Mr. Sixty Million

Jerry West gazed from afar at the players on the court below, but the image that surfaced in his mind was another scene—one from decades ago, when the Lakers traded for Wilt Chamberlain from the 76ers to battle the Celtics and Bill Russell. On the surface, that had been a dynasty team, built from the NBA's greatest forward, its most dominant center, and its most complete two-way guard—so why couldn't it succeed? Winning in a garbage league of plumbers, part-time lawyers, and drivers shouldn't have been so hard, but what came of it? Elgin Baylor's friendship with Chamberlain ended in the face of their mutually incompatible realities. Baylor was used to calling the shots, while Chamberlain always went his own way; Baylor needed wide offensive spacing, while Chamberlain forever anchored the low post; Baylor was passionate and outgoing, a born leader, while Chamberlain was sensitive and self-important, often lost in confusion. They had never truly accepted each other. Such a forced pairing earned them nothing but year after year of defeat. West could never forget that in 1972, at the very moment he finally won a title, he discovered Baylor was no longer on the roster—the anger and emptiness of that moment nearly swallowed him whole. Yet when he calmed down and looked inward, he realized, with painful clarity, that if Baylor had still been there, they might never have won that championship at all. Did that past era hold any lessons for today's NBA? Perhaps, but few. In the years West played, the NBA could hardly be called a commercial league: salaries were low, social standing was modest, and the off-court distractions were different, unlike today, and there was not yet a sweeping rule restriction like the salary cap. That was why you could see a team like the Celtics, where the players worked together like one big family—but today, that kind of thing no longer exists. Of course, you've surely seen, countless times, players hugging warmly, high-fiving, and celebrating on the court—scenes that often make people think they're as close as can be. But in reality, they're just a group of people who'd have no connection to one another in real life, sharing an adrenaline rush amid repetitive training and highly coordinated games. The truth was evident in the way Gay treated Xu Ling: Xu Ling hadn't played a single game yet, but he was already regarded as the Grizzlies' new core; his draft position was higher than Gay's; and the world-shaking endorsement deal he'd signed with Adidas might be worth ten times Gay's own. The modern NBA alienates people from one another with hard numbers—that was the gap, and the gap between Gay and Xu Ling might amount to tens of millions of dollars. How could he possibly stand such a gap? So the team's fracture was inevitable, and the struggle between them was inevitable too. Maybe the Grizzlies should count themselves lucky that they didn't pretend to like each other. The rookie team Xu Ling was on was clearly weaker overall than the veteran team made up of last season's Grizzlies starting lineup, but it was far from defenseless. Besides Darko Milicic, there was Xu Ling's old captain from Texas Tech, Jarrius Jackson, along with power forward Andre Brown and the white small forward Casey Jacobsen. Jackson had never really talked with Xu Ling about the signing. Though everyone knew full well that his joining the Grizzlies was inseparable from Xu Ling—as long as Xu Ling didn't bring it up first, he'd rather believe it was all earned through his own ability. The atmosphere on the court was tense and charged. Jackson leaned in with a smile and asked, "Is this how you planned it?" "If you mean being deliberately targeted by someone whose surname is 'Gay,'" Xu Ling answered mildly, "then no, it really wasn't." Jackson knew the easy, unspoken rapport of their college days was over. From the moment they set foot on this court, they had to adapt to a brand-new, more realistic NBA. "But you can't afford to lose, right?" he asked in a low voice. The corner of Xu Ling's mouth lifted. "Thanks to you all, I only lost two games my freshman year, so I truly am not used to losing." Whatever the reality was, the words were pleasant to hear. Jackson laughed. "Then I definitely won't let you lose today either." "All right, all right, can you two catch up on your school ties later?" Darko Milicic cut in with a hint of mockery. "The game's about to start." Although Xu Ling expected to play the two-guard more often in the NBA, today he was playing small forward. The reason was simple: he wanted to match up against Gay. And besides, the team's white small forward, Casey Jacobsen, had played small forward in college, but in the NBA he could play shooting guard at most, because his talent fell far too short. Still, the veteran team's lineup was fairly "reasonable": Lowry, (Eddie) Jones, Gay, (Hakim) Warrick, and Pau Gasol. Only three of them were starters from last season; the other two were a backup point guard and a veteran nearing retirement. The veteran team, in black jerseys, won the tip-off. Gay immediately sprinted toward the frontcourt, with Xu Ling close on his heels. Then Hakim set a pick on the perimeter; Gay cut tight along the screen, Gasol's pass arrived right on target, and Gay turned for an elegant jump shot that dropped in. "Hey, Mr. Sixty Million—does all that money Adidas gives you not include the cost of playing defense?" After scoring just one basket, Gay was already itching to start his trash talk. Xu Ling didn't respond. He was waiting. In terms of pure ability, the veteran team