I Mean, It Really Is Over

As Ty Lawson's play began to fluctuate, North Carolina pivoted to pounding the ball inside. It was one thing for Brandan Wright to struggle against Xu Ling, but there was no way he couldn't handle Darryl Dora, right? Under normal circumstances, that logic was sound—provided Wright was playing like himself. Wright, however, was not in a normal state. The lingering aftereffects of Xu Ling's defense still haunted him. Dora simply braced and leaned into him with all his weight. Unable to back his man down, Wright settled for a casual, turnaround jumper. That was precisely what Dora wanted to see. If Wright had been determined to attack the rim, Dora would have had a hard time stopping him. Settling for jump shots, however, left everything to luck. And Wright's touch tonight was atrocious. The shot clanked off the rim, TTU secured the defensive rebound, and a counterattack immediately followed. After a few similar possessions, Wright's presence on the floor grew increasingly faint. North Carolina was reduced to relying on Tyler Hansbrough's brute-force bullying in the paint. UNC head coach Roy Williams could no longer sit calmly like an old monk in meditation. Calling a quick timeout, he pulled Brandan Wright and inserted Danny Green. Green slotted into a small-ball power forward role. Known across college basketball as the consummate role player capable of filling any gap, the assignment posed no problem for him. With that adjustment, the game devolved into a tense, grinding tug-of-war. TTU ran everything through Xu Ling, unleashing their perimeter firepower to stretch the defense and create inside looks. On UNC's side, Lawson's inability to play freely against Xu Ling drastically reduced his impact on the game. Yet even without coherent offensive sets, the talent-stacked Tar Heels managed to claw their way through on sheer individual ability alone. As the heart and soul of North Carolina, Tyler Hansbrough stepped up when his team needed him most. Hansbrough charged into the paint like an enraged bull. Drenched in sweat, his blonde hair gleamed fiercely under the arena lights. Every box-out looked as if he intended to drive TTU's white center, Jon Plefka, straight through the hardwood. "Again!" Hansbrough roared as he demanded post position, slamming his back against Plefka's chest and forcibly shoving back the white stretch big, who was far outmatched in pure strength. Lawson lofted a pinpoint entry pass into the paint. The instant Hansbrough caught it, he made a violent pivot, slamming his shoulder squarely into Plefka's ribs. Accompanied by a dull thud and the silence of the whistle, he bulldozed his way to the rim like a rusty tractor and violently hammered the ball through the hoop with his right hand. Plefka rubbed his reddened chest, glancing at the scoreboard with an expression bordering on despair. UNC's number 50 had scored on him multiple times in a row—a jump hook over the shoulder, an offensive putback, and now this brutal bully-ball finish. Hansbrough didn't even bother with fakes. Every possession was an unmistakable declaration: *I'm rolling right over you!* "That is the power of an All-American!" Dan Shulman bellowed into his microphone. "When North Carolina needs a hard basket, they can always count on Tyler Hansbrough's brand of bully ball!" On the sideline, Bob Knight felt a pang of helplessness. Plefka was a tough big man, but Hansbrough across from him was the ultimate souped-up version. Moreover, they couldn't switch Xu Ling onto Hansbrough defensively. The positional and physical disparities were too large, which meant TTU's frontcourt had to absorb the brunt of the beast on their own. When Hansbrough established deep post position yet again, Xu Ling had no choice but to peel off his man and rotate over to help. But that played right into UNC's hands. Anticipating the collapse, Hansbrough dished the ball to a cutting Lawson, who finished with an easy layup. "You see that, rookie?" Hansbrough barked at Xu Ling on the way back down the floor. "That's real basketball! I don't stand out there chucking darts!" The sequence brought Michael Jordan to life in the stands. He couldn't help daydreaming that if Hansbrough declared for the draft this year, he would do whatever it took to land him. You couldn't go wrong with a rabid, relentless warrior like that. For the first time, Xu Ling felt the strain of running himself ragged. Against other opponents, taking care of one or two key players was usually enough to lay the foundation for victory. North Carolina, however, held too many cards: a blue-chip freshman, an elite point guard, a dominant interior enforcer, and versatile role players. *Screw it. Whoever sticks their head out gets put down.