7:30 PM, Verizon Center, home court of the Bullets.
As one of the league's five largest arenas, the Verizon Center can seat 21,000 spectators. Unfortunately, tonight's attendance was far from ideal, filling only about 60% of the seats.
Despite boasting a solid roster, the team's lackluster record—including a recent four-game losing streak—had left home fans disinterested in attending games.
Inside the locker room, Lin Yu held up the playboard and announced tonight's starting lineup.
"Center: Ben Wallace. Power forward: Juwan Howard. Small forward: Chris Webber. Shooting guard: Carl Porter Jr., Point guard: Rod Strickland."
The moment Lin Yu finished speaking, discontent began to stir among the players.
With Mu Lei injured and out, many were eyeing the coveted starting spot. The player most deserving of replacing Mu Lei was Lorenzo Williams.
Last season with the Dallas Mavericks, he averaged nearly eight rebounds and two blocks per game. While his total rebounds didn't reach double digits, his offensive rebounding stood out at 3.6 per game—ranking sixth in the league, trailing only players like Rodman and "The Admiral" Robinson.
Since joining the Bullets this season, he'd been stuck as Mu Lei's backup, seeing his playing time plummet and his stats shrink accordingly.
Even so, Williams had every reason to question Lin Yu's starting lineup decisions. He argued that he was every bit as capable as Benjelton, if not superior, demanding to know why the starting spot wasn't his.
Just as he was about to voice his protest, Onseld, standing beside Lin Yu, cleared his throat and shot him a warning glare.
"Keep your bullshit to yourself."
"This is Lin Yu's decision, and mine too. If you have any questions, come talk to me in my office anytime."
"If I don't crush your balls, call me a useless piece of shit."
Onseld had known all along that starting Big Ben would spark discontent among some players, so tonight he deliberately went to the locker room to back Lin Yu up.
Lin Yu couldn't help but laugh bitterly. He thought to himself, Onseld's nickname was truly misplaced—he shouldn't be called the Bone Crusher, but the Ball Crusher.
Always threatening to crush someone's balls—the pressure on the Bullets players was immense.
Lorenzo dared not utter a word, keeping his head down and playing dead. Even if he had a hundred times the courage, he wouldn't dare defy Onseld, that ruthless ball-crushing machine.
Traditionally, the head coach would outline pre-game tactics in the locker room. However, since it was Lin Yu's first day on the job, he hadn't had a chance to rehearse any plays.
He'd asked Ancelotti how to approach the game. The answer? "Screw tactics. Just let the players improvise on the field."
Kai had pointed out that even during their chaotic games, Bullets never employed a coherent tactical system. Mu Lei was too slow. What defensive strategy could he possibly execute? He couldn't even retreat to defend the frontcourt in time—was he supposed to guard thin air?
As for offensive tactics, it was pure chaos: one player would drive for a dunk, Howard would grab a rebound, then Fei Che would grab another. If it went in, great; if not, oh well.
Lin Yu had previously wondered why a top-tier team like the Bullets couldn't deliver the expected results. After speaking with Onseld, he finally understood—the Bullets' losses were entirely deserved. This was a brainless team that only knew how to play for the fans.
Fifteen minutes later, Lin Yu led the Bullets players onto the court.
Seeing Lin Yu, the fans felt even more despair about the team's future. Earlier that afternoon, the Bullets had issued an official announcement: Jim Lynam had resigned, and Lin Yu had been appointed interim head coach.
The Bullets had sunk so low that they were now relying on a 26-year-old kid to lead the team. How could the fans not feel utterly hopeless?
Owner Bolin Lin sat in the stands, and some radical fans had already begun hurling insults at him.
"Damn Ge Mingtai, always trying to save every penny! Why not just hire a three-year-old from kindergarten to coach? All you'd pay is a bottle of milk per game!"
"You old fool, blind as a bat! Sell the Bullets already—we've had enough of your stinginess!"
"Four straight losses already. With this kid as coach, the Bullets will lose at least ten in a row!"
"Refunds! Refunds!"
Facing the torrent of abuse, Bolin seemed utterly oblivious, his face still bearing that unruffled, faint smile.
Lin Yu instantly felt the pressure mount. With Bolin being vilified like this, how could he not be furious? If the Bullets performed poorly tonight, who would he take it out on? It would undoubtedly be Lin Yu.
What's this one-week deal? That's all hot air. Lin Yu might have to pack his bags and get lost tonight....
.......
"Beep beep beep!"
The referee's whistle blew as the starting lineups took the court.
Lin Yu took a deep breath. His coaching career officially began at this very moment.
Beating the Boston Celtics wasn't particularly difficult, mainly because the Celtics were tanking this season. They were aiming for the top draft pick to select the highly touted Duncan from the NCAA.
Tanking was actually a good thing, but Lin Yu couldn't muster any joy about it.
Precisely because of their tanking, beating them was expected. Winning by twenty points or more would be considered a solid performance, ten points a mediocre showing, and anything within five points a poor result.
