When Rice was receiving the award, Gan Guoyang had already returned to the locker room to change his clothes. Tonight, he could go out for a drink and so good food with old friends.
The locker room was full of people, reporters, NBA officials, bodyguards, and so miscellaneous others, along with the children of the star players, everyone gathered together, chatting and laughing.
Gan Wenshan mingled among them, darting around with a few good friends like Curry, Thompson, and Mike Stockton, greeting different star players—an experience not many kids have.
From a very young age, they were exposed to these things, which would have a significant impact on their future lives.
At this mont, Quentin walked in and whispered into Gan Guoyang’s ear, "Sonny, there’s a fan of yours who wants an autograph and a donation. He previously wrote to Avia, and you promised to et him in Cleveland."
"Oh? Really? I almost forgot about that."
"You’ve got too much on your plate, it’s in your mo. That kid is outside."
"Alright, let him in, don’t give him a hard ti."
A 13-year-old Black boy timidly walked into the Western Conference team’s locker room. Without Quentin’s lead, he wouldn’t have even made it through the passage.
His eyes glanced over at Gan Wenshan, Curry, and others playing around, and the kids were also looking at him, wondering whose kid this was.
He walked up to Gan Guoyang, took several white T-shirts out of his backpack, and said, "Ah Gan, I want so autographs to sell to fans and raise money for travel expenses to participate in the ga."
"I rember, your coach wrote a letter, and I also donated so shoes to you guys, right?"
"Yes, thank you."
The boy was a bit shy, and as Gan Guoyang signed the T-shirts, their value would multiply several tis over.
While signing, Gan Guoyang asked, "Are you a fan of mine?"
The Black boy nodded, "Yes, yes, I am a loyal fan of yours."
"Really? Then do you wear my number 11 jersey?"
"Uh..."
The boy was at a loss for words as Gan Guoyang looked up at him, an expression difficult for a 13-year-old to endure.
"I...I wear number 23...and sotis number 32."
Gan Guoyang chuckled, lowered his head, and continued signing the T-shirts.
After signing all the T-shirts, Gan Guoyang handed them back to the boy and said, "Lying is inevitable, but the power of lies is weak, authenticity is more powerful."
The boy nodded slightly, sowhat understanding, then said thank you, and left the locker room.
After the boy left, Gan Guoyang asked Quentin, "What’s that kid’s na?"
"Uh... seems like... I don’t quite rember, sothing... Jas, a common na."
[In 1997, without Willie, we participated in the twelve-and-under Arican Amateur League and aid to make it to the national championship held in Salt Lake City.
Thinking about this journey, we would need quite a bit of money, so we went door to door seeking sponsorship, or simply stood on the street corners of Akron, like those holess people with pleading signs, begging for money.
With the help and advice of a business partner, Coach Drew found two ways for us to raise funds.
First, selling tape, we got a few hundred boxes of tape free from a company. We went door to door selling rolls and rolls of tape to make money.
Second, Coach Drew wrote a letter to NBA star Gan Guoyang seeking part of the funds and so equipnt.
We were too embarrassed to ask for too much money directly, so we planned to have him sign so All-Star cultural T-shirts at the Cleveland All-Star Ga, which many people would pay a high price for, and selling them would be a considerable inco.
That night, I had the chance to enter the Gund Sports Center and, led by bodyguards, entered the Western All-Stars’ locker room. I was a bit shy, and I saw Ah Gan’s son, Gan Wenshan, Dell Curry’s son, Stephen, Thompson’s son, and a group of star players’ children; they could freely enter and exit the locker room.
I felt a sense of distance.
I asked Ah Gan for an autograph; he sat there like a deity, with the strongest presence among anyone I had ever seen.
He signed those T-shirts, I was so close to him, my heart was pounding, he suddenly looked up and asked , "Are you a fan of mine?"
I wanted to nod, but then I realized sothing, and shook my head, saying, "No, I’m a fan of Michael Jordan, I wear number 23."
Ah Gan smiled and said, "Authenticity will empower you."
That batch of T-shirts sold for enough money, and we finally hit the road.]
————Published in 2009, from LeBron Jas’ autobiography "My Brother, My Basketball," excerpt.
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