Chapter 59: This Is Hell!
As one lawyer said: “Being a surgeon also comes with pressure, but in a different way. You won’t see another surgeon across the operating table trying to undo the stitches you just sewed. In the legal field, your income comes precisely from confronting others.”
And this is exactly why the Memphis Grizzlies once identified as their core—or rather, “former core”—Rudy Gay has been continuously anxious since the draft ended.
He was once a top contender for the number one pick in the 2006 draft, possessing all the perfect talent a player at the three position should have, and was hailed as the “next Tracy McGrady.” However, his professional attitude, competitive spirit, and desire for self-motivation were frequently questioned by scouts.
You know, talent has never been scarce in the NBA; there are plenty of geniuses who squander themselves. Amid these doubts, Gay’s draft market value slid all the way down until he was selected eighth overall by the Houston Rockets in the first round, only to be quickly traded to the Grizzlies for Shane Battier.
This was supposed to be a good thing for him. The Rockets lacked the patience to wait for him to grow, but in Memphis, he could obtain the most ample resources and opportunities.
In his rookie season, Gay’s performance was decent but far from stunning. The team, amid turmoil, still chose to elevate him to starter, yet he had not yet learned how to truly lead a team. Nevertheless, he knew very well deep down: the Grizzlies would ultimately be his team. Pau Gasol would leave sooner or later, and the team’s future was destined to be handed to the young man with unlimited potential. Looking across all of Memphis, who else could it be but him?
Then, the team drew the third pick and selected one of the most spotlighted super freshman trio in NCAA from the past season.
From that moment on, deep anxiety gripped Gay. He was anxious about his status, anxious about an uncertain future, and even more anxious that the privileges once exclusively his, above everyone else, were about to be diluted by someone else.
On the first day of training camp, Gay walked into the locker room and immediately spotted his classmate Kyle Lowry. Finally unable to hold back, he asked, “Kyle, why did you so easily give that guy the number one jersey?”
Lowry looked up, a slick yet pragmatic smile on his face: “Rudy, it’s just a number. For me, what jersey I wear isn’t important; what’s important is contributing on the court. Besides… this is what the LOGO Man wants. He values Eli a lot. As players, sometimes doing a favor for others is doing a favor for our own future, right?”
No, this was completely wrong in Gay’s view.
“You say it so easily,” Gay said angrily. “That guy hasn’t contributed anything to the team yet, but he’s already acting all high and mighty? Why does he open his mouth and everyone has to give up their number? Who does he think he is?”
Lowry smiled bitterly to himself. This was just a small matter in his eyes, but to someone like Gay, it was a major issue of dignity and status. But of course, they were people of different levels to begin with.
Though Gay and Lowry were both rookies from the 2006 class, from the moment they entered the league, the worlds they inhabited were starkly different. Gay was the gifted eighth pick, seen as the future face of the franchise from the moment he was traded to Memphis, with the team willing to invest resources to wait for him to bloom. Lowry, selected late in the first round, had an NBA career that started as a grueling survival battle. He knew well that in this league, especially for players with low draft picks, reading the situation, understanding management’s intentions, and showing a cooperative attitude were far more important than clinging to a jersey number.
Just as Gay was furious at Lowry’s easy compromise to the third overall pick’s strong-arming of the team’s resources, the locker room door opened.
The protagonist of their conversation strode in, followed closely by a burly man who looked like his attendant.
“Morning,” he greeted first, then naturally extended his hand to Lowry. “Kyle Lowry, right? I’m Xu Ling. You can call me Eli.”
Lowry stood up almost immediately, gripping the hand firmly with an enthusiastic smile: “Welcome, Eli. Just call me Kyle.”
Then, he turned to the other side and extended his hand similarly: “I think everyone here knows Rudy Gay’s name. Glad to meet you.”
Gay on the other side paused for half a second before reluctantly extending his hand to briefly shake Xu Ling’s, releasing immediately.
“Mm.”
This third overall pick seemed completely unperturbed by Gay’s coldness. He turned around and asked his attendant in a relaxed tone: “ROK, which one is my locker?”
“Ms. Granville specifically instructed,” the attendant called ROK replied immediately. “Number one player, of course uses the number one locker.”
Those words “number one locker” made Lowry’s expression shift slightly, his smile a bit complex.
