Chapter 42: An Old Friend

Losing a regular-season game was not much of a setback for the Water-Clock team; on the contrary, it helped them discover problems and find countermeasures.

From mid-November to late December, the Water-Clock team played a total of 7 games, securing a record of 6 wins and 1 loss.

Aside from their defeat against the Washington Eagles, no other high schools in San Francisco proved to be a match for Water-Clock.

Gan Guoyang’s individual statistics saw a slight decline over the subsequent four games, primarily due to a decrease in his offensive rebounds.

To cope with well-drilled opponents, Gan Guoyang reduced his charges for offensive boards and devoted more energy to transition defense.

Maintaining the solidity of their zone defense and cutting down opponent fast breaks became Gan Guoyang’s top-priority mission.

On the offensive end, Gan Guoyang faced heavier double-teams. To avoid turnovers, he reduced the frequency of his low-post attacks.

Franklin shouldered a heavier offensive load, sharing the scoring pressure with Gan Guoyang and making the opponent's defense much harder to handle.

At a time when most high school teams adhered strictly to a team-oriented playbook, the Water-Clock team adopted the professional style of dual inside-outside cores quite early on.

Despite being labeled a dual-core squad, Gan Guoyang’s impact and popularity far surpassed Franklin’s.

As the games piled up, his reputation grew across the Bay Area and even throughout the entire state of California.

Playing in away-game gymnasiums or the Kezar Pavilion was undeniably a massive waste of Gan Guoyang’s soaring fame.

Starting from the fourth game, thanks to the efforts of Huang Shaohua, the team's home games were moved to the War Memorial Gymnasium at the University of San Francisco.

With extra seating added, this venue could accommodate 5,000 spectators, and ticket sales generated a very considerable revenue.

People poured in from all directions to watch the games, and not just locals from San Francisco.

Some traveled from Sacramento, others from Los Angeles, and a few even came from neighboring Nevada.

They were willing to endure a three-and-a-half-hour drive without hesitation.

A large portion of them were overseas Chinese living in the United States, who traveled to San Francisco just to witness this Oriental biochemical warrior with their own eyes.

Gan Guoyang did not disappoint these dedicated fans who had traveled from afar; with his focused and dominant performances on the court, he secured victories for his team and cheers for himself.

In San Francisco, he did not encounter a single center who could contend with him one-on-one—after all, California was never known for producing top-tier centers.

It was said that in Houston, Boston, and Pennsylvania, there were young big men just as talented as Gan Guoyang, though they could not cross paths on the court just yet.

Aside from ticket sales, the school also sold caps, T-shirts, and posters autographed by Gan Guoyang. A Wilson basketball signed by him was auctioned off for 500 dollars right before the start of one game.

Before the matches, students would also set up stalls at the entrance of the gymnasium to sell Chinese dim sum and pastries, raising funds to support the team’s training expenses and equipment purchases.

The remaining funds were partially deposited into the Chinese Advancement Foundation to serve as activity and rights funds for the Chinese community, while another portion was distributed as subsidies to the players of the Water-Clock team.

Naturally, Gan Guoyang deserved to take a larger share, as these earnings were generated almost entirely because of him.

He didn't bother with polite egalitarianism or rigid equal distribution. However, after receiving his share, he handed half of it over to Gan Youwei and used the other half to treat everyone to meals, spending it down to the last penny.

As for future games, the school had already mapped out a plan—making it into the CIF State Championship would obviously be the ideal scenario.

If they failed to enter the State Championship, they could still participate in other invitational tournaments during the next semester, traveling to other states like Ohio, Indiana, or even Florida.

In short, in a United States with a highly developed basketball market, if you possessed a fairly competent team and a renowned star player, you would never have to worry about lacking games to play, nor would you struggle to make money. There were plenty of people willing to spend for the sake of watching a game.

At that time, the NBA was not the entirety of American basketball, nor could it even be considered the majority of it; it was merely a small fraction with a modest amount of influence.

Right there in December, NBA Commissioner Larry O’Brien held a press conference to announce: "We have just signed the largest television broadcast contract in league history," ending the awkward silence of more than a month into the NBA season without a TV broadcast.

O’Brien was not lying. As a political figure whose name was etched in history due to the Watergate scandal, he knew better than anyone the devastating consequences of lying.

However, telling the truth did not mean he accurately reflected the full reality. The NBA’s new broadcast contract was worth 88 million dollars over four years, and network executives had bluntly stated during negotiations that they refused to offer anything exceeding 100 million dollars.

At an average of 22 million dollars per year, the value of this contract was identical to the final year of the previous agreement—it hadn't increased by a single penny.

Considering the high-inflation economic environment in the United States at the time, the value of this contract had actually shrunk.

Moreover, the term was a mere four years, lasting only until the conclusion of the 1984–1985 season, which clearly showed that the television networks were not particularly optimistic about the NBA's future prospects.

