Chapter 68: Fighting the Heat, Using Wade's Own Style to Beat Him
November 3 — The Phoenix Suns welcomed their second opponent of the new NBA season at home: the Miami Heat.
The Heat carried the legacy of a 2006 championship banner. But let's be real—anyone watching closely could tell this squad was well past its prime.
Last season? They got smacked by 42 points in their opener—a record-setting blowout loss for a defending champ. Then they got swept in the first round of the playoffs by the Bulls. Just like that, they went out sad.
After winning it all, most of the veterans either hung it up or lost their hunger. It was clear—this team had gone all-in for one ring, mortgaging their future in the process.
Take Shaq, for instance. Once the most dominant big man on Earth, he averaged just 13.6 points per game last season—a career low. The guy was basically out there taking laps.
Sure, his presence in the paint was still intimidating, but nobody was confusing this version of O'Neal with a top-tier center anymore. The Flash—Dwyane Wade—was still electric. But the Big Diesel? More like Big Exhausted.
The Heat's fall from grace was disappointing, yeah—but not surprising. That's what happens when you build a team to win now and ignore the later.
---
6:15 PM — 45 Minutes to Tip-Off
The America West Arena was already packed to the rafters.
Phoenix might not be a huge market, but when your squad is fast, flashy, and winning? The fans come out. This team was must-see TV—even if tonight's game wasn't on national broadcast. Luckily, CCTV was carrying it live for the international audience.
Chen Yan walked out of the tunnel, scanning the crowd as the noise swelled. He noticed it immediately—way more fans rocking his No. 0 jersey than just a week ago.
Nash and Stoudemire still owned the lion's share of jersey sales, but Chen could feel the shift. The spotlight was creeping his way.
As he stepped onto the hardwood, fans reached out, begging for autographs.
Last game, he'd gotten mobbed before warmups, nearly missing team drills because he stood too long signing stuff. This time, he wised up—signing on the move, quick scribbles while jogging toward the court.
Not just his on-court awareness—Chen Yan's off-court instincts were leveling up too.
After warmups, the team headed back to the locker room for final prep.
Coach D'Antoni didn't waste words.
"No special game plan tonight," he said. "They're older, slower, and tired. We keep the pace up. One word—speed."
In other words? Run. Gun. Repeat.
Suns basketball.
The squad laced up, strapped on gear, and lined up to head back out.
Showtime.
---
Player Intros – Let the Games Begin
The lights dimmed. Spotlights flashed. Fans roared as the Suns hit the floor to booming music.
Even without national coverage, the buzz was real.
From the CCTV5 studio in China, Zhang Weiping grinned at the camera.
"The Heat are just one season removed from a title. Their No. 2, Wade, was Finals MVP. He's still one of the best shooting guards in the league. Let's see if Chen Yan can keep up this hot streak against a real superstar."
Yu Jia chimed in from beside him. "Wade and Chen Yan—very similar styles. Both quick, explosive, slippery with the footwork. If they get going? This matchup could be fireworks."
Back on the floor, Wade went through his signature pre-game routine, pulling up on the rim for a light hanging dunk.
Chen Yan watched from a few feet behind, smirking silently.
"Enjoy doing that while you're still young, man," he thought. "Couple more years and that pull-up's gonna make you look like you're hanging yourself."
---
Starting Lineups
Miami Heat:
PG – Jason Williams
SG – Dwyane Wade
SF – Ricky Davis
PF – Mark Blount
C – Shaquille O'Neal
Phoenix Suns:
PG – Steve Nash
SG – Chen Yan
SF – Raja Bell
PF – Boris Diaw
C – Amar'e Stoudemire
---
Tip-Off – Let's Ball
The ref tossed the rock into the air.
Shaq barely moved—just gave a token leap.
Stoudemire easily tipped it back to Nash.
Truth be told, even if Shaq gave full effort, he wasn't outjumping Amar'e at this point in his career.
As soon as Nash touched the ball, Chen Yan took off—no hesitation.
Full sprint. No ball. No decoy. Just raw speed down the sideline.
Ricky Davis, assigned to guard him, was still waking up. By the time he realized Chen Yan was gone, he couldn't even see the kid's jersey anymore.