* With that decided, Xu Ling raised his hand to call for a Plefka screen. Hansbrough barked an eager laugh and switched out on him without hesitation. The two most impactful players on the floor collided as the first half drew to a close. "That scrub can't stop me!" Hansbrough taunted aggressively. "And neither can you!" Xu Ling suddenly accelerated, whipping the ball past Hansbrough's flank with a lightning-fast left-handed dribble. As the big man stumbled to recover, Xu Ling abruptly pulled up at the free throw line, fading away with a sky-high arc. Just as the ball swished cleanly through the cords, Hansbrough's belated swipe crashed down across his wrists. *Whistle!* The referee's whistle blew sharply. *Swish!* "And one!" Xu Ling said casually, "ACC's best big? Looks like an idiot to me." That marked the opening salvo of all-out war between Xu Ling and Hansbrough. Hansbrough battered the interior relentlessly, and every time he converted, Xu Ling answered on the very next possession. The stars' energy burned like a blazing inferno, sending the atmosphere inside the HP Pavilion at San Jose soaring. Yet as Nietzsche's well-worn maxim went: *When you gaze long into an abyss, the abyss also gazes into you.* The question was, who would fall in first? By halftime, both teams had laid all their cards on the table, holding virtually nothing back and making their blueprints for victory plain for all to see. TTU's path to victory lay on the perimeter, hinging on whether Xu Ling could sustain his first-half shooting stroke. North Carolina, meanwhile, needed to find a reliable half-court offense. UNC had completely failed to solve the zone defense. The vast majority of their scoring had come purely from individual stardom, with Ty Lawson and Tyler Hansbrough taking turns carrying the load. In the end, however, individual brilliance had its limits. Behind superior team synergy, TTU carried a 45–40 lead into halftime. Setting aside Jordan, whose partisan bias was hopelessly tilted, the NBA executives in attendance were converging on a single consensus regarding Xu Ling. Heading into the matchup against UNC, they had viewed Xu Ling as a strong contender for a top-five pick. But if the teams holding top-five selections weren't starved for perimeter talent, a classic, unwritten NBA doctrine might come into play: Xu Ling might be the better player, but the league historically favored big men over guards, and this draft class featured the deepest crop of interior talent in a decade. Now, however, even under North Carolina's relentless pressure, Xu Ling had delivered a monstrous first half: 20 points, 8 rebounds, and 4 assists. That performance not only overshadowed the already eliminated Kevin Durant, but even eclipsed the aura of Ohio State's Greg Oden. Seattle SuperSonics general manager Sam Presti could practically tell his staff right then and there: if they landed the third overall pick, so long as Xu Ling showed up for a decent workout in Seattle, he wouldn't hesitate to draft him on the spot. Of course, that was merely an immediate reaction. College performances possessed a deceptive, fleeting shock value, and NBA executives often cooled off by the time the draft rolled around months later, once again becoming enamored with tantalizing yet elusive raw upside. "Eli." Bob Knight's voice dropped heavily in the cramped locker room, instantly cutting through all background noise. He looked at no one else. "You are the only reason we are still standing here." Knight paused, took a half-step forward, and lowered his voice further. "Now tell me. Can I trust you? When they throw everything they have at you in the second half to tear you apart, can you still lead this team?" Xu Ling felt his teammates' gazes lock onto him, the weight of their expectations practically tangible. "If needed..." "Then we're done!" Knight's voice spiked sharply, cutting Xu Ling off. It wasn't a roar this time, but an urgent, anxious rebuke, as if physically hauling him back from the edge of a trap. "If all you're thinking is 'it'll take twenty more points from me to win,' then we are fucking finished! That's exactly what they want you to think!" Xu Ling froze, swallowing the rest of his words. Looking at Knight, he realized the coach saw much deeper than he did. Knight drew a deep breath, stepping up until he was nearly chest-to-chest with Xu Ling. "That old fox Roy Williams—he might not have a bag of new tricks, but he isn't stupid! He'll throw two men at you, three men, hell, four men if he has to! Because he knows better than anyone: choke you out, and you choke out the whole damn team." The air in the locker room seemed to freeze. Only heavy breathing broke the silence. In that suffocating quiet, Xu Ling's eyes slowly swept across each of his teammates, taking in the trust, the tension, and the urgent hunger in their faces. He looked back at Knight, knowing it was time to make a stand, knowing what Knight needed to hear. "Then let them come," Xu Ling said without hesitation. "It'll