By comparison, MLB, which had just emerged from a strike, secured a 184 million dollar contract.

The NCAA college football television contract reached a staggering 260 million dollars.

The NCAA college basketball television contract was similarly on an upward trajectory rather than standing still.

Not to mention the NFL, which had already claimed the throne of the "Big Four" sports leagues; their new broadcasting deal was worth a staggering 2.1 billion dollars.

The NBA’s contract didn't even amount to a tiny fraction of the NFL's.

Against the backdrop of such an environment and comparison, anyone with a discerning eye could see just how much water was packed into O’Brien’s claim of the "largest contract in history."

Under the new broadcasting agreement, CBS’s regular-season broadcasts were slashed from the previous 41 games down to 28.

Fans would only be able to watch 28 televised NBA games a year. The official NBA explanation given was: "Less is more."

They claimed they would present fans with the absolute best games rather than boring, uneventful matchups, thereby maintaining the league's stellar image among supporters.

How much self-deception was baked into this theory was something only the NBA executives could ask of their own consciences.

The reduction in television broadcasts also meant that Gan Guoyang found it exceptionally difficult to watch live NBA game broadcasts during his leisure time.

It wasn't until December 25th—Christmas Day, featuring the traditional NBA Christmas slate—that a television network finally broadcast a game between the Nets and the Knicks.

With the school on holiday, Gan Guoyang was able to watch the live broadcast at home.

The game was held at the famous Madison Square Garden, yet the centerpiece matchup of this New York derby drew a meager 50% attendance rate.

Through the television lens, numerous empty seats were visible across the arena because neither team possessed any genuine star power to draw crowds.

The game was scheduled for the afternoon in the Eastern Time Zone, which meant it was noon Pacific Time when Gan Guoyang watched it.

Gan Youwei finished his chores in the kitchen and, upon finding Gan Guoyang watching television, said, "Guoyang, I've got some items here. Help me return them."

Gan Guoyang asked in surprise, "Items? What items?"

Gan Youwei pulled out a large iron box and handed it to Gan Guoyang. Opening it, he found a stack of high-end restaurant coupons, numerous supermarket gift cards, three wristwatches, two rolls of luxury ties, and a set of Montblanc gold fountain pens.

"Dad, what are all these? Did you buy them?"

"No, someone sent them. People from the University of San Francisco."

"The University of San Francisco? Why would they send you these?"

"Of course they weren't for me, they were for you. You never accept things from others, so they passed them to your uncle, and then he gave them to me. I collected all of them. When you have free time, return the whole lot to whoever sent them."

Ever since Gan Guoyang rose to fame, an endless stream of people had tried sending him gifts.

Reporters, agents, scouts, and college basketball recruiters all sought to build closer ties by showering him with presents.

However, Gan Guoyang knew the old adage: eating someone's food makes you soft-mouthed, and taking someone's gifts makes your hands weak. As long as he played basketball well, he wouldn't lack money in the future, and he had no need to accept gifts that could give others leverage against him.

When it came to gift-giving, Americans and Chinese were ultimately the same; if the person himself refused to accept them, they would take a roundabout route and target his family.

The person closest to Gan Guoyang was, of course, his father Gan Youwei, but Gan Youwei was also an upright and honest man.

The Gan Family Restaurant had built its reputation through Gan Guoyang’s rising fame, but Gan Youwei earned his living and attracted customers through his own culinary skills and honest hard work.

Accepting financial gifts or valuables from others would completely alter the nature of things. Knowing this would only bring trouble to his son, Gan Youwei firmly refused to accept them.

As a result, some people tried an even more circuitous path, approaching Gan Yutang and entrusting him to pass the items to Gan Youwei, which was how the goods ultimately ended up in his possession.

Naturally, Gan Youwei had no intention of using any of it. Fearing that nagging his son about these disturbances every day would distract him from his basketball and studies, he simply gathered everything together.

When the Christmas holiday arrived, he handed the whole batch over to Gan Guoyang for him to sort out.

After understanding the backstory, Gan Guoyang greatly approved of his father’s approach. But to whom should he return these items?

After pondering for a moment, Gan Guoyang thought of Mr. Capp Lavin. He made a phone call to him and arranged to meet up at the Rochambeau Playground that afternoon.

The Knicks and Nets game was still ongoing, but Gan Guoyang had lost all interest; it truly was unwatchable.

As he was leaving, a sudden thought struck him, and he said to Gan Youwei, "Dad, I won't be back for dinner tonight."

"You're not coming back tonight? Do you have a date?"

"No, an old friend is treating me to dinner."

"Alright then, be careful and don't fool around."

Watching his son leave, Gan Youwei muttered to himself, "An old friend? How long have you even been in America, and you already have an old friend?"

Little did he know that the "old friend" Gan Guoyang referred to was genuinely an "old" friend in every sense of the word.