Should they lose, Lin Yu faced only one outcome: getting fired by the Bullets for the second time. Not even Onseld could save him then.
"Ben, remember this: your performance tonight doesn't just determine your future standing on this team."
"It also determines whether I can keep coaching. If we blow this, you might never see me again after tonight."
"Give it everything you've got. Unleash all your fighting spirit."
Before Big Ben took the court, Lin Yu pulled him aside and whispered.
Big Ben's expression turned solemn as he embraced Lin Yu. "Coach, I've never risked my life for anyone before."
"But you're worth it!"
"Tonight, even if I collapse on the court, I'll protect your job!"
With that, Big Ben stepped onto the court with unwavering resolve.
Lin Yu watched his retreating figure, overwhelmed with a sense of security. Suddenly, it felt less like he had won Big Ben over, and more like Big Ben had won him over.
How could anyone not love a man of such integrity?
Even when penniless, he still provided for his mother and over a dozen siblings. He could have drowned his sorrows in drink, but he never did.
After starting a family, he never once made headlines for scandals, remaining utterly devoted to his household.
As a player, he was not only the team captain but the undisputed leader in the locker room. Whenever teammates clashed with opponents on the court, Big Ben was always the first to step in.
After retiring, he lived a quiet life, never leveraging his status to criticize others or grandstanding on TV for attention.
Ben Wallace's character is as solid and dependable as his defense!
"Beep beep beep!"
The referee's whistle blew once more as Ben Simmons and Celtics starting center Dino Radja stepped to center court for the jump ball.
Big Ben's vertical wasn't exceptional, and his height was a clear disadvantage. Ultimately, he couldn't outjump the 7-foot-1 Radja.
The Celtics secured possession for the opening possession.
"Mickey Mouse." David Wesley drove the ball on the fast break. Upon reaching the frontcourt, he dished it off to the Celtics' star, "Fat Monk" Antoine Walker.
Walker adjusted his stance slightly before launching a pull-up three-pointer.
"Clang!"
The ball rimmed out. Walker's shot missed.
Lin Yu perked up instantly. The moment to test Big Ben's combat prowess had arrived.
The next second, not just Lin Yu but also the referees on the court and the spectators on the sidelines froze, staring wide-eyed at the paint.
After Walker released the shot, Ben Simmons and Radja fought for position under the basket. Suddenly, Ben leaned his back against Radja without any additional movement. Radja stumbled backward several steps and crashed to the floor.
"Fake fall!?"
That was the first thought that flashed through everyone's mind.
But considering Radia's stature in the basketball world, it seemed unlikely.
Radia is no unknown quantity—he's a superstar in the global basketball scene, hailed as the top player beneath Sabonis, the world's best center.
In 1989, he was drafted by the Celtics under team patriarch Auerbach, though he didn't report until 1993.
Last season, he averaged 19.7 points and 9.8 rebounds per game. Had he been ten years younger, Auerbach wouldn't have even considered tanking for Duncan.
Teammates rushed over to pull Radia off the floor.
As Radia rose, terror washed over his face as he stared at Big Ben. In over a decade of professional basketball, he'd seen his share of oddballs, but Big Ben's sheer power delivered an unparalleled shock.
When he first saw the unfamiliar starting center for the Bullets, he'd assumed tonight would be a walk in the park—a chance to rack up 30 points and 15 rebounds. But after just one exchange, he realized he was in for a rough night.
The referee saw no foul by Big Ben. Even if Radia was flopping, officials rarely call flopping, so the ref took no action.
As Radia fell, Big Ben had already secured the rebound. Seeing no whistle, he passed the ball to Weber and sprinted toward the frontcourt.
The Bullets' offensive possession began.
Flycar matched up against Mickey Mouse. Using his taller, stronger frame, Flycar bulldozed through the defense, posting up near the free-throw line before spinning for a fadeaway jumper.
The form was smooth, the miss was swift—Flycar's shot barely grazed the rim.
Big Ben powered up again under the basket, shoving Radia aside before leaping to grab the rebound with one hand.
Radia once more felt that primal, crushing force that left him utterly helpless, pinned down with no room to jump.
After securing the offensive rebound, Big Ben glanced at Radia charging back but didn't rush for a putback. Instead, he passed the ball to Weber nearby.
Webber caught it and immediately launched a shot.
"Thud!"
Another brick.
Big Ben's biceps bulged as he thrust his back with explosive force, sending Radia flying backward once more.
"Thud!" A dull thump echoed as Big Ben secured his third rebound of the game.
Seeing Radia still off balance, Big Ben leaped from the spot after landing, snatched the ball with both hands, and slammed it through the hoop.
It was anything but pretty—even a random 6-foot-6 amateur player on a pickup court could dunk more aesthetically than Big Ben.
But Lin Yu, on the sidelines, still cheered and clapped excitedly.
How long had the game been going? A minute? Big Ben already had 2 points and three rebounds, including two offensive boards!
What defines a beast in the paint? This is a beast in the paint!