Once Pau Gasol stormed off in a huff, the intrasquad scrimmage between the rookie team and the veteran team turned completely one-sided—a total blowout. Many of those present later recalled it as the "most merciless" scrimmage they had ever seen.
54 to 28.
The most lopsided gap of all, without a doubt, came from the head-to-head between Xu Ling and Rudy Gay.
Gay shot just 4 of 18 from the field for a meager 11 points and 8 rebounds, while Xu Ling hit 12 of 16 and put up an efficient 28 points, 8 rebounds, and 6 assists. Set side by side, their numbers made Gay look like an utter loser.
When the final buzzer sounded, Gay stood frozen in place, his face ashen. Xu Ling casually tossed the ball aside, walked over to him at an unhurried pace, a faint, mocking smile playing on his lips, and said, "What, you can't even bring yourself to say 'nice game' to the man who just beat you completely?"
Gay's head snapped up. There was no defeat in his eyes—only the anger and resentment of a man who had been humiliated.
"Salute you? You think you won something?" Gay's voice rose to a hysterical pitch. "An intrasquad scrimmage nobody was even taking seriously? If Paul hadn't thrown his ridiculous tantrum and walked off, if the coaching staff hadn't put together this garbage lineup—"
As he spoke, Gay jabbed his finger wildly at his teammates and at Gasol's empty seat, trying to pin the loss on everyone—everyone but himself.
Xu Ling wasn't provoked. Instead he gave a slight nod and cut him off. "You're right, Rudy. The lineups really weren't fair. I mean, our side has the No. 3 pick of the NBA draft, the No. 2 pick, the captain of the NCAA national champions—and your side has—"
Here Xu Ling paused deliberately. He didn't know what had come over him, how he'd become so cruel—had he changed, or had this world changed him? But he also knew, instinctively, that he had to overpower Gay. So he said the most cutting thing of all.
"...a half-wit who shot 4 of 18, dragging everyone down like a virus."
The words drove into Gay's heart like an ice pick, and in an instant a searing humiliation washed over him, his face flushing crimson.
"You son of a—"
"Get some rest," Xu Ling said, eyeing him with mockery. "Make more of your shots next time."
Gay was left grief-stricken and furious, unable to fire back. He looked to the others, but no one was on his side anymore—including Kyle Lowry, who during the scrimmage had acted like his staunchest brother-in-arms.
Lowry had quietly distanced himself from him.
He had been isolated.
Seething, Gay turned and stalked off the court.
Xu Ling didn't watch him go. He simply turned to Hakim Warrick of the veteran team. "I'm treating everyone after training today. Any of you know a good restaurant in Memphis?"
The suffocating, cold, awkward atmosphere eased a little. Warrick answered at once. "That'd have to be the Lobster House on Beale Street—"
No one cared about Gay. No one asked about anything else. They all knew that to accept Xu Ling's invitation was to choose a side between him and Gay.
But it really wasn't a hard choice.
Gay may have been the No. 8 pick, and the front office had indeed once treated him as the cornerstone of the rebuild, but his rookie season had been mediocre. He was dubbed a "mini McGrady," and it was true that his physical tools and shooting stroke bore some resemblance—but McGrady himself had made his name on defense early on in Toronto. Only after he was traded to the Magic, with Hill being lost for season after season to injury, had he been forced to shoulder the offensive load, and that was what unlocked his potential.
But Gay? His development had gone in exactly the opposite direction. Like McGrady, he'd had his work ethic questioned by scouts, yet after reaching the NBA he never bothered with defense, thinking only about offense. But his fundamentals were crude; he was just an inefficient scorer, and on top of that he was arrogant and self-satisfied, with a nasty personality. Had someone like Xu Ling never shown up, the others would probably have just put up with him as usual. But now there was someone better to follow—who'd still bother kissing up to him?
That night, those who accepted Xu Ling's invitation included Jarrius Jackson, Darko Milicic, Mike Miller, Eddie Jones, Hakim Warrick, Kyle Lowry, and several other members of the rookie team.
Pau Gasol, who was set on leaving the team, was naturally in no mood to cozy up to Xu Ling, and Juan Navarro—who'd secured his place on the Grizzlies through his connection to Gasol—naturally wouldn't come either.
Setting aside the two Spaniards and Gay, everyone on the Grizzlies who could come, came.
Those who accepted the invitation each came with their own attitude.
A near-retirement veteran like Jones had no need to pick a side; he'd known Xu Ling since the workout, so he simply came to catch up.
Milicic had no intention of taking sides either. He'd been signed as a free agent, hadn't come to be the alpha, and hadn't even cracked the starting lineup before Gasol's trade. Besides, he wasn't especially obsessed with starting—he'd already signed a three-year, $21-million mid-level contract, more than enough money to live a life of dissolute luxury in a place like Memphis.
Mike Miller, one of those genuinely nice guys, deliberately steered clear of the topic of picking sides. Instead he said, "Eli, I believe in your ability, but if you want to build something bigger in Memphis than PG (Big Gasol), your challenges go far beyond Rudy."
The very fact that he called him "Rudy" showed he hadn't yet given up on trying to fix Gay.
Xu Ling, however, was hardly a petty man. He wasn't going to push Miller away just because the man still held illusions about Gay; he simply asked, "What other challenges?"