be the perfect chance to remind them of the oldest truth in basketball—this game has always been five on five." When the second half tipped off, the game unfolded exactly as Knight had anticipated. Whenever Xu Ling caught the ball on the perimeter, his primary defender, Danny Green, would instantly collapse with an adjacent Tar Heel to form a hard double-team. Prepared for the tactic, Xu Ling repeatedly released the ball just as the trap was snapping shut, hitting open teammates in stride. The Tar Heels placed their absolute faith in talent. After all, the first national championship they won under Roy Williams had been built on unstoppable, overflowing talent. That was the 2005 North Carolina squad—a team so absurdly stacked that Marvin Williams, who went second overall in that year's NBA draft, came off the bench. Harmonizing such an embarrassment of riches had demanded an enormous amount of work from Roy Williams, embedding a blind faith in raw talent that superseded any basketball theory. It convinced them that as long as Xu Ling was stopped from scoring, TTU would collapse on the spot. Instead, Alan Voskuil stepped up and buried a three-pointer from beyond the arc. Hansbrough called for the ball on the low block, trying to back down Plefka with sheer muscle. The dull thud of colliding bodies reverberated above the roar of the arena. Plefka was shoved backward step by step, yet held his ground at the critical moment. Xu Ling rotated over to help just in time, forcing Hansbrough into an off-balance fadeaway that clanged off the back iron. Jackson secured the rebound while Xu Ling was already streaking down the floor. North Carolina's transition defense lagged a half-step behind. Jackson launched a long outlet pass to Xu Ling, who sent a trailing Green flying with a slick shot fake before finishing an uncontested layup. The Tar Heels began to grow restless. They knew the dynamic was shifting against them. If the price of bottling up Xu Ling was letting the rest of TTU catch fire, what was the point of shutting him down? Roy Williams held his ground, evidently convinced the situation hadn't reached a crisis point and that UNC's raw talent could still produce points. Hansbrough answered with a turnaround jump shot. Moments later, Lawson capitalized on a missed TTU three to push the break for a fast-break score. Xu Ling responded by drawing the defense and dishing to Jarrius Jackson for a clean three-pointer. UNC grew increasingly impatient, ratcheting up their defensive aggression. Danny Green quickly piled up fouls due to overaggressive defensive plays. Ten minutes into the second half, Green picked up his fourth foul. Hamstrung by foul trouble, he grew timid, and Xu Ling immediately attacked him off the bounce. Unable to contest aggressively, Green was blown by in an instant. Brandan Wright, who had been completely marginalized throughout the second half, slid across to cut off Xu Ling's driving lane. Xu Ling blew past him in a flash, rendering his presence utterly meaningless. Leaping into the air, Xu Ling baited Hansbrough into rotating over, then slipped a bounce pass to Plefka for a mid-range jumper. The basket stretched TTU's lead to eleven. The fact that a single possession without a double-team was immediately exploited by Xu Ling drove North Carolina's defense to the brink of frenzy. Wayne Ellington answered with a three-pointer, acting like an adrenaline shot that sent UNC fans roaring into cheers... Xu Ling was already in motion. Danny Green's feet seemed nailed to the floorboards; before he could even get a hand up, Xu Ling had blown past his hip. Hansbrough scrambled over to help, but he was far too late. "Fucking Chinese guy!" Hansbrough roared over the arena din. The instant contact came in mid-air, Xu Ling's body curved like a fully drawn bow. He shielded the ball securely with his right hand, but at the apex of his leap, he abruptly pulled it back, sweeping it across his waist into his left hand. Hansbrough's arms flailed helplessly, forced to watch the orange sphere glide just past his fingertips. *Swish!* "Oh my god!" Dan Shulman shouted excitedly from the broadcast booth. "Eli just recreated MJ's 1991 Finals switch-hand layup!" As the scoreboard ticked up, North Carolina's bench fell dead silent. Green stood frozen, staring down at his trembling palms, while Hansbrough's mind went completely blank. Xu Ling's words cut through the chill like ice: "You defend like an idiot, and you talk like an idiot, but don't let that fool you. You really are an idiot." Jordan stared in disbelief at the replay on the jumbotron. He had spoken about that 1991 switch-hand layup on countless occasions, yet privately thought little of it, believing he could find at least twenty tougher finishes across his career. Yet here and now, watching Xu Ling recreate the move against his alma mater, Jordan caught that familiar scent of blood—the despair hanging in the air when a hunter delivers the kill shot to its prey. Hansbrough's hollow stare, Green's shaking hands, the sudden freezing of the entire arena's energy—it all brought back the flash of shock on Magic Johnson's face all those years ago. *Are they finished?