Chapter 43: Glory And The Abyss
Atlanta’s sunlight sneaked in through the gaps in the hotel curtains, like an uninvited reporter snapping photos at Xu Ling’s face relentlessly.
“Hiss—”
He frowned and pulled the pillow over his head.
Suddenly, the door was slammed open with a bang. Roderick Craig—that guy who was always overflowing with energy—rushed in, holding up that day’s《Atlanta Journal-Constitution》, with a cover photo of Xu Ling’s step-back three-pointer over Oden’s head frozen in time, headlined “China’s Sniper.”
“Yo, bro, you know what? You straight up made me the hottest roommate in America last night!” Craig bounced to the bedside like a guy who just hit the lottery, “This morning I went to buy coffee, and the server didn’t even ask my name, just yelled: ‘Hey, that’s Eli’s teammate!'”
Xu Ling lazily rolled over: “Shouldn’t you feel proud? This is free popularity I’m giving you.”
“Proud my ass!” Craig waved the newspaper exaggeratedly, “Now the whole team thinks I should help you sort fan mail, pick out support gifts, and even someone’s asking me to find out if you have a girlfriend.”
“Then tell them I do.” Xu Ling mumbled.
Craig blinked: “But the thing is—do you really?”
Xu Ling was speechless at this straightforward old black guy and lifted the pillow: “Which is more important, that question or tomorrow’s game against Florida?”
Craig plopped down on the edge of the bed: “Equally important! But seriously, Eli, you had a few insane plays last night, and was it that Oden was too careless, or do you have some secret? You stole the ball from Oden several times last night.”
“Experience issue.” Xu Ling said flatly, “Back when I played ball domestically, there was a center with the same habit. I stole the ball from him over a dozen times in one game. Later, after that guy graduated, he took his talent to a rural corporate team.”
Craig burst out laughing uncontrollably upon hearing this: “Haha! God bless Greg Oden.”
Unlike before when they rested five or six days after a game, after entering the Final Four, the teams advancing to the final two only had one day of rest.
Tomorrow, Texas Tech University would return to the Georgia Dome to face the University of Florida in the National Championship Game.
Therefore, Texas Tech University needed to train for one day in Atlanta.
Besides, with just one day, they couldn’t really practice much anyway.
Moreover, now that they’d reached the championship game, neither team in the finals had any secrets left.
TTU’s weaknesses were inside and roster depth.
“Kids, look around you.” The old coach’s voice was uncharacteristically gentle, “Six months ago, someone said making the Sweet Sixteen would be a miracle for us.”
His gaze swept over every player: “But now, we’re standing here for a reason.”
The tactical board had Florida’s lineup analysis taped up—the no-fly zone formed by Horford and Noah, Brewer’s versatile defense, Taurean Green’s precise three-pointers.
“But I also have to tell you, since 1975, almost every defending champion that retained its full starting lineup has achieved the repeat championship feat.”
“Almost?”
Xu Ling keenly caught the other implication: “Meaning not all of them.”
“Yes.” Knight’s mouth curved slightly: “In 1985, Georgetown lost to Villanova.”
“A cold upset from 22 years ago,” Plevka muttered.
“That’s right.” Xu Ling suddenly stood up, “This means miracles always exist. Just like no one believed we could beat North Carolina before, or that we could get past Ohio State. We’ve come this far, just one step away—does anyone still doubt we can’t win the championship?”
“Exactly, that’s the belief we need.” Knight nodded with a smile, “Remember Eli’s words: in the NCAA, miracles always exist.”
That day, training proceeded as usual.
The squeak of sneakers on the floor, the swish of basketballs through the net, occasional laughter—everything felt relaxed and calm, as if tomorrow was just an ordinary regular season