Nash didn't blink—he lobbed it up from near half-court.
"BOOM!"
Chen Yan flew in from the weak side, caught the pass mid-air, and slammed it down with both hands.
Airborne. Violent. Pure highlight material.
Fans in the lower bowl were still chewing popcorn when they looked up, wondering, "Wait, did we already score?"
The arena exploded.
"Beautiful!"
"What a finish!"
Zhang Weiping and Yu Jia's voices cracked over the CCTV5 broadcast, already hyped in the opening seconds.
If this wasn't a live broadcast, the crowd's reaction might've been a chorus of:
"Fuck!"
"What a ridiculous alley-oop!"
"Even the sideline cameras couldn't keep up with that speed!"
"Pinpoint pass. Violent finish."
"Is that the fastest alley-oop we've ever seen on NBA opening night?!"
Even fans back home were stunned. No one had seen anything quite like it.
After landing, Chen Yan and Nash slapped a high-five, grinning.
That pass? Smooth as butter.
Chen didn't even feel like he was chasing the ball—it felt like the damn thing found him.
"Stay tight! No easy space!"
Pat Riley barked from the sideline, clearly pissed. No coach wants to see a wide-open alley-oop in the opening minutes.
Heat ball.
Jason "White Chocolate" Williams brought it across half court and dished it to Dwyane Wade.
Wade took his time, sizing up Raja Bell, then waited for the screen.
O'Neal lumbered up to set the pick at the high post.
As soon as he got there—boom—Wade exploded into motion.
Wade's pick-and-roll game? One of the nastiest in the league. Raja Bell knew it, too, and jumped early to slide around Shaq's giant frame.
But Wade didn't go where O'Neal wanted him to.
Instead, he shifted gears, changed pace, and split the tight gap between Shaq and Stoudemire like a knife through silk.
Wade might be called Flash, but it ain't just speed. It's rhythm. It's timing. It's knowing how to break a defender's ankles with nothing but footwork and flow.
Both Bell and Stoudemire got left in the dust.
Wade soared toward the rim—no contest—and punched it home.
2-2. Tie game.
Two dazzling plays back-to-back, and fans in front of their TVs were already hyped.
As soon as Wade landed, Diaw inbounded quickly. The Suns weren't wasting time—they wanted to push the pace hard. They knew Shaq couldn't keep up. If they ran fast enough, the Big Diesel might as well be parked at the other end.
Nash sped up the floor. Chen Yan and Raja Bell cut across, crisscrossing each other, then bolted toward the rim.
The Heat defense scrambled—Chen looked like he was about to repeat the alley-oop magic.
But then—bang!
Nash pulled up from deep and fired.
"Swish!"
Pure net.
For someone who's been a card-carrying member of the 180 club for years, giving Nash that much space was basically just handing him three points.
Heat possession.
White Chocolate brought it up again and looked to feed O'Neal in the post.
But the timing was off.
O'Neal posted hard, expecting a direct entry. White Chocolate, thinking he wanted a lob, tossed it way too high and soft.
The ball landed—straight in Diaw's hands.
Turnover.
And just like that, Chen Yan took off like a supercar on nitro.
Fast break!
Only Wade managed to hustle back.
Diaw launched a full-court dime, leading Chen perfectly.
Chen caught it just as he crossed the arc.
One-on-one. Chen vs. Wade.
The arena stood up as one. Everyone wanted to see how this was going to end.
Wade had the angle, watching Chen's lane from the side. He was one of the best shot-blocking guards in the league. If Chen tried to force it, Wade was gonna serve it up like hot pot.
But Chen kept accelerating.
He took one long step—and boom—cut hard to Wade's right.
He slipped past him in a flash.
Wade barely had time to curse under his breath.
"Shit…"
He knew. The second Chen Yan took that step—it was over.
BOOM!!!
Chen launched off one foot and detonated a one-handed hammer dunk.
Smooth delivery. Violent finish.
What more could fans want?
The whole crowd erupted like boiling water—screaming, clapping, jumping.
Chen Yan had just cooked Wade with his own signature move.
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