Chapter 29: O’Neal’s Smart Mouth

At this time, in the NBA headquarters in New York, the office of Commissioner David Stern was abuzz with reports regarding the morning session of the pre-draft camp. News had reached him about Christian Laettner’s injury, Tang Bei shattering the basketball hoop, and Shaquille O’Neal falling at Tang Bei’s feet twice.

Stern paid no mind to the other details, issuing only one directive: contact the NBA’s hoop supplier immediately to provide sturdier equipment. He insisted that all hoops across the league must be replaced before the start of the next season. The potential for negative publicity and game delays caused by smashed backboards and collapsed hoops during official matches was a liability he refused to entertain.

In the afternoon, Tang Bei arrived at the Chicago Stadium with the team bus. His treatment was markedly different from the previous two days; having become a top prospect, he was swarmed by reporters the moment he stepped off the vehicle.

A reporter caught up with O’Neal, asking, “Shaq, in this morning’s scrimmage, you fell at Tang’s feet twice. Could you comment on Tang’s performance?”

O’Neal, still fuming over the morning’s events, was in a foul mood. He snapped, “There’s nothing to talk about. I don’t want to talk about a ching chong.”

“Ching chong?”

The reporters who heard the slur paused, then immediately grew excited. Tang Bei was standing just ten feet away; he did not understand the term, but John Liu and Eric Fleisher certainly did.

Before Fleisher could intervene, John Liu said with a grim expression, “Tang, O’Neal just used a racial slur against you that is ten times worse than calling you a Chinaman.”

“What?”

Tang Bei couldn’t believe it. This was a public setting—how dared O’Neal? Was he simply carried away by his ego, or was he truly that reckless?

“You son of a bitch!” Tang Bei roared, pushing through the crowd toward O’Neal.

“Tang, stay calm! If you fight now, you’re finished! You absolutely cannot throw a punch…” Fleisher panicked, grabbing Tang Bei around the waist from behind and pleading with him.

“Tang, you cannot fight now. It will ruin your draft stock. Don’t let him cost you your future—it’s not worth it!” John Liu added, stepping in front to block Tang Bei’s path.

Realizing he had overstepped, O’Neal, shielded by his agent, kept his head down and shoved past the reporters, heading toward the stadium exit. Blocked by the throng of people, Tang Bei could not reach him, but he shouted after him, “You dog! Don’t run! You just wait—I’ll settle this score with you sooner or later.”

“My God, O’Neal is so unprofessional!”

“There are some things you can do, but some things you simply cannot say. The kid is still too young; O’Neal lacks self-control.”

O’Neal’s slur and the ensuing commotion had stirred everyone at the venue, and whispers rippled through the crowd. The hoops had already been replaced, and the game was set to proceed on the main court.

***

After entering the arena, Tang Bei looked around but did not see O’Neal.

“Stop looking, Tang,” Eric Fleisher said. “O’Neal left with his agent just now; he didn’t even come inside.” He continued, “You’ve been in the United States for a while now. Racial discrimination is common here, as common as breathing. You must maintain the right mindset and not let those people derail your career. We can attack O’Neal through the media and force an apology, but you cannot physically attack him in public. That would put you in the wrong even if you were originally in the right.”

“I can’t hit him in public? Fine, I understand,” Tang Bei said, nodding as he processed John Liu’s translation.

Though O’Neal was gone, he spotted Christian Laettner, who had a large adhesive bandage over his left eyebrow and was glaring at him with pure malice.

The league officially arranged for Tang Bei to play center for the Red Team, paired in the frontcourt with LaPhonso Ellis, against the duo of Alonzo Mourning and Laettner. This suited Tang Bei perfectly, as both Mourning and Laettner were the opponents he wanted to face the most.

“Tang, be careful of Laettner’s ‘under-cutting.’ He stuck his foot out this morning; he’s definitely trying to end your career,” Fleisher warned.

“I know.”

The tip-off began, and Tang Bei outjumped Mourning, securing possession for the Red Team. Guard Jim Jackson attempted a mid-range jump shot from the right wing, but it clanked off the rim.

Mourning accurately predicted the trajectory and moved to a spot one step in front of the basket. “Get lost,” he muttered.

But Tang Bei, trailing by half a step, used his raw strength to force his way into Mourning’s center of gravity, snatching the offensive rebound.

“Shit!” Mourning, having lost the defensive board, was furious enough to start a fight.

As soon as Tang Bei grabbed the ball, he was swarmed by Mourning and Laettner. Laettner’s elbow was already digging into his ribs, and his knee was driving into the back of his thigh.

“Over here!” Ellis shouted from the left low post.

Ignoring his teammate’s call, Tang Bei pivoted on his right foot and executed a sudden, violent Tai Chi-style turn. Having successfully applied this move during a morning possession, he felt emboldened to use the martial technique again.

The power of his entire body flowed through the turn, culminating in a force akin to a volcanic eruption. Mourning’s right arm was intentionally locked with Tang Bei’s left, but the sheer intensity of the struggle failed to stop the turn. As the force of Tang Bei’s rotation exploded, Mourning—weighing only 109 kilograms—was sent staggering, completely losing his balance and crashing head-first onto the hardwood. Laettner, who was also digging his elbow into Tang Bei, weighed only 107 kilograms; unable to withstand the contact, he was likewise knocked to the floor.

***

“Boom!”

The moment he broke through the double-team, Tang Bei slammed the ball home with a thunderous two-handed dunk, sending the hoop swaying violently once again.

“Great job!” Eric Fleisher pumped his fist hard.

“Clap, clap, clap…”

This play felt like a heavy blow that electrified the GMs, scouts, and reporters in attendance, drawing a round of applause.

“Fuck!”

“Shit!”

Mourning and Laettner scrambled to their feet in embarrassment. They knew they had lost face, which would surely affect their draft prospects, and they looked at Tang Bei with unconcealed hostility.

Watching Tang Bei knock both Mourning and Laettner to the ground, David Falk felt a sense of helplessness. This kind of head-to-head collision between rivals was the most direct display of strength, and there was an inevitability to it: the winner takes all. Yet, he could not change the situation, as the pre-draft camp’s scrimmages were designed to test a prospect’s mettle; avoiding the competition would only negatively impact a player’s evaluation.

A few possessions later, Tang Bei found another chance to shine in the paint. It wasn't because the perimeter players were passing to him—in these games, unless they were pure point guards, perimeter players rarely passed to the interior unless they were forced to. As it happened, there were very few elite, traditional point guards among that year’s draft class, and Randy Woods, the only traditional guard projected to go in the top twenty, was not on the court.

“Clang!”

Todd Day, the Red Team’s other shooting guard, missed a three-pointer. The ball ricocheted off the rim and backboard, landing right in the paint.

“Boom!”

Tang Bei leaped with full force, snatching the ball over the head of Mourning—who had jumped at nearly the same time—and hammering it into the hoop. Mourning’s defensive resilience was significantly inferior here; he was shoved aside in mid-air and landed awkwardly, his ankle twisting, causing him to crash to the floor at Tang Bei’s feet once more.

“Damn it!”

Though uninjured, Mourning had been humiliated again. He cursed loudly, looking at Tang Bei with the same intense animosity as Laettner.

Miami Heat GM Lewis Schaffel said excitedly, “Tang’s technique and fundamentals aren't as polished as O’Neal’s, but his strength and physicality are even greater. His vertical, explosive power, and coordination are all on par with Shaq’s.”

Beside him, Timberwolves GM Jim Brewer added, “Once he hones his fundamentals and develops his technical game, Tang’s dominance in the paint will surely be no less than O’Neal’s.”