Chapter Fourteen: Are You Really That Old?

Leaving the restaurant, a few steps to the left, one could see a chain-link gate. Inside was a concrete clearing where a basketball hoop stood. On a midsummer noon in San Francisco, the weather was not scorching, but rather mild and pleasant. The sea breeze blowing in from the Pacific dissipated the heat, bringing with it a refreshing, damp coolness. It was perfect weather for basketball.

Gan Guoyang followed the group onto the crude court and set down the ball to warm up. Nate took off his shirt, revealing his extremely robust muscles, changed into a pair of sneakers, and moved around a bit. His friends, drinking and smoking, watched the proceedings from the sidelines with keen interest.

For a moment, Nate felt a sense of bewilderment. What was he doing? Why was he playing a game of one-on-one with a delivery boy? If he won, what would he get? Nothing—that was a given. And if he lost? Oh God, that was impossible. But if God decided to play a joke, he would become the biggest laughingstock of the 1981 basketball season.

He, Nate Thurmond—"Nate the Great," the NBA’s best interior one-on-one defender, a legendary center who had played in two Finals, a future Hall of Famer—was spending his 40th birthday celebrating the fifth anniversary of the "Miracle at Richfield" with his former Cavaliers teammates. Because his own restaurant, "The Beginning," was closed, he had been forced to order takeout from a Chinese restaurant to host his friends, only to end up in a basketball duel with the delivery kid—and potentially lose.

Looking at Dick Snyder, Jim Chones, and Bingo Smith sitting there, he knew these big-mouths would embellish this series of events and spread them throughout the entire league. Jim Chones was still playing for the Lakers; if he told Kareem Abdul-Jabbar about this, the fallout would be massive. He would be mocked by Kareem for at least two years, and perhaps even written into the book Kareem was planning to publish.

Thinking of this, Nate felt a twinge of regret, but he was already on the court—how could he back down? The young Chinese boy had finished his warm-up and was standing under the basket. His expression was firm, possessing the demeanor of an interior player. He was just over two meters tall with a decent wingspan; after taking off his jacket, his muscles were firm and defined, and his legs looked quite powerful. Upon closer inspection, the kid’s physical attributes were actually quite good. And from the structure of his frame, he still had potential to grow; he was clearly a prospect for the paint.

With that, Nate set aside his regret and decided to teach this overconfident kid a lesson while testing his mettle.

"Sorry, I'm getting old, so I need a longer warm-up. Say, kid, do you really not know who I am?"

"I love the NBA, but... I really don't know you."

Gan Guoyang spoke the truth. He watched the NBA of twenty years in the future; how could he possibly recognize a star from the 60s and 70s? Thurmond certainly didn't understand what Gan meant, and he thought to himself, *Why does this kid sound so annoying? You love the NBA, but you don't know me?*

Fine, very well. Today, you’ll get to know me.

"Remember, my name is Nate. Nate Thurmond."

Gan Guoyang remained expressionless at the name, completely unmoved. He held the ball, looked at Thurmond’s mountain-like physique, and took a deep breath. Thurmond was 6'11"—a solid 2.11 meters, not an inflated height. Just standing there, he exuded immense pressure.

For the first shot, Thurmond didn't set a defensive stance, implying, *Go ahead, kid; if I play real defense, it’ll be my loss.* Gan Guoyang didn't stand on ceremony. From 18 feet out, he launched a jump shot. Thurmond lazily reached out a hand. For an average person, having a giant like that reach toward you would disrupt your rhythm, but Gan Guoyang’s release was steady. Two points.

Thurmond’s friends on the sidelines exploded, hooting and hollering, even clinking glasses to cheer Gan Guoyang on. Thurmond felt a headache coming on. The kid had a nice shot, but he wanted to see how many more he could sink.

For the second shot, Thurmond stayed two meters away, hands on his hips, leaving Gan Guoyang open. Gan Guoyang didn't hesitate and hit another jumper from the same spot. He had a natural talent for shooting. Thurmond was starting to lose face, but to close the gap and play real defense now felt even more embarrassing. As a result, he let Gan Guoyang try a third shot. Gan Guoyang’s touch was true—it went in again! He possessed the attitude of: *If you keep letting me shoot, I’ll keep shooting until I win.*

Thurmond’s teammates on the sidelines were hysterical. Finally unable to hold back, Thurmond began to press up and defend starting with the fourth shot. The moment Thurmond closed in, Gan Guoyang felt a sense of being completely shrouded. This was one of the greatest giants in NBA history, with an astonishing wingspan of 2.35 meters. He was arguably the best defender against Kareem Abdul-Jabbar’s skyhook.

Although his 40-year-old knees were severely damaged, preventing him from sliding or leaping flexibly, Thurmond still managed to successfully lock Gan Guoyang down through sheer size, technique, and experience. Gan Guoyang tried to dribble past him, but under the heavy contact, the ball was stripped away. Contact—the varying degrees of intensity—required entirely different technical adjustments, and these details were exactly what Gan Guoyang lacked.

Thurmond, having secured the ball, felt no triumph; instead, he regretted agreeing to this nonsensical duel even more. Winning against this kid offered no benefits, and his knee was beginning to throb. The injury to his right knee was the direct cause of his retirement; two surgeries had made it impossible for him to jump and block shots night after night.

When it was Thurmond's turn to attack, Gan Guoyang stood his ground under the basket. Though Thurmond was a center, his ball-handling skills were decent; there was no hope of a steal there. Entering the paint, Thurmond turned his back and leaned into Gan Guoyang to muscle his way in. Since retiring, Thurmond’s weight had increased to 250 pounds, and the disparity in size and weight was almost overwhelming.

However, Thurmond was surprised to find that his post-up wasn't as smooth as he had imagined; the kid behind him was resisting with all his might. Back in high school in Akron, Thurmond hadn't been a great ball handler; he preferred playing with his back to the basket. Over twenty years of experience told him that if he didn't exert force slowly like this, there was a risk of being pushed out of the paint. *What kind of freakish strength does this kid have in his body?*

But to exert force, one relied on leg strength, and his knees no longer had that explosive power. He still managed to use his weight to push to the basket and performed a practiced turn-around; with his wingspan, a slight jump should have been enough to put the ball in. For him, this was as simple as putting an egg in the fridge: open the door, put the egg in, close the door.

But the problem arose at the second step. Gan Guoyang’s hand had also pressed onto the ball right at the rim. The ball hung in the air for 0.2 seconds after leaving Thurmond’s hand before falling to the court.

*Thump, thump, thump...*

The ball bounced on the ground a few times and rolled away. Gan Guoyang had jumped to block, swatting Thurmond’s layup down!

Jim Chones picked up the ball and muttered, "Oh God, Nate, are you really that old?"