Generational Talent

March 31, 2007. Atlanta, Georgia Dome. It was the day of the NCAA Final Four, where the two teams advancing to the national championship game would be decided. Countless fans poured into the colossal dome, a venue far larger than any standard NBA arena. Over seventy thousand seats were nearly filled to capacity, with spectators from across the country treating the matchup as the must-see sporting event of the year. Along the sidelines, broadcast crews from major television networks were setting up equipment and running audio checks. Jim Nantz and Billy Packer, the nationally renowned commentary duo, discussed the clash ahead. "Texas Tech's run to get here has certainly been unbelievable," Billy Packer remarked, adopting a veneer of neutrality that barely masked his underlying bias. "But I think their journey ends tonight. The zone defense TTU relies on simply won't work against the Buckeyes. The disparity in the frontcourt is just too massive. Even with Greg Oden restricted to using only his left hand on offense, I don't see Darryl Dora or Jon Plefka standing much of a chance against him." Packer's stance came as no surprise to his broadcast partner. Prior to the Final Four, Packer had been TTU's biggest booster—strictly because he was a diehard Duke supporter, and no true Duke loyalist could bear to see North Carolina advance. But once TTU knocked out UNC, all old scores came due. Sure, taking down the Tar Heels was commendable, but they couldn't forget that TTU had sent Duke packing first. Just how deep did Packer's devotion to Duke run? During an ACC regular-season matchup between Duke and UNC, North Carolina had kept Tyler Hansbrough on the floor well into garbage time. A Duke player took matters into his own hands with a vicious foul, leaving Hansbrough with blood streaming from his nose. Packer's reaction on live television had been: "That was a completely legal defensive play!" Throwing his weight behind title favorite Ohio State to dismantle TTU was merely a return to form. "I, for one, think TTU still has a real shot to push ahead," his partner, Nantz, countered. "Going by what both teams have shown so far, Eli has had the bigger impact. And while Greg is a game-changing rim protector, tonight is going to come down to offense, not defense." Hearing that, Packer only felt more vindicated. If it was an offensive shootout, then Oden's superior defense would be the very thing that decided the outcome. Up in the stands, NBA executives took their seats one by one. Virtually every lottery-bound franchise had dispatched scouts and front-office representatives to the arena. Moments later, the players from both squads filed onto the court. Greg Oden walked out at the rear of the pack. His towering frame cast an imposing shadow beneath the arena lights, his left hand instinctively grazing the brace secured over his right shoulder. By custom, players were free to exchange pleasantries before the game. Xu Ling took the initiative and walked straight toward Oden, an unusual sight that instantly drew the lenses of courtside photographers. "How's that right hand holding up?" Xu Ling asked. It was their first time meeting face-to-face, yet he greeted Oden as casually as an old acquaintance. Oden's weathered features carried a stern, don't-mess-with-me aura. It truly was a tragedy that injuries had derailed his real-world career; otherwise, toxic internet trolls would have churned out endless memes casting him and LeBron James in bizarre father-and-son banter. "Still out of commission," Oden replied with a grim grin. "Good enough to crush you guys, though." Neither bothered with hollow introductions. With that brief exchange done, they turned and headed back to their respective ends of the court. "What did you have to say to that guy?" Darryl Dora asked. He had spent the past few days doing everything possible to mentally prepare himself. Matching up against Oden was enough to rattle anyone. The man had been hailed as the best player in the country since his sophomore year of high school, heralded as possessing Bill Russell's defense, David Robinson's mobility, Dwight Howard's raw power and explosiveness, and Tim Duncan's basketball instincts. To play an entire season using only his off-hand and still average 16 points, 10 rebounds, and 3 blocks per game—what kind of freakish talent was that? Yet Xu Ling had the nerve to saunter over and chat him up, leaving Dora thoroughly exasperated. "I checked on his right hand for you." "What'd he say?" "He said he's going to crush you." Xu Ling had taken a page right out of the media playbook of quoting people out of context, and he felt rather pleased with the result. A few minutes later, the starting lineups took the floor. Jim Nantz immediately highlighted a key tactical adjustment: "The Red Raiders are rolling out a four-out, one-in lineup once again tonight, but with a twist. Their starting center is no longer Jon Plefka; they've inserted the more athletic senior center, Darryl Dora." "That tells us TTU has opted to completely surrender the interior," Billy Packer chimed in at once. "Even so, I don't see Ohio State's perimeter firepower lagging behind TTU's in the slightest." The opening tip-off held no suspense. Oden leaped with everything he had, tapping the ball cleanly to Mike Conley. From the very first second of the contest, longtime observers of Oden sensed something different. Since arriving in college, Oden had never played at absolute full throttle; scouts widely estimated he had operated at seventy percent effort at most. So when he won the tip and sprinted ahead at top speed, Conley did not even need a play call. He simply launched an alley-oop toward the stratosphere of the frontcourt. The behemoth hailed as a generational talent took off as if strapped to a rocket, caught the ball with both hands, and brought it crashing down through the rim. "All week, everyone's been debating whether Eli can eclipse Greg Oden! Well, Greg just told them all to shut up!" Billy Packer roared into his headset. Down on the other end, Xu Ling found himself matched up against Ron Lewis, the Buckeyes' six-foot-four two-guard. Lewis was effectively Oden's enforcer on the perimeter—a capable shooter and rugged defender who served as an indispensable pillar for Ohio State. Xu Ling did not even need to call for the ball. His teammates delivered it into his hands without