ROK scanned the locker room, quickly spotting the most prominent, largest locker. “Oh, sorry, Eli, I’m really slow.”
“Don’t mind.” Xu Ling smiled at his two teammates, saying calmly, “Don’t let his appearance fool you; ROK is actually very reliable at what he does.”
Lowry quickly composed himself, his smile becoming even more enthusiastic: “Of course… I can tell.”
Xu Ling efficiently stowed his things, changed into his training uniform, and nodded to the two: “See you later.”
With that, he left the locker room with ROK.
Once their footsteps faded, Gay finally couldn’t hold back and said indignantly: “Pau hasn’t even been officially traded yet, and they’re in such a rush to give his locker to someone else?!”
Lowry was equally surprised inside. The number one locker wasn’t just the roomiest spot in the locker room; it belonged to Pau Gasol—the franchise’s greatest player with no controversy thus far. Though this star center had requested a trade, he hadn’t left the team yet. For management to so swiftly, even somewhat coldly, hand over the locker was professional, yet also seemed impersonal.
However, Gay’s reaction made Lowry want to laugh; he held it in. Because he knew all too well that Gay wasn’t truly standing up for Gasol. He was just annoyed: why wasn’t he the one selected to take over the number one locker.
Xu Ling and Roderick Craig exited the locker room one after the other, their footsteps echoing in the empty corridor.
“Hey, did you see ‘that guy’s’ face earlier?” Craig caught up in a few steps, walking shoulder-to-shoulder with Xu Ling, his tone laced with unmasked mockery. He didn’t even use a name, just emphasizing “that guy” with exaggerated tone. “From the moment we walked in, he had this droopy face, like someone owed him millions. Tying his shoelaces so intently, I bet he wished he could strangle you with them.”
“ROK,” Xu Ling said half-jokingly, “please show some respect for my Scottie Pippen.”
“Alright.” Craig laughed. “But I’m worried he’ll think of himself as Vince Carter.”
Xu Ling didn’t respond further, just a slight upturn at the corner of his mouth as he strode straight into the training hall.
He immediately began systematic stretching and warm-up, his movements fluid and focused. Over the past summer, aside from unavoidable commercial activities, Xu Ling had devoted nearly all his time to special training. He spent long hours in the gym and on the court; according to his trainer, he had almost “reconstructed his entire muscle mechanics.” The words were a bit exaggerated, but some changes were tangibly felt.
His straight-line acceleration was half a beat faster than before, the explosive start even sharper, and most notably, his core strength had improved across the board. It could be said that to meet NBA-level physical intensity, he had made fully adequate preparations.
While Xu Ling was warming up, his teammates gradually arrived on the court.
Some teammates proactively greeted Xu Ling, such as Mike Miller, Kyle Lowry, Eddie Jones, and Hakim Warrick—these were key rotation players from the Grizzlies last season, considered core members of the team.
However, most players showed indifference or even coldness.
Rudy Gay acted as if Xu Ling didn’t exist, walking right past without a word. Pau Gasol glared fiercely at Xu Ling, though what he truly loathed was the team’s entire current situation. “Spanish bomb” Juan Carlos Navarro, who had entered the rotation thanks to Gasol’s promotion, also unhesitatingly chose sides, showing the same aloofness.
New addition Darko Milicic adopted a disinterested posture, not chatting with anyone—in his eyes, these new teammates were probably less interesting than the enthusiastic ladies at that “Asian Lost Paradise” on Beale Street in Memphis.
These people, plus Xu Ling, formed the lineup framework for the Memphis Grizzlies’ new season.
Looking at the lineup before him, the Grizzlies’ new head coach Marc Iavaroni found it hard to feel optimistic. In recent years, as head assistant coach for the Suns, he had contributed greatly to the team that averaged 48 wins over three straight seasons, earning him a reputation as a promising coaching star. But even a renowned coach needs a decent lineup to showcase his talents.
However, the Grizzlies’ lineup was far from ideal, yet management still hoped to replicate the Suns’ flashy, fluid “seven seconds or less” offensive system to boost the team’s entertainment value. The problem was: where was the Grizzlies’ “Steve Nash”?
The answer was they didn’t have Nash. They only had a resentful Pau Gasol toward the team and the city. Management’s biggest hope right now was to quickly trade Gasol away for a point guard who could serve as the organizational core—otherwise, no matter how many tactical ideas Iavaroni had, they were doomed to fail.
Despite his worries about the prospects, Iavaroni ultimately accepted the Grizzlies’ olive branch. The reason was simple: it was the only team willing to offer him a long-term head coach contract; other teams’ offers were all higher salary but still assistant coach positions, which held no appeal for him.
So, Iavaroni still chose the Grizzlies’ sinking ship.
At this moment, he gathered the team, then stepped in front of everyone and said: “Guys, I believe you’ve heard enough clichés, but before repeating those, I want to tell you a story—my story—when I was as young as you, I had the honor of playing for a special team, the 1983 76ers.”
“We had Moses Malone,” Iavaroni said with immense respect at the name, “he was MVP, the most dominant giant in the league. He could have demanded every offense go through him. We had Julius Erving, ‘Dr. J,’ he was the idol, Philadelphia’s god; he could have forever soared in the spotlight, with everyone cheering for him.”
“But on that team, there was no ‘I,’ only ‘we.'” Iavaroni said emotionally. “Moses willingly battled inside, doing all the dirty work, giving his all for every rebound and block. Julius gave up some possession, using his leadership and defense to link the whole team. Cheeks, Tony, Bobby Jones… every one of us knew our role clearly and took pride in it. We trusted each other, not for stats, not for the next contract, but for the guy on our shoulders, for a common goal—victory. Pure victory.”
“That’s what I demand of you. From now on, we must learn to trust each other. What we’re building is a true, resilient team that makes opponents feel troublesome to their bones. Just like what I experienced in Philadelphia back then. That’s not just tactics; it’s a philosophy, a winning culture!”
After Iavaroni finished, Mike Miller seized the moment to cheer proactively, which got Kyle Lowry and Hakim Warrick going, then others followed with responses. Whether they agreed or not, whether they’d drunk the chicken soup for the soul or not, most were willing to give the new coach who’d labored over the speech some face.
Iavaroni nodded in satisfaction, then announced that to help new and veteran players get familiar with each other, he wouldn’t hold a tactics session today but would arrange a scrimmage between the new and old players.
“Eli, this is your team’s list and numbers.” Assistant coach Andy Greer handed a roster to Xu Ling.
Before Xu Ling could fully scan the roster, Rudy Gay’s deliberately raised voice pierced the court, laced with unmasked malice: “Hey, Sixty Million Dollar Man, take a good look at your new teammates. A bit disappointed? Do you need us to coordinate and send over a couple of veterans? To balance the strength on both sides, so you don’t lose too ugly later and hurt that six-million-dollar face of yours.”
The scene was very quiet.
Gay’s words not only trampled publicly on the team culture Iavaroni had strenuously promoted, but also put Xu Ling in a dilemma: accepting the so-called “coordination” would mean admitting his side’s lineup was weak, potentially shaking his teammates’ confidence; refusing meant facing the challenge with an obviously inferior lineup, with the scales of victory already tipped before tip-off.
However, a thought flashed in Xu Ling’s mind: since Jimmy Butler once led a group of “fringe players” to defeat the Timberwolves starters led by Towns and Wiggins in a training scrimmage—why couldn’t he do it?
Since someone wouldn’t even retain basic decency, there was no need to leave any room for him.
“Worried we’ll lose too ugly?” Xu Ling sneered. “Rudy, you seem to have one thing wrong. The Grizzlies didn’t use the third pick to select a player who needs a strong lineup to protect him. They selected a player who can make any lineup strong.”
“So, put away your pathetic tricks and stop worrying about my ‘face.’ Call over all the veterans by your side and bring everything you’ve got!”
The spark that had just flashed in Marc Iavaroni’s eyes quickly dimmed. He had anticipated that the vision he carefully built in Memphis would crack someday, but he hadn’t expected it to come so soon—just five minutes after his triumphant speech.
He instinctively looked toward the second floor. In the shadows outside the president’s office, Jerry West was silently watching below. He had hoped to stay hidden in this dimness for now, but now he had to face this suffocating reality head-on.
The two players he personally selected—known to all as the Grizzlies’ Jordan and Pippen—had decided from their first meeting to head straight into an “fuck you” relationship.
This was just great. Could you find a tougher start than this?
This really was basketball hell!
