Chapter 52: Jerry West’s Dilemma
Xu Ling, just like in the previous two tryouts, completed the physical test and technical test one after another. The feedback he received was also similar to that from Portland and Seattle.
But Jerry West didn’t say much, just let Xu Ling rest for a bit before moving on to the next phase of testing. Just as West had said at the beginning, there were official Grizzlies players on site today, and West wanted Xu Ling to have a real one-on-one matchup with him.
Normally, players rarely take the initiative to participate in team affairs during the offseason. This should be their precious vacation time—who would be willing to give up the beach and sunshine to come do unpaid work for the team?
But there are always exceptions. Some veterans with strong professionalism, or those already paving the way for a transition to coach or management, instead cherish such opportunities especially. They don’t mind trading their rare downtime for more experience and influence.
Eddie Jones was exactly such a person.
As a veteran who entered the league in the 1990s, Jones’s career was entering its twilight. But he had already planned his next step: after retiring, transition to a player development coach, continue to shine in the NBA—and incidentally, continue to earn NBA teams’ money.
So, when Jerry West personally called to invite him to assist with this tryout, he agreed without a second thought. He arrived early at the training hall, changed into gear, leaned against the wall, and sized up Xu Ling who had just walked in. When their eyes met, Jones’s mouth curved up, and with the teasing yet straightforward tone unique to veterans, he spoke: “Yo, you’re that Chinese kid who hit the half-court buzzer-beater?”
As he spoke, he walked forward, his eyes lacking West’s icy scrutiny but carrying the instinctive attention to technical details of a battle-tested player. He didn’t offer a handshake, instead casually grabbing a basketball and spinning it expertly on his fingertip a couple of times.
“I’ve seen the clip of that shot; you got lucky,” Jones raised an eyebrow, his tone sounding like provocation, though his eyes hid a testing glint, “But here, luck alone won’t cut it, right? Let me see what you’re really made of.”
Without a doubt, Eddie Jones was also a shining star in the long river of NBA history. As another testament to Jerry West’s draft eye, he arrived in Los Angeles at the tail end of the “Showtime” Lakers dynasty, selected tenth in the first round. He quickly became a starter, delivering All-Star level performance, and was once seen as the face of the next era in the City of Angels.
However, fate turned in 1996. Shaquille O’Neal landed in LA, and that same year, the Lakers traded All-Star center Vlade Divac for an obscure No. 13 high school guard. Suddenly, Jones seemed destined to be overshadowed by O’Neal, becoming the Lakers’ second option. But he soon discovered that the initially raw high schooler was growing wildly at an astonishing speed, not only completely taking his place in the team’s tactics but also devouring his future in the city. He might not even hold onto the second chair and had to settle for third. Ultimately, Lakers management decided he couldn’t even handle the third option role, trading him to Charlotte for Glen Rice.
In Charlotte, Jones reached the peak of his individual stats but also seemed to hit his ceiling. His career had no greater team achievements afterward, as he bounced around teams, though he had highlight moments pressing future superstars like Kobe Bryant and Dwyane Wade to the bench. In his career twilight, he circled back under mentor West’s wing in Memphis, expending his final embers. Halfway through last season, the championship-contending Heat wanted to trade for Jones to bolster bench depth, but after West scouted NCAA, he halted all trades, as if the team was about to undergo major change.
Jones didn’t go to Miami, nor did he expect to get a call from the Logo Man during the offseason to try out the recently hot Eli Xu.
Now, hearing the other’s greeting as casual as old friends, Xu Ling just raised an eyebrow slightly, his tone calm and even tinged with pure confusion: “Oh, you’ve watched my games? I haven’t asked—who are you?”
The smile on Jones’s face froze instantly. He had anticipated surprise, admiration, even challenge, but never pure, unadulterated ignorance crashing into him head-on. The air seemed to pause for half a second.
Immediately after, Jones burst out laughing as if hearing the joke of the century, his laughter echoing in the empty training hall, full of self-mockery and disbelief.
“Hahaha, good kid, now I’m interested in you.” Jones stopped laughing, shaking his head, the playful interest in his eyes far thicker than before.
He casually tossed the ball to Xu Ling with a bit of extra force, carrying a hint of provocation.
“No worries,” Jones grinned, flashing white teeth, his smile finally tinged with genuine, unmasked battle intent, “After this game, I guarantee you’ll never forget my name: Eddie Jones.”
Eddie Jones?
The name meant absolutely nothing to Xu Ling. But judging by the other’s reaction, he must have been somebody in the NBA once—but so what?
Greatness is always fleeting.
After Westbrook completed the NBA’s first average triple-double season, even without ever winning a championship, he had already carved his name into basketball history. Not to mention, he achieved the feat again for two consecutive seasons afterward.
But that did nothing to stop his personal reputation from collapsing sharply after joining the Lakers. When strength recedes, the glory created at peak feels weightless—either exit gracefully, or face fans sending death threats; or plummet from max contract to minimum with no takers; or, on a sunny day with a good mood, proactively help the team try out a rookie, only to get: “Who are you?”
Sports is such an affectionate yet ruthless world. In a generation, perhaps fewer than ten people can truly pass their influence to the next. And even if they do, with each generation, that influence fades and eventually dissipates. In the end, everyone escapes the fate of being forgotten.
One-on-one matchup tryout, an NBA staple long sealed away.
The most famous one-on-one tryout in NBA history was Yao Ming’s. Under the gaze of all 28 teams in the league（ at the time there were no Bobcats, and the Lakers didn’t send anyone）, he showcased his technique and potential, ultimately locking in the number 1 draft pick with flawless performance.
But times have changed; today’s hot rookies no longer do such public tryouts. They at most accept brief, private scouting from a few teams, wrapping themselves in mystery and hype.
For Xu Ling, his willingness to do this one-on-one live matchup today stemmed partly from it being his last tryout team, so no need to hold back; and partly because he hadn’t fully transformed into that spotlight-bathed, confident-to-arrogant child of heaven—the typical star mindset thinking a glimpse of talent is enough to win over a team.
Thus, Xu Ling and Eddie Jones’s one-on-one began under the watchful eyes of the Grizzlies.
Jones tossed the ball to Xu Ling, slightly lowering his center of gravity, making a “please” gesture to indicate he attack first.
Xu Ling caught the ball without hesitation. He planned a quick finish, establishing dominance the most direct way—with youthful invincible explosiveness, driving hard from the right! His right foot stomped the floor, body shooting out like an arrow off the string, first step so fast it nearly whistled.
However, in that tiny gap as his body leaned forward and the ball bounced off the ground, a seasoned hand, as if predicting every script, precisely cut toward his dribbling path!
“Pa!”
Fingertips grazed the ball’s edge, not fully stripping it but enough to knock it off course, instantly disrupting Xu Ling’s entire drive rhythm. Xu Ling stumbled a step, hurriedly retrieving the ball.
In a flash, Xu Ling shed any lingering underestimation. He steadied himself, reset outside, eyes now different.
He realized this veteran seemingly in career twilight might be the top-tier, smartest, and trickiest defender he’d faced entering the basketball world. Pure speed was heavily discounted against his unassailable anticipation and those eyes that seemed to see through everything.
Since fast wouldn’t work, slow it down.
Xu Ling took a deep breath, rhythm shifting abruptly. No longer seeking a one-step blowby, he used constantly varying dribbling rhythm to probe for openings.
Jones shadowed closely without losing position, but Xu Ling keenly caught the faint backward shift in Jones’s center. Seizing that fleeting space, Xu Ling rose, textbook mid-range pull-up jump shot. The ball arced high, evading Jones’s final block fingertips, swishing cleanly.
Score.
Xu Ling held his follow-through, looking at the story-filled veteran before him, mouth curving slightly, casually saying in a tone mixing respect and provocation: “Looks like just knowing your name isn’t enough; gotta know where your defense is going next.”
Jones picked up the ball, face unmoved, but mouth busy: “Lucky shot, kid. That slow-mo jump shot—think you’ll get many chances in a real game?”
Xu Ling just smiled, not engaging.
The next few possessions became a showcase of Xu Ling’s individual offense technique.
Next possession, Xu Ling exploded on a drive, first step gaining position, then pull-up after contact, rising to shoot. Jones leaped desperately, fingertips always short. Score again.
Next ball, Xu Ling backed down, seizing Jones’s full resistance, spun baseline swiftly, blowing by in one step. Jones’s feet nailed down, could only turn to watch him dunk at the basket.
Then, Xu Ling hesitation dribble shook Jones’s balance, then full acceleration, purely eating him alive with explosiveness, scoring at the basket.
Several possessions in a flash. Jones’s judgment and awareness top-notch, seemingly anticipating Xu Ling’s intent every time. But his legs betrayed his brain; that half-step delay was an uncrossable chasm in elite matchups.
Again, Jones shaken off defense, Xu Ling pull-up jump shot for score.
When Xu Ling jab step left faked Jones into flying, then smoothly step-back right from outside the three-point line, rising calmly to hit, courtside Jerry West raised his hand, calmly signaling: “That’s enough.”
As early as the first possession ended, it was all settled.
Xu Ling’s seemingly sluggish first attack was actually a series of subtle probes mapping Jones’s defensive baseline. So the following possessions each solved the defense in three dribbles or fewer, like a hot knife through butter.
What Xu Ling showed was maturity far beyond a 19-year-old: top explosiveness and touch, sharp defensive reads, precise control of space and rhythm. West had scouted countless talents, but scenes making him this certain—a player worth betting everything and all reputation on—happened only twice in his life.
Last time was 1996, a kid named Kobe Bryant. And today, this young man’s draft prospect template was exactly Kobe.
A familiar, almost chilling certainty gripped him. He saw the chance to recreate—or surpass—history.
However, in that instant of heat surging to his heart, a deeper chill followed. A sharp question, not about Xu Ling, but about himself, about Memphis:
Did they deserve it?
More precisely—did he deserve it?
Deserve to grasp this die of destiny again, bringing this near-perfect talent into the team he was trying to rebuild?
Jerry West pondered near-mad self-destruction.
Then, he heard his female assistant Laura Grancola excitedly say: “Jerry, we can’t miss this kid!”
“Yes,” West said softly, “we must get him.”
Rational judgment thus extinguished all “deserve or not” musings.
PS: Some readers noted a draft pick BUG. But I can’t change it, as altering pick ownership would affect most of the later plot, scrapping my drafts. At this point, have to live with it: In the novel’s timeline, the Hawks-Suns Joe Johnson trade’s 07 first-rounder was top-5 protected instead of real-life top-3. So the No. 4 pick still belongs to the Hawks.（ And behind this BUG is something even more maddening, too much to say）