hesitation. The instant the ball hit his right hand, Xu Ling dropped his hips, detonating forward with a vicious first step that ripped through Lewis's center of gravity. Under immense pressure, Lewis had no choice but to throw his weight forward to recover. That instinctive reaction was the exact opening Xu Ling needed to break his ankles. Flowing into a fluid crossover through his legs on the move, Xu Ling snatched the ball hard to the left. Stripped of all balance, Lewis's eyes went wide as his body tumbled helplessly forward onto the hardwood. As Xu Ling executed the step-back, the basketball remained suspended in a downward, hanging dribble. The sensation was extraordinary. He knew precisely what he was capable of doing—and for the first time since his transmigration, he unleashed it: first a lateral step-back dribble to create separation, immediately chained into a backward step-back to gather the ball. The two motions flowed together as smooth as down feathers, leaving Ron Lewis sprawled on the floor, staring up in utter despair as the shot went airborne. "Oh, my goodness! What did we just witness?!" Jim Nantz's voice spiked an octave higher, nearly cracking with shock. "That wasn't a basketball move—that was magic! Eli Xu just made his defender vanish into thin air!" The Georgia Dome erupted into bedlam. Fans in the lower bowl surged to their feet in unison, one spectator sending a bucket of popcorn flying as golden kernels showered down like celebratory confetti. "That's impossible..." ESPN analyst Jay Bilas muttered, ripping off his headset. "That hanging float dribble right off the step-back... Did he just change direction twice in midair?!" The arena replay screen sent another deafening roar through the crowd. In slow motion, the sequence was crystal clear: the instant Lewis stumbled forward, the ball hovered under Xu Ling's left hand for half a second as if glued to his palm, then snapped back beyond the three-point arc like a release from a slingshot. By the time the net whipped up like a white wave, Lewis was only just propping himself up off the floor. That frozen snapshot would grace the front page of every sports publication tomorrow morning. Oden's opening alley-oop slam had given the arena an initial impression of inevitable dominance, but Xu Ling's immediate retort—an ankle-breaker chained into a double step-back three—struck everyone as downright surreal. Basketball had existed for well over a century. Could someone really execute a move never before seen on a basketball court? Xu Ling's counter had not only matched Oden's raw athletic showcase, but far exceeded it in pure imagination. A fierce, uncompromising tug-of-war followed. Oden aggressively posted up, demanding the ball on the low block. Just as Xu Ling and the coaching staff had broken down in film study, Oden's physique—absurdly muscular for a freshman—made him a born pick-and-roll weapon. Yet, much like Dwight Howard, he possessed a frame custom-built for screens but disdained setting them, preferring to isolate in the low post. Because of that, even with a stable of perimeter marksmen around him, Ohio State could not unlock the full playmaking brilliance of Mike Conley. A point guard denied the freedom to initiate the pick-and-roll was reduced to little more than a floor courier. Every TTU defender who drifted near Oden poked and prodded him, doing everything possible to badger him into kicking the ball out. Though they had talked during practice about abandoning the paint and letting Oden get whatever he wanted, when the game actually started, how could anyone truly concede the rim? Besides, the college three-point line was notoriously shallow, creating an inherently condensed half-court. Perimeter defenders could collapse inside to disrupt post action without completely losing touch with their own assignments. Oden caught entry passes, backed down, and whipped the ball back outside. He finally generated a clean look for an open shooter, but the stop-and-start passing rhythm threw off the shooter's timing, resulting in an errant brick. No matter—Oden leaped like a pouncing tiger, snatching the offensive rebound with authority. He prepared to power up for a point-blank finish, only for Xu Ling to strike from the blind spot like a phantom, stripping the ball clean with a sharp downward swipe. Having spent his entire life towering over opponents, Oden had never developed the habit of keeping the ball high. That seemingly minor technical flaw burned him for the very first time tonight. The instant Xu Ling ripped the ball away and spun toward the open floor, Ohio State's guards out along the perimeter hadn't even processed what happened. To the entire arena, that red silhouette looked like an arrow launched from a bowstring, tearing toward the frontcourt as the dome lights stretched his shadow long across the floor. Taking off from one foot just inside the free-throw line, Xu Ling cocked the ball back behind his head with his right hand like an archer drawing a bow to its limit—while a trailing Oden could only watch the spectacle from a step behind. *Boom!* The rim rattled with a violent roar as Xu Ling landed and carried his momentum past the baseline. He spun around just in time to meet Oden charging back, their chests nearly colliding. "Know the difference between you and me?" Xu Ling whispered, his voice low enough that only Oden could hear. "You're always waiting for the right moment. I never miss one." Oden's pupils contracted. Instinctively pulling his mouthguard out with his right hand, he growled, "Next time, I'm pinning your shot to the glass." "If you couldn't do it with your right hand, you sure as hell won't do it with your left." "We'll see about that!" Being called a "generational talent" was never a blessing; it was a set of shackles. It meant you were expected to shine brighter than anyone else of your era, with millions of eyes waiting for you to fall from grace. History had shown time and again that most who carried the label never reached the dizzying heights once envisioned for them. Young men, however, never gave a damn about historical caution. Youth was the season to bare one's fangs, the time to wear raw ambition openly across one's face. The instant Xu Ling and Greg Oden locked eyes inside the Georgia Dome, the war had already begun. No feeling-out process. No holding back. And not an ounce of goodwill.