Chapter 20: I Need Not Show Humility Before Anyone
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A private three-story apartment near the Chinese Consulate in Chicago served as the Chicago bureau and residence of Xinhua News Agency.
Reporter Lin Xiaoyan had risen early that morning. She prepared some breakfast and ate with her colleagues while leafing through the day’s newspapers.
She had lived in Chicago for several years, and through constant exposure to the Bulls, she had developed a certain interest in basketball.
Of course, she was not a dedicated sports reporter. Basketball was not part of her professional beat, merely a private interest.
The Xinhua bureau in Chicago had no dedicated sports reporter either. Xinhua’s sports journalists traveled all over the world rather than being stationed permanently in any one place.
As far as she knew, the NBA’s rookie combine was currently being held in Chicago. After reading the other papers, she picked up the Chicago Sun-Times from the bottom of the stack.
Before long, she noticed the name Tang Bei in phonetic spelling. One look at the accompanying photograph confirmed that he was unmistakably a Chinese man named Tang.
“Does anyone know who this is? His surname is Tang, and he’s taking part in the NBA rookie combine. I wonder whether he’s an international student from China or a Chinese American.”
She passed the newspaper around to several colleagues, but none of them recognized him.
“Swallow, why don’t you go interview him this morning? We’ll cover your other assignments,” one colleague suggested.
“Sure. I’ll head over in a little while.”
At eight o’clock, Lin Xiaoyan arrived at the Chicago Stadium.
First, identifying herself as a reporter from Xinhua, she applied to the NBA for a press pass and inquired about Tang Bei. That told her that Tang Bei was from Tianjing, and she also obtained the contact information for both Eric Fleisher and Tang Bei. She eventually reached Fleisher and conducted a brief telephone interview.
“Tang, a reporter from Xinhua wants to interview you. She’s waiting for you at the stadium.”
After finishing the interview, Eric Fleisher immediately called Tang Bei, who was just preparing to leave the hotel.
“Really?”
Tang Bei was delighted.
At nine o’clock, the bus carrying the rookies arrived at the stadium.
“Ms. Lin, that’s Tang.”
Eric Fleisher had already reached the stadium and met Lin Xiaoyan. Now he pointed toward Tang Bei as he stepped off the bus.
“Hello, Tang Bei. I’m Lin Xiaoyan.”
“Hello.”
“I’m ten years older than you, and I’m from Tongzhou, right next to Tianjing. There’s no need for us to be so formal. Just call me Sister Lin.”
“Tongzhou? I’m from Wuqing. That really is right next door. Then I suppose I should call you Sister Lin.”
The two were practically from the same hometown. Their accents had certain similarities, and after only a few words, they quickly became familiar with each other.
“Tang Bei, how did you end up entering the NBA draft?”
“That’s a long story…”
“Then give me the short version.”
“Sister Lin, you’re even more impatient than I am.”
“Ha-ha, what did you expect from someone in my line of work? Today, we’ll keep it brief. We can sit down and chat properly when we have more time.”
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“All right, then. Let’s keep it brief…”
That day’s events consisted of skill tests, such as spot shooting and shooting on the move, along with ball-handling and passing drills—all fundamental skills.
These were Tang Bei’s absolute weaknesses. Apart from passing and receiving, layups, dunks, and footwork, which he handled reasonably well, everything else was a complete mess. Many of the general managers and scouts who had been watching left, and Tang Bei’s popularity at the rookie camp fell sharply.
The general managers who remained represented the Mavericks, Hornets, Nuggets, Timberwolves, Washington Bullets, Rockets, Heat, and Lakers.
As a center, Tang Bei’s shooting drills consisted of close-range and mid-range shots from positions inside and outside the paint, all taken from set spots.
He made five of fifteen hook shots, five of fifteen floaters, seven of fifteen field goals, and five of fifteen free throws. Most of his successful attempts came from close range; he rarely made a mid-range shot.
“Ha-ha…”
Crowded among the spectators, Christian Laettner let out a gleeful, mocking laugh.
Seeing Tang Bei’s shooting, Mourning could not help feeling relieved.
Even O’Neal felt a measure of relief after watching Tang Bei’s short mid-range shots and free throws—both worse than his own—and seeing that Tang’s mid-range shooting was equally dreadful.
Eric Fleisher, however, addressed several general managers with complete confidence.
“Gentlemen, Tang has only just begun receiving professional basketball training. This is the result of one month of practice after the CBA Finals. I believe that given one or two seasons, he can develop an excellent mid-range shot.”
“One month?”
The general managers kept their expressions impassive, but each of them began calculating what that might mean.
