Chapter 307: Fraudster Chen Yan
In the TNT studio before tip, Kenny Smith looked down at the monitor and smiled.
"Alright, starting lineups are in. Both teams made a few tweaks tonight."
"For Phoenix," he said, "you have Steve Nash, Chen Yan, Grant Hill, Boris Diaw, and Amar'e Stoudemire."
Charles Barkley nodded. "And San Antonio is going with Tony Parker, Michael Finley, Bruce Bowen, Kurt Thomas, and Tim Duncan. Old school. All business."
Kenny tapped the screen where Hill was slotted in. "The Suns are clearly leaning offense to start. Grant Hill in for Raja Bell gives them more scoring on the wing. And remember, Bell usually spends a lot of his energy chasing Ginobili, who comes off the bench early. Bringing Bell in fresh when Manu checks in lets him really bother him defensively."
"Same thing with the Spurs," Charles added. "Kurt Thomas instead of Oberto is not a big style change. Both are blue collar bigs. I think Pop is just rolling with who he trusts more tonight."
Both former players saw the same thing: small adjustments, big stakes.
"On paper these teams are even," Kenny said. "Phoenix has the momentum after that crazy comeback, but the Spurs have the building. It is going to come down to who handles the emotions better. Phoenix cannot get drunk on that last win, and San Antonio cannot get buried by it."
As their voices carried over the feed, the ball went up at center court.
...
Stoudemire beat Duncan on the jump, and the Suns took the first possession.
Chen Yan was already flying up the floor, trying to copy the ambush start from the last game.
This time, the Spurs were ready.
Parker cut off the lane, Bowen slid over, and they formed a wall between Chen and the paint.
The quick strike was dead.
Nash read it instantly and slowed, dribbling the ball back toward the top of the arc.
"Defense, defense, defense!"
The chant shook the building. The crowd at AT&T Center was locked in from the opening second. They knew their team was on the edge of the cliff.
On the weak side, Chen Yan kept slicing along the baseline, cutting back and forth, but Bowen stayed glued to him.
Nash swung the ball to Stoudemire at the free throw line.
Amar'e gave Duncan a hard shot fake, but the big man did not bite.
So Amar'e put his shoulder into Duncan and drove.
Inside the paint, Finley slid down from the wing, Duncan held his ground, and suddenly Amar'e was facing a crowd.
He did not force it. From the very first possession he chose the smart play, kicking it out to Grant Hill, who had floated to a step inside the three point line.
Hill rose up for the midrange jumper.
Clang.
Fresh legs, cold hand. The shot hit the back iron and bounced out.
Duncan and Diaw went up together for the rebound, arms tangling, bodies bumping.
The ball was tipped out of bounds.
Spurs ball.
Duncan grabbed it and immediately dropped it off to Finley.
Finley walked it over half court, then stopped at the left wing, just outside the three point arc.
Parker cut hard through the lane, dragging Nash and the help with him. Finley fired a cross court pass to the trailing Duncan.
Duncan caught it behind the three point line, took one calm dribble inside, rose, and let a soft jumper fly.
Swish.
2 to 0.
Steady as ever.
"The Suns completely lost Duncan on that one," Kenny said from the booth.
"Yeah, everybody stared at Parker," Charles replied. "You cannot forget the Hall of Famer in the back."
Down on the floor, Diaw wanted to grab the ball and fire a quick inbound to spark a fast break, but it did not drop through the net right away.
The ball rolled around and hung there for an extra heartbeat before finally falling.
One of the little tricks of playing in San Antonio. Their equipment crew had tightened the nets before the game, just enough to slow the ball down and shave a couple of Phoenix run and gun chances off the night.
...
Suns ball again.
Nash pushed it across half court and handed it to Chen Yan.
Bowen was waiting for him at the top.
Chen palmed the ball in one hand and motioned for his teammates to clear out.
He wanted Bowen all to himself.
Bowen was one of the best defenders in the league, but he had never been comfortable against pure speed guards like Chen. The first five games of the series had made that painfully clear.
The Spurs knew it too, so they did not leave Bowen alone on an island.
Bowen was playing man to man. Everyone behind him was playing something close to a shell zone. The moment Chen put the ball on the floor, the help would be there.
Popovich had built this coverage for one reason: not to stop the Suns, but to slow down Chen Yan.
"That is Pop," Charles said. "He is not going to run the same thing after what happened last game. He is tinkering all the time."
Bang.
Bang.
Chen dribbled side to side at the arc, changing pace, tapping the ball in front of him in rhythm. Then he sank his hips, dropping his center of gravity.
Bowens whole body tensed.
This was the move.
Just as Bowen shifted his weight, Chen snapped the ball into a low pocket dribble, selling the pull up, then yanked it back.
Bowen lunged forward on instinct.
Popovich had drilled one rule before the game: do not give Chen a clean three point look, especially from deep. Those long bombs did not just count for 3, they ripped the Spurs confidence apart.
The second Bowen leaned in, Chen exploded past him.
Beating defenders on the clock, not the calendar, was one of his favorite tricks.
He folded himself low, driving straight into the teeth of the defense. The Spurs defense collapsed like a net.
As he took his first long stride into the paint, Chen whipped his head toward the corner and locked his eyes on Nash. Both hands came up, telegraphing a kick out.
Every Spur in the lane reacted.
They flared out to the perimeter, hands out, trying to take away the pass.
At that exact moment, Chen gathered the ball back to his body. His left foot stabbed in the opposite direction.
A fake pass into a Euro step.
In one heartbeat he had sold the pass, stolen back the lane, and stepped around the help.
By the time the Spurs realized it, he was already at the rim.
Chen snapped his wrist and dropped in the layup.
2 to 2.
The crowd let out a low gasp, even in San Antonio.
"Oh my goodness," Kenny said, leaning toward his monitor. "That is nasty footwork."
"That is fraud," Charles laughed. "He faked out all five guys and half the people in this building. Spurs might try to press charges after the game."
On the bench and in living rooms all over the country, fans reacted the same way.
Chen Yan had just turned a packed paint into his own private stage.
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