"The real challenge—well, the Western Conference is brutally competitive. Even the Celtics back East have assembled a Big Three. But us? The owner doesn't even dare go over the salary cap, because so few people in Memphis care about the Grizzlies," Miller said. "And the ones who do care are harsher than you'd imagine. Just look at PG and you'll understand."
Jones cut in from the side. "Mike, quit scaring the rookie."
Xu Ling knew, of course, that Memphis had all sorts of problems. But a city's character was fixed, beyond human power to change. He believed one thing: if the Grizzlies once again became a team that could win, the fans would come naturally.
After all, in his previous life he had lived through two peak eras of the Grizzlies: the "Grit-and-Grind" era built around the core four of Randolph, Marc Gasol, Conley, and Tony Allen, and later the era of Morant, the Gun King. A team worth watching would never lack die-hard fans, and once fans became die-hards, they would follow the team for the long haul.
If a fan community like that hadn't formed during the Pau Gasol era, then it could only mean that the Grizzlies of that time truly hadn't left a deep enough mark on the city.
Still, Xu Ling was genuinely grateful that Mike Miller was willing to speak so frankly.
"Thank you, Mike," he said earnestly. "I'll keep it in mind."
The gathering that night was warm and convivial, everyone chatting away happily. Only Kyle Lowry seemed a little quiet—and his very presence was a surprise. After all, just hours earlier in the scrimmage he had been Gay's number-one supporter, seemingly wanting to feed every pass to Rudy. Yet now here he was, sitting at Xu Ling's table of his own accord, trying to get closer to this new cornerstone.
This scene naturally didn't escape the eyes of those present. Xu Ling's friend Roderick Craig kept up a polite front, but inwardly he had long since turned up his nose at it.
Everyone ate and drank their fill, then headed home. Xu Ling and Roderick Craig had been about to head home too, but Lowry followed them.
"Kyle, something you need?"
Craig had little use for turncoats like Lowry, but he still kept a friendly enough expression.
"I want to talk with Eli," Lowry said bluntly.
Craig looked at Xu Ling, who merely nodded. His view of Lowry differed from the others', because he knew Lowry would become an All-Star, and he knew the man's character was decent enough. It was just that times were hard; right now he was nothing but a late-first-round pick the team didn't much value—so could you blame him for bending whichever way the wind blew?
So Lowry got into the car. He found it wasn't just Xu Ling inside—the man's bodyguard was there too.
"Don't worry about him, Kyle. Say whatever you want to say." Xu Ling's manner put Lowry a little more at ease.
"Eli," Lowry said cautiously, "I just want you to know—the only reason I kept feeding Rudy the ball today was that I wanted the two of you to settle it. It's good for our team."
"I know."
"I'm not Rudy's man. We're not even friends, really. He's got his own circle, and I... I don't have any real friends on the team yet."
Xu Ling was taken aback. "That I didn't know."
So someone like Lowry—who could pour his heart out to DeRozan back in the man's "I have depression" days—was now so lonely on the Grizzlies that he couldn't make even a single friend?
This was exactly the misconception a young man like Xu Ling, fresh out of college, was most prone to fall into. Boys who had watched too many passionate sports movies and sports anime always assumed that adult professional sports were the same idealized world of brothers of one mind, united and sharp enough to cut through metal.
But what about reality? The O'Neal–Kobe "OK" duo that won the three-peat came to regard each other as mortal enemies; Michael Jordan and Scottie Pippen, who won two three-peats, never so much as made a condolence call when the other was grieving the loss of his father; and the breakup of the Heat's Big Three, so loudly billed as "brotherhood basketball," just as plainly showed that all that talk of brotherly love was nothing but bullshit. Wade voluntarily took a pay cut, while LeBron slipped away without a word, conveying through a single affected letter that their bond would last forever. And truly "forever" it was—so much so that the great man skipped Wade's Hall of Fame induction just to go play golf and sip wine. Where on earth do you find a "good brother" like that?
This was the naked reality of professional sports. Many athletes were more used to living within a clearly stratified structure, as if inside a bubble they could move around at will. Compared with forming deep friendships with their peers, that bubble was clearly the preferred choice. Most players had their own entourage—not just out of sentiment, but because these people revolved around them: going wherever you wanted to go every day, eating whatever you wanted to eat; the moment you walked into a club, you'd be treated like a king. All of it came to be taken for granted.
Of course you'd go out with teammates now and then, but pure egalitarianism? That had never held any appeal. What's more, these players who saw themselves as "kings" each had their own calculations. Yet this "movable bubble" was always within reach, constantly telling you: you're better than your teammates. But your teammates would never admit it—instead they were always trying to take everything you had.
What a detestable bunch.
"I just want you to know I won't stand against you." That was Lowry's whole point. "I'll help you with everything I've got."
Even if Lowry hadn't shown up to dinner tonight, even if he hadn't come looking for him afterward for a heart-to-heart, Xu Ling wouldn't have thought any less of him. Aside from someone like Gay, who simply couldn't be reasoned with, Xu Ling never went out of his way to make an enemy of anyone. But the fact that Lowry had come to say all this to him showed just how hard a player at the very bottom of the rotation had to work to survive.
"I understand," Xu Ling said, neither glad nor sorry. "In this league, 'help' itself is often the rarest form of sincerity. I accept your goodwill, Kyle."
He didn't say "I trust you," nor did he show any warm acceptance. His response was more a measured acknowledgment grounded in reality.
"That's it for tonight. See you at training."
Chapter 61