Chapter Thirty-Three: The Meeting Gift

Franklin’s slam dunk invigorated the Water Clock team, while the Tigers found themselves bewildered. Clearly, they had underestimated the Water Clock squad’s strength before the game—after all, the Water Clock team had only played a handful of matches, and there was no footage available for study.

With the help of Cap Lavin, the Water Clock team gathered a wealth of information about the Tigers: the heights, playing styles, and tendencies of their starting five, along with the team’s past records and tactical traits. Bellman conducted meticulous research.

He had two weeks to prepare carefully, designing and drilling tactics, formulating strategies, and blending the lineup to bring the team to peak form.

From the outset, the Water Clock team was not just adequate—they even exceeded Bellman’s expectations. Especially notable was their tenacious zone defense, which showed no signs of slackening for nearly six minutes.

Zone defense demands exceptional player chemistry, focus, and stamina, particularly from the guards. During training, the two guards would relentlessly shuffle and sprint laterally along the perimeter, over and over until utterly exhausted.

Xu Xun was the linchpin of the perimeter defense. His tireless running and loud calls kept the team’s defensive structure intact.

Bellman thought to himself that while Asian players might not match African-American athletes in physicality, their discipline, team spirit, and sharp minds were the secret to victory.

Xu Xun successfully executed a defensive play, stealing the ball from the opposing point guard, and the Water Clock team launched another counterattack.

Chen Xing brought the ball into the paint, circled once around, and, unlikely to shoot himself, looked instead for Franklin or Gan Guoyang.

Gan Guoyang cut into the lane; Chen Xing lobbed a pass under the basket. Gan Guoyang caught it, faked out his defender, dribbled around to the other side, and slammed the ball down with a one-handed dunk!

After scoring, Gan Guoyang shouted at Fremont’s center, Herbert, “You said you’d guard me—where are you? Tell me, where are you?”

“I’ll show you, watch out,” Herbert’s reply sounded weak and uncertain.

So far, he had been unable to score over Gan Guoyang. Both of his one-on-one attempts had been stopped.

This guy was surprisingly strong; Herbert found he simply couldn’t contend with Gan Guoyang inside. Pushing with his arm or jostling with his hip only caused him to lose position.

Herbert was encountering such a formidable center for the first time. Not even in the notoriously tough Oakland league had he seen anyone with such tenacity and power.

The Tigers’ perimeter shooting was off target again. In high school basketball, where three-point shots were rarely used, long-range shooting wasn’t a primary focus in training.

Gan Guoyang carved out a personal stronghold under the basket and grabbed a defensive rebound; no one could outmuscle him—during the 1980s, few high school or college players engaged in strength training, and some NBA pros avoided weightlifting altogether, fearing it might impair their shooting touch.

Thus, most African-American players were tall and lean. In just a few minutes, Gan Guoyang had already snatched eight rebounds.

The Water Clock team counterattacked again, with Gan Guoyang escorting Chen Xing, positioning himself at the high post to receive a pass.

Franklin backed into position near the paint, drawing the Tigers’ defense to collapse on him.

Gan Guoyang was left wide open—no one within two steps. Who would guard a center stationed at the arc?

He didn’t pass; he chose to shoot from long range himself! He had that capability.

But his first three-point attempt that night was off—his shot hit the front rim and missed, a pity.

Gan Guoyang immediately hustled back on defense. His long shot attempt stirred a fresh wave of noisy jeers from Fremont’s students.

The cacophony on the court never ceased—not only the fans but referees and scorekeepers shouted and hollered.

It was busier than the New York Stock Exchange, as if everyone was trying to broker millions, even tens of millions, in stock trades.

After several possessions, Gan Guoyang noticed a big-headed African-American youth in the front row persistently targeting him with verbal assaults.

Others at least rose and fell with the game’s momentum, shouting in moments of excitement, then sitting quietly to watch, waiting for the next burst.

But this kid was like a wound-up clockwork toy, incessantly babbling nonsense, sometimes unintelligible words, always directed at Gan Guoyang—clearly not kind remarks.

The first half ended after twenty minutes with the Water Clock leading 37 to 34, a three-point advantage.

At one point, they had stretched the lead to seven points, but their defensive focus waned in the latter half of the half, allowing the Tigers to steadily chip away at the gap.

Franklin led the team with 17 points in the first half. His athleticism and aggressive scoring inside greatly aided Gan Guoyang—this young man was truly talented.

Without Franklin as a reliable ball-handler and scorer, Gan Guoyang would have faced considerable difficulty against the Tigers, who dominated most other positions.

Gan Guoyang played relatively comfortably in the first half; Fremont High’s intensity was not as formidable as rumored.

He showed no fear of physical contact. Inside, Herbert was completely overpowered by Gan Guoyang, and Henry Turner did not repeatedly drive into the paint to challenge him.

In short, the Tigers’ preparation was insufficient. Neither coaches nor players truly understood how Gan Guoyang played, underestimating the towering center.

His first-half stats were 12 points, 15 rebounds, and 4 blocks. Together with Franklin, they accounted for the bulk of the team’s scoring.

What truly vexed Gan Guoyang was the mental assault from the sidelines.

Yes, the big-headed African-American youth who kept hurling trash talk.

From the start of the game until halftime, the youngster’s mouth never stopped. Whenever Gan Guoyang passed by the stands, he could hear the coarse voice.

Though young, his throat seemed rough as if filled with sand. He spoke deliberately, head cocked, shaking rhythmically, methodically unloading insults at Gan Guoyang.

After the half began and the teams switched sides, Gan Guoyang again faced this verbal barrage during offense. Those seated beside the taunter fell silent to listen, then joined in the jeering.

His words were peppered with profanity, but not all of it was vulgar. He was like a chatterbox, endlessly communicating with Gan Guoyang from afar.

“Shoot, China man! Attack! Slam your ass into the hoop! The girls in Chinatown are waiting for you to come back and beat their pussy, yet here you are wasting time playing basketball! Why aren’t you cooking? I heard your family runs a restaurant—you shouldn’t be holding a ball, you should be holding a pan! I love Chinese food; after this game, I’m coming to your place, then I’ll shit in your kitchen because you came to our turf to shit, ‘cause you’re a pile of shit…”

The relentless verbal attack finally provoked Gan Guoyang. After a ball went out of bounds, he strode to the sideline, pointed at the big-headed youth and asked, “Dirty kid, what’s your name?”

“Fuck you, you’re the real dirty kid. I’m your daddy! I’m Gary, Gary!”

“OK, Gary. Fuck you, Gary!”

The surrounding African-American students erupted in cheers—they knew these two had just escalated their confrontation.

The youth named Gary, now energized, stood up and moved to the sideline to continue firing insults at Gan Guoyang.

Gan Guoyang dropped low, Franklin passed him the ball. Gan Guoyang caught it, dribbled back, bumped Herbert aside, feinted, then took a step and drove into the paint for a one-handed dunk—two points!

After scoring, Gan Guoyang ran to the sideline, pointed at Gary and said, “This is my welcome gift to you. We’re not done yet!”