Chapter 37: If You Don’t Like It, Then Trade Lin Away!

Following this match, the worst thing for the Bulls was not the two-game losing streak.

What was worse was that both the SuperSonics and the Pacers were championship favorites this season. Having lost to two powerhouses in a row, it was inevitable that the Bulls would face criticism: that they couldn't handle tough games, that against strong opponents, Jordan and the Bulls were finally aging, that they performed poorly in head-to-head clashes, and that they couldn't cope with adversity.

Of course, that still wasn't the worst part.

The worst part was that these two teams were led by Miller and Payton.

These two were absolute top-five notorious jerks on the league’s trash-talking leaderboard. Furthermore, neither of them was the least bit afraid of Jordan; they were both ruthless men dying to crush him to claim the championship.

Losing to them and getting schooled was secondary for Jordan. The endless insults and mockery from those two were what caused him the most pain and fury. A furious, crazed Jordan was not just a nightmare for the rest of the league—he was a nightmare for his own teammates.

Consequently, even though the Bulls had three full days of rest after this incredibly grueling stretch of the schedule, not a single person on the team dared to rest. Not only did they not rest, they trained even harder and more ferociously than before, with every player ending each session in a state of near-collapse.

Everything was because of Jordan.

This lion was in a state of blind rage, and no one on the team dared to provoke him.

Well, not quite no one.

Lin Tian dared.

Lin Tian not only dared, but he remained keen on matching up against Jordan, even though Jordan’s mood had made his play even more physical than usual over the past few days. Elbows, knees, and shoves were flying toward Lin Tian as if it were Lin Tian who had crushed him in the last two games, not Payton and Miller. Jordan was channeling all of his rage into training—or rather, into Lin Tian.

On December 4th, the final practice before the Bulls resumed play on the 5th, things finally boiled over between Jordan and Lin Tian.

Phil Jackson’s fears finally materialized.

While fighting for position, Jordan’s movements became exaggerated, and he jammed an elbow directly into Lin Tian’s neck. Lin Tian was never one to take things lying down. He impatiently shoved his arms out, knocked Jordan’s arm away, and pointed a finger at him, shouting, "If you don't want a beating, you’d better watch yourself!"

Lin Tian’s action stunned everyone in the gym.

In Chicago, on the Bulls, who dared to speak to Jordan like that? Telling Jordan to "watch himself"? How was that any different from a janitor at the White House telling the President to be careful not to dirty the floor or else he’d stage a coup?

"You’re telling me to watch myself?" Jordan asked, laughing in disbelief as he pointed at his own chest.

"You got schooled by Payton and Miller because you weren't good enough! Taking it out on your own teammates—what kind of man are you? A coward! Trash! A weakling! If those two jerks got you riled up, go beat them! But what are you doing? Taking it out on me? Do you think I’m a soft touch? Do you think I’m easy to bully? Huh?"

"Let me tell you something: I’m not afraid of you! You take one more step toward me, and I’ll make sure you end up just like those three idiots!"

Lin Tian kept shouting, his finger practically jabbing the air in front of Jordan’s nose. He had completely lost his temper. He had no issue with physical play—he actually somewhat enjoyed it—but Jordan’s last move had clearly crossed the line from basketball into something else. Trying to bully him? Then he’d fight back. He didn't care if Jordan was the "God of Basketball."

"I’ll see what you’ve got! Come on, hit me right here, let’s see how much of a man you really are!" Like Lin Tian, Jordan was no saint. He was certainly no pushover or a man of easy temperament; otherwise, he wouldn't have become the nightmare of the entire league.

Seeing the two of them squared off, a brawl was imminent. The rest of the Bulls finally snapped to attention. Pippen, Kukoč, Harper, Longley, Rodman, and the others rushed in to pull them apart.

"Don't do it! You’ll kill him! Stop!" Wennington played the pacifist again, holding Lin Tian in a death grip while whispering the same thing over and over.

It was fortunate for Jordan that he didn't hear what Wennington said; otherwise, he might have disregarded his own safety and demanded that everyone step aside so he could go one-on-one with Lin Tian.

In less than 30 seconds, Phil Jackson, who had been sitting on the sidelines, rushed into the middle of the group, shouting, "What are you doing! What is all this? You have too much energy? If you’ve got energy to spare, go do an extra set of strength training! Get to the weight room! I don't want to see anyone walk out of there tonight—I want you to crawl out! Now! Immediately!"

"Michael, you stay here!"

Jackson’s words drew groans from the Bulls players, who turned and headed toward the weight room. Wennington kept a tight hold on Lin Tian, fearing he might still act impulsively. As for Jordan, he kept glaring at Lin Tian’s back, muttering curses under his breath. At the very least, he stayed put and didn't continue to harass Lin Tian.

Once everyone had left, Jackson sighed. Looking at Jordan, he probed, "Michael, what do you think of Lin?"

"Arrogant! Cocky! He has no respect for me—he’s a total jerk! If no one had held us back, I would have torn him to pieces! That bastard! I won't let this go! I’m going to keep matching up with him in practice tomorrow!" Jordan’s rage was clearly still simmering; he didn't have a single good word to say about Lin Tian.

But upon hearing Jordan, Jackson didn't look worried. Instead, a smile appeared on his face. He had found the core of the issue.

"Michael, since you hate him so much and think he doesn't fit in, why don't we trade him? He’s openly challenging you on the team. I feel like someone like that is a ticking time bomb—he’ll jeopardize our team chemistry at any moment."

"Trade him?" Jordan paused, then shook his head decisively. "No, don't trade him. Keeping him on the team is actually fine—we can use him! Yes, that’s it! We can use him! After we win the championship, we’ll kick him to the curb! That’s it!"

Jackson’s smile was becoming impossible to hide. He continued, "But he has no respect for you at all."

"Then I won't show him any respect either! I’ll keep tormenting him in practice! Keep him here so I can keep tormenting him! Once I’m bored of playing with him, I’ll kick him out! Chicago doesn't need someone this arrogant."