Rockets general manager Steve Patterson asked, “Mr. Fleisher, Tang’s wrists are extremely thick, and his free-throw shooting is atrocious. Why do you believe he can develop a mid-range shot?”
The moment he raised the question, the other general managers turned to look as well. Clearly, they were all concerned about the same issue.
If the wrists lacked sufficient flexibility and mobility, it would have several consequences. First, it would affect passing: accuracy, control of passing power, and the variety of available passes. Second, it would affect shooting: release speed would suffer, the arc would be less ideal, and touch would be poor. Third, it would affect dribbling: rhythm, ability to change direction, and coordination between hand and ball would all deteriorate. Fourth, it could affect defense, making it harder to block shots or obstruct passing lanes.
All of these effects were significant, which was why the general managers were paying such close attention.
Fleisher smiled.
“I thought the same thing when I conducted his physical assessment. But he immediately demonstrated the flexibility and mobility of his wrists. Why don’t I have him show you again in a moment?”
“Okay.”
The general managers nodded one after another, clearly interested.
“Jerry, it’s good to see you here.” Eric Fleisher walked over to Jerry West.
He had actually noticed West the previous day but had not greeted him. Now that many of the general managers had left while West remained, Fleisher decided to approach him.
Jerry West replied somewhat awkwardly, “Hey, Eric.”
At that moment, Tang Bei, having finished the tests, walked over. At Fleisher’s request, he performed several flexible hand movements, then deliberately bent his wrist toward his forearm. The spectators were stunned.
“That’s a hundred degrees.”
“For a big center, that’s excellent.”
When they saw his wrist bend toward his forearm, several general managers’ eyes lit up.
Most people could perform the movement through an angle of ninety to one hundred degrees. Those with poor flexibility could not even reach ninety. Outstanding perimeter players could reach one hundred and ten degrees, or even more.
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For Tang Bei, a massive power center weighing 135 kilograms, reaching one hundred degrees was extraordinarily rare.
Jerry West then said, “Actually, Tang’s passing accuracy is quite good, which shows that his wrists really are very flexible.”
With that, he extended his right hand.
“Hey, Tang. Nice to meet you. I’m Jerry West, general manager of the Lakers.”
Their relationship had gone sour the last time they met, but West was extremely confident. No player, he believed, could refuse a gesture of goodwill from the Lakers.
Tang Bei was somewhat surprised. This was the same man who had shown hostility toward him before, yet now he had come over to him. What was he trying to do?
Eric had later told him about West—a highly influential NBA legend.
Tang Bei had not particularly wanted to acknowledge him, but openly antagonizing someone like that would certainly have a major negative effect on his draft prospects.
With these conflicting thoughts in mind, he replied somewhat coolly, “Hello, Mr. Jerry West.”
Jerry West was highly perceptive and immediately sensed Tang Bei’s coldness. His deep-rooted disgust toward China surged up in an instant, overwhelming the rational judgment expected of a professional executive.
His expression hardened, and he said displeasedly, “Young man, you should be more humble.”
A trace of displeasure appeared in Eric Fleisher’s eyes. West was publicly belittling his player, and he had gone too far.
John Liu glanced at Tang Bei anxiously and translated, “Tang, he says you should be more humble.”
Sensing the malice coming from Jerry West, Tang Bei’s expression turned cold as well after hearing John Liu’s translation.
He had practiced martial arts since childhood. His three true discipleship masters had taught him only to pursue what was right openly, never to seek it through crooked means. When had any of them ever taught him humility?
The nature bestowed upon him by Chinese civilization was neither servile nor arrogant. When had it ever taught him humility?
He glared fiercely at Jerry West. His vitality and spirit were exceptionally strong, and the pressure radiating from him surged. His presence was imposing and razor-sharp.
“What does this kid think he’s doing?”
Jerry West’s eyes narrowed involuntarily, and he instinctively took a step backward.
“Humility?”
“I, Tang Bei, stand upright and honorably. I have no need to humble myself before anyone.”
As Tang Bei’s voice rang out like thunder, everyone in the stadium turned to look.
“Well said, Tang Bei.”
Lin Xiaoyan gave him a thumbs-up.
Click, click, click…
Several general managers and scouts nearby watched the two men with curiosity, while a number of reporters repeatedly pressed their camera shutters.
Sweat began to bead on John Liu’s forehead. He was extremely tense, but he still translated Tang Bei’s words.
“Hmph!”
Jerry West gave a cold snort and turned away.
“Wonderful!”
Having witnessed the scene, Christian Laettner was thrilled—and especially excited.
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