was certainly stronger than the rookie team; there was no doubt about that. Just having the All-Star Pau Gasol gave them an infinitely large advantage inside, but fortunately, Gasol was here in body but not in spirit. Though he'd shown a flash of basketball IQ with an assist to Gay, he might not truly play this game at full strength. In the end, the only two who were truly going head-to-head, neither willing to give an inch, were Xu Ling and Gay. Xu Ling had just settled into position when a teammate's pass reached him. Gay immediately spread his arms and pressed up on him like a starving tiger pouncing on its prey, trying to apply pressure with smothering defense. There was no doubt he possessed the perfect gifts every small forward dreamed of—excellent height, astonishing wingspan, fierce explosiveness, and a precise jump shot. The scouts hadn't dubbed him "mini McGrady" without reason. But the "McGrady" label was, to some degree, also like a faintly clinging curse: most of the gifted players saddled with that title ended up trapped by some mental weakness or a slackness on the defensive end. Xu Ling faked right with a quick jab step, and Gay's overcommitted weight was instantly thrown off balance. In that split second, the flaw in his defensive judgment stood fully exposed. And in the flash of an instant as he tried to recover his balance, the rookie he'd mocked as "Mr. Sixty Million" had already slid a step to his left and risen for the shot. Swish. Nothing but net. Xu Ling landed steadily and glanced back at Gay with a blank face, then fired back in a tone just as flat but just as sharp: "Looks like the endorsement money Nike pays you isn't expected to help you stop anyone either." Gay's face turned ashen. "He went straight into isolation right off the bat." Lowry couldn't tell whether he was hinting that isolation carried more weight or voicing his displeasure. "Is he really that confident?" Gay was instantly riled up, and just said, "Give me the ball!" Then he charged forward. Lowry wore a harmless smile. He truly didn't want any part of it—the rivalry between the No. 3 pick and the No. 8 pick was not something a small fry like him could meddle in. The floor spread out; Gay raised his hand, and Lowry's pass was already on its way. Matched up against Xu Ling, he was like a lion guarding its territory, eagerly unleashing an astonishing first step. That step was quick enough that, well handled, it could blow right past Xu Ling. His physical gifts weren't the problem; the real problem was his ball-handling. Gay lacked the dribbling technique to harness his own explosiveness, so although that first step won him position, he couldn't string together any decent sustained acceleration to reach his most explosive top gear. During his year at Texas Tech, Xu Ling's most notable improvement hadn't come on offense—it had come on defense. Bob Knight had made him guard the opponent's main scoring threat from the very start, and insisted on an extra half hour of defensive slides every single day. That day-in, day-out toil forged his dominant performances in March Madness, where he repeatedly locked down the other team's key wing. Now, stepping onto the NBA court, even against a freak of talent like Gay—rare even on the college stage—he still clung to his man with superb judgment and lightning reactions. Under Xu Ling's airtight defense, Gay forced up a shot, and it naturally missed. Milicic batted the rebound out, and Xu Ling alertly secured the ball. Before the veteran team could get back on defense, Xu Ling instantly picked out his old captain Jackson streaking ahead, delivering a precise full-court pass that set him up for an easy layup. In the lull between the change of possession, Xu Ling glanced at Gay, whose expression was growing ever darker, and added lightly: "Do you know how big a contract Nike first offered me?" "What?" Gay didn't catch it at first; his mind was still stuck on his earlier mistake. Just then, Lowry had already fed him the ball in tacit understanding, right into Gay's hands, and shouted with the grin of a man settling in to enjoy the show: "Rudy, catch! Show him what you've got!" Those inflammatory words, mixed with Xu Ling's earlier out-of-nowhere taunt, were like dry tinder meeting a roaring flame—Gay's fighting spirit was completely ignited. Gay caught the ball and faced Xu Ling, his eyes on nothing but the rim. This time he held nothing back, bringing out every trick he had—a string of explosive crossover steps flowing into a quick spin, trying to shake off all his space. Every move was full of a gifted wildness, yet carried a faint stutter of shaky fundamentals—completely unlike the silky feel that Kevin Durant, taller, faster, and longer than Gay, brought to matchups against Xu Ling. Because his dribbling rhythm was off, Gay couldn't bring out the full advantage of his speed and explosiveness. In a one-on-one setting, this kind of offense that leaned more on instinct than technique was almost bound to be read. Just when Gay thought he'd finally carved out the slightest opening and gathered himself to rise for a signature jump shot, Xu Ling, as if he'd foreseen the future, hit his spot precisely and leaped with all his strength, his long arm sealing off the shooting line exactly. Slap!!! A clean, crisp block—the ball was swatted hard out of bounds. Xu Ling landed steadily, looked calmly at the disbelieving Gay, and finally picked up the earlier thread, saying teasingly: "They offered me seven years, forty million. But I chose Adidas—because they didn't just pay more, they had better vision."