* *No, Michael. Not yet. At least not right this second.* North Carolina's counterattack came back feeble and hurried. Their contested three-point attempt flew like a kite with a snapped string, clanging heavily off the front rim. The moment Xu Ling soared to snatch the defensive board, North Carolina's entire defense seemed frozen in place. Xu Ling drove like an unsheathed blade straight into enemy territory. Collapsing three defenders around him, he flicked his wrist to find a trailing Jackson. *Swish!* Three-pointer. The lead swelled to thirteen. With under six minutes remaining, Roy Williams called a timeout and abandoned the trap on Xu Ling, instructing his players to switch to a full-court press. Time was running out; this was their last desperate gamble. Coming out of the timeout, North Carolina looked to score quickly. Wright set a high screen and popped to receive the ball. Despite having failed to make a single field goal all night, Wright somehow believed the weight of the moment fell on his shoulders. He launched the shot without hesitation, though his teammates dared not harbor any hope. *Clang!* It felt like a foregone conclusion. Xu Ling rotated down smoothly to secure the defensive board, but as soon as he turned, three blue jerseys swarmed to shut down every outlet like a rising tide—Lawson in front, Green to his left, Ellington to his right. North Carolina's full-court press trapped him instantly in the baseline corner. Repetitive fast-break drills and the chemistry built with Jackson over the past year overrode conscious thought. Xu Ling didn't hesitate—without even lifting his head to look, relying entirely on instinct and trust, he launched the ball downcourt like an artillery shell! The floor ahead was completely empty, but he believed Jackson was already on the run. The basketball tore through North Carolina's defense, soaring across more than half the court. The instant the ball left his fingertips, Xu Ling took off at full tilt, sprinting like a bullet train. Jackson didn't let him down. Sprinting full speed, he dove to scoop the ball back just before it rolled out of bounds, shoveling it back in stride to Xu Ling, who was already streaking past mid-court. North Carolina's defense had completely collapsed under two end-to-end passes, leaving only Brandan Wright anchored in the paint, trying to hold the final line of defense. Xu Ling transformed into a streak of red lightning slicing toward the rim. Wright stood anchored in the middle of the paint, his feet as if cemented to the hardwood, helplessly watching the figure bear down on him. He occupied the ideal defensive position, yet felt like a man standing on railroad tracks staring down an oncoming locomotive. From the center circle to the free throw line took Xu Ling only three strides. The rhythmic pound of his dribble sounded like war drums, pounding against Wright's frayed nerves. When Xu Ling gathered the ball and gathered to take off, Wright jumped on pure reflex, regretting it the moment his feet left the floor—his body was ill-prepared, and his vertical jump fell laughably short. The championship banners hanging in Chapel Hill and the legendary retired jerseys in the rafters felt, in that instant, like the final straw crushing Wright. His defensive arms went up limply, resembling a white flag of surrender. The moment the two bodies collided in mid-air, irresistible force obliterated fragile resistance. *Boom!* Xu Ling threw down a thunderous, rim-rattling poster dunk like a falling meteor. Amid the violent shaking of the stanchion, Wright crashed backward like a puppet with cut strings. As his back struck the floor, the last image burned into his vision was Xu Ling hanging from the rim above him. "Oh my god! Eli Xu just destroyed North Carolina! He climbed right over Brandan Wright! Look at that dunk! Look at Wright down on the floor! Ladies and gentlemen, this is an absolute slaughter!" "That was vicious!" Dick Vitale screamed at the top of his lungs. "Brandan Wright shouldn't have even jumped! He looked like a terrified freshman! Eli has completely broken his spirit! Look at the replay—who still remembers what Wright said before the game? Eli is overrated? He was going to destroy Eli? TTU is the only non-elite team in the Elite Eight?" "In the history of college basketball, has there ever been a more disastrous piece of trash talk?" "It's over." "I mean," Jordan muttered blankly to himself, "it really is over." Because when all was said and done, this group was just a bunch of college kids. They were good, overflowing with talent, but they weren't winners. They lacked a winning mindset, and they had no idea how to pull themselves out of a hole like this. Look at Tyler Hansbrough, look at Ty Lawson—did either of them have an ounce of fight left in them? And who had steered them into this mess in the first place? Jordan glared at Brandan Wright with undisguised disgust. Still, with the outcome settled, it was time to step back from his partisan alma mater stance and take a proper look at this so-called 'TTU Jordan.' The Charlotte Bobcats were an outright lottery team. In the few years since the franchise's inception, while they had developed a versatile piece in Gerald Wallace, their high-stakes gamble on Adam Morrison a year prior had proved an unmitigated disaster. They still hadn't landed a franchise cornerstone they could build around in the draft. Jordan caught a familiar scent on Xu Ling. With that thought, Jordan glanced down at the NBA executives seated in the front rows. After tonight, Xu Ling's draft stock was bound to skyrocket again, likely locking him into the top five. A deeper wave of irritation washed over him. His Bobcats were stuck in the most awkward position imaginable: not good enough to make the playoffs, yet not bad enough to have realistic odds at a top-five pick. Jordan cursed silently under his breath. The GOAT suddenly realized that from the moment he flew in to watch this game, not a single damn thing had gone his way. The Tar Heels' spirit was shattered. Although Roy Williams finally broke his stubborn habit of hoarding timeouts, calling a timeout could not mend a team that was already broken from within. Texas Tech, propelled by overwhelming momentum, played better and better. They hit shot after shot from beyond the arc, their blistering perimeter accuracy extinguishing North Carolina's final glimmer of hope. The most anticipated clash of the regional finals concluded in stunning fashion: 101 to 76. The Texas Tech Red Raiders, completely dismissed prior to tip-off, blew out the ACC champion North Carolina Tar Heels to claim the NCAA Tournament West Regional championship, advancing to the Final Four for the first time in school history. *** Postgame Press Conference Brandan Wright had been taken to the hospital for an ankle injury and was unavailable for interviews. Tyler Hansbrough spoke candidly: "I want to congratulate TTU. Eli is even better than advertised. We took a beating tonight and learned a hard lesson. No matter who you are, you have to stay humble and approach the game as a student. Otherwise, a master will knock you flat on your back until you can't get back up." Roy Williams refused to address his timeout management or coaching decisions, choosing instead to play it safe before the reporters—complimenting the opponent that beat you was never the wrong move: "In my mind, Eli is the NCAA National Freshman of the Year. I truly believe that neither Greg Oden nor Kevin Durant could have put on the kind of performance he did against us tonight." Bob Knight appeared remarkably composed about returning to the Final Four after a twenty-year absence: "I'm not saying I'm not excited. I just know our journey isn't finished. I'm after a national championship. Nobody measures greatness by the number of times you made the Final Four." When the conversation turned to Xu Ling, however, Knight grew far more animated. "When we evaluate a great player, we always like to say you shouldn't judge his value by the box score. But talking about Eli tonight, you can't ignore the numbers. He played the full forty minutes and put up thirty-four points, twelve rebounds, and ten assists. I've coached college basketball for forty years. I honestly don't think I've ever seen a better performance." *** ESPN Postgame Interview Transcript The reporter offered the microphone with a smile: "Eli, this is the first time in your college career that you've played all forty minutes. How does it feel?" Xu Ling's face remained blank. "Yeah, I guess." A ripple of light laughter ran through the room. The reporter followed up: "We noticed you and Hansbrough had quite a few 'interactions' out there. Can you share what you two were talking about?" The corner of Xu Ling's mouth turned up slightly. "That's a secret." The reporter pressed on: "Not even a hint?" Xu Ling shook his head. "Afraid not." Reporter: "Then let's talk about Brandan Wright. How would you evaluate his performance tonight?" Xu Ling suddenly looked straight into the camera lens, his eyes bright: "There are twenty-four hours in a day, sixty minutes in an hour. Whenever I want, I can bust his ass anytime, anywhere. Even so, I still appreciate the effort he put in tonight—not that it was much effort. But to be honest, I don't want to waste too much breath discussing the 'only non-elite player in the Elite Eight.'" Then again, he sure had plenty to say about him, didn't he?