Chapter 339: Dominance When It Matters, Scoring Like a Video Game
"That's a tough one," Kenny Smith said as the ball dropped through. "He shook Garnett on the move and finished it like it was a warm up layup."
Charles Barkley snorted. "It only looks easy because the dude is ridiculous. He hit him with about 3 fakes, Garnett's legs turned into concrete, and Chen just strolls in and takes 2."
Kenny nodded. "And that makes it 63. That ties Jordan's playoff single game record. Historic."
Historic for Chen Yan.
Humiliating for Garnett.
Chen Yan did not just score his 63rd, he froze Garnett and put the record tying bucket right on him. Years from now, that clip would be replayed over and over, introduced to new fans like an old horror movie that still hits every time. Garnett did not bark, did not complain. He was too deep in the red. If he had any strength left for extra emotions, he would have dragged Chen down on the spot.
The Lakers answered.
Kobe came down and took another shot. This time he adjusted his rhythm, lifted the arc, and trusted the muscle memory. Barnes did not have Raja Bell's grip strength on defense, but he contested well enough.
Swish.
123 to 123.
That was Kobe. Some nights the problems came from the opponent, some nights they came from his own body. Injuries, fatigue, frustration, none of it ever got to decide the ending for him. He could adjust on the fly, and that ability is what separated him from everyone else.
Phoenix brought it up.
Nash was running on fumes, so Chen Yan had to take on more of the ball handling. D'Antoni thought about Barea for half a second and killed the thought just as fast. One bad decision in this moment could bury the season.
The instant Chen Yan crossed half court, the trap showed itself.
At this point, the entire building knew the truth. Once Chen Yan crossed half court, he was already in range.
Chen Yan did not force it. He swung it to Nash.
The Lakers rotated immediately, refusing to give Nash airspace. That was exactly why D'Antoni kept Nash out there. Even exhausted, Nash pulled defenders like gravity.
Nash stayed calm, dribbled, reset, waited.
Chen Yan used Stoudemire's screen and sliced along the baseline. Ariza got clipped by the traffic and lost a step, and Chen Yan stole the lane.
Nash bounced it in.
Chen Yan caught at the baseline and rose into his shooting pocket.
Kobe flew at him, refusing to let him breathe.
Chen Yan did not blink. His rhythm was locked in now, and he had already adjusted his arc after those earlier dead leg misses.
Swish.
A baseline 3.
126 to 123.
The Suns bench erupted.
Kenny leaned back in his chair. "That is insane. Hand in his face, still nothing you can do."
Charles pointed at the monitor like it owed him money. "That's 66. He just broke the playoff record. That's a new mark."
Even Smith could not hold it in. "Oh my God. Chen's dominance in these moments, it reminds me of a guy I coached in Chicago."
Nobody needed the name said out loud.
The Lakers took it personally.
Kobe called for the ball and walked it up. In moments like this, he wanted the game in his hands. The team had lived like that for years. Everyone understood the hierarchy, even Garnett.
Garnett set the screen, Fisher spaced on the wing, ready for the kickout.
Kobe used the pick, created the pocket, and rose.
Swish.
126 to 126.
Staples finally got to breathe again.
Chen Yan did not show frustration. Before the game ever tipped, he had already accepted that this might turn into a fight to the last drop of energy.
Phoenix went again.
Nash crossed half court, searching.
Kobe was glued to Chen Yan. That last 3 had Kobe's emotions burning hot, and sometimes adrenaline was the only fuel left in the tank.
Chen Yan could not shake him immediately.
Nash kept dribbling, patient, waiting for the smallest seam.
With 11 seconds on the clock, Chen Yan finally flashed near the elbow.
Nash hit him on time.
Chen Yan caught and turned with the pass, then gave Kobe a light nudge with the hand on the ball, just enough to create a sliver. Both bodies bounced apart from the contact.
Chen Yan did not try to reset his feet in place. If he did, Kobe would be back in his jersey instantly.
Instead, Chen Yan retreated beyond the arc, planted, and launched.
For 3.
He rose first and found balance in the air, because his legs were still strong enough to make physics negotiate.
It became a fading 3, out of rhythm, out of oxygen, out of common sense.
The ball spun, circled the rim 3 times, and finally dropped.
129 to 126.
Two straight 3s.
Chen Yan's total climbed to 69.
Staples went from roaring to groaning, like the building itself was tired of watching him.
On the court, Kobe did not argue. No complaint. No arms raised at the referee. No drama.
Because in Kobe's eyes, that little nudge was just playoff contact.
And in Chen Yan's eyes, the basket looked like a video game target that refused to move.
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