The playoff roster was taped to the bulletin board, Lin Mo's name scrawled at the very bottom, the fountain pen ink slightly smudged. In the tactical meeting, the new point guard jabbed a finger at Lin's drawn-up plays: "This street-ball stuff won't cut it in the playoffs." LeBron slammed his thermos down, steam curling over his brow: "In the 2016 Finals, we won with 'illogical' passes."
The air conditioner rumbled outside the window as Lin Mo rubbed his stiff right hand and unlocked his phone. In the video from the one-armed teenager, kids squatted on the concrete floor, drawing lopsided passing lanes with chalk, chanting in unison, "Watch the hips! Watch the shoulders!" He forwarded it to the coach, who stared at the sweat-blurred chalk marks on the screen, then grabbed a red pen and circled a tiny note in the corner of the copied playbook—Lin's early-morning addendum: "Don't overthink the next move. Just see where your teammates are."
He was alone in the gym late that night when a fan forum post popped up: Lin Mo Should Make Way for the Rookies. His finger hovered over the delete button, but the teenager's message pinged through: "Used your 'shoulder dip fake' to get three steals today!" Lin laughed at the screen, and the ache in his calloused palm suddenly ebbed, as if the sound had vibrated away the built-up tension.