job, their inco plumted. The family of three moved out of the big house and into a cramped, musty apartnt.
Looking back, Chen Yu realized his father’s severe alcoholism had a lot to do with his inability to find a good job, the drastic drop in inco, and the imnse psychological blow of it all.
Chen Yu had lived through hard tis, so he understood how desperately underprivileged kids dread of becoming millionaires through basketball.
But Hill was different. He ca from a wealthy family; he wasn’t short on cash at all.
’So was it just for the love of the ga, then?’
Hill said, "When I started school at age six, a lot of the kids would point at and say, ’Look, that’s the son of Calva Hill, the Cowboys’ superstar running back, a three-ti All-Pro. He’s definitely going to be an amazing quarterback one day.’"
"My classmates, my teachers... everyone thought so. On my very first day of elentary school, the football coach was so excited he tried to recruit for the team right then and there."
At this, Hill gave a knowing smile. "Back then, I hated being pointed at like that. I even developed a bit of a rebellious streak. ’You want to be a quarterback? Well, I won’t.’ So I chose basketball instead."
"Huh?"
Chen Yu didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. ’So you got into basketball just to be a rebel?’
"But in truth, none of that was the real reason," Hill said, shaking his head. "If I had to give a reason... I guess it’s because I can."
Chen Yu paused, slightly taken aback. ’Because I can?’
"That’s right. Just because I can." Hill’s eyes shone brightly. "You know, Chen, I’m incredibly talented. Whether it’s basketball or football, I had so many options. Believe it or not, if I had decided to play football, I would have beco a star, no question."
Chen Yu nodded. ’Hill’s talent is absolutely top-tier.’
"That year, a lot of people said we couldn’t repeat as champions. But I did it."
"That sa year, the dia said our team was just a sideshow, that we could never beat the mighty Dream One Team. But I did that, too."
"Then I got to the NBA. At first, they said I could only pass, that I lacked a killer instinct. So I started scoring. Then, they said I could only drive to the basket, that I couldn’t even shoot properly. So last season, I developed a mid-range jumper."
"So that’s why I play basketball. Because I can. I can do anything I set my mind to, and do it well. But before... I was afraid. I was afraid this injury would stop from playing well, stop from helping the team win. But now, I understand."
Hill suddenly pointed to the scoreboard. "Chen, believe it or not, I can win this ga for us."
Chen Yu glanced at the scoreboard.
The third quarter was about to end, and the Magic were down by a full 13 points.
One quarter to play, a 13-point deficit, and they were up against the Nicks, the second-best team in the East. Staging a coback would be anything but easy.
But Chen Yu understood. He smiled and nodded. "I believe you. With the sa certainty that I believed I could cure you."
Hill broke into a wide grin, then strode toward the bench, ready to check in.
At the start of the fourth quarter, with all eyes on him, Hill straightened his jersey and was the first to step onto the court, leading Tracy McGrady and the others.
One quarter. A 13-point deficit.
A calm, composed smile still played on Hill’s face as he nodded to Tracy McGrady and the others, then ran into the frontcourt.
"What did you say to him? He seems... different, sohow," Jordan said, walking over to Chen Yu’s side and asking with a puzzled look.
Chen Yu didn’t answer, his eyes following Hill.
His appearance on the court made the five Nicks players’ expressions turn serious.
The mont he crossed half-court, Hill was already holding out his hand, calling for the ball.
Spree Well spread his arms wide, bracing himself at the free-throw line.
Hill dribbled closer, the ball pulsing rhythmically in his hand. Then, just as he had once blown past Jordan with a single explosive step, he gave a slight hesitation, then suddenly accelerated. With incredible speed, he slipped right past Spree Well’s right side.
Before Camby could slide over to provide help defense, Hill was already in the air, converting a gentle scoop shot.
The massive Madison Square Garden Arena fell silent for a heartbeat, then erupted into thunderous cheers.
The man who moved like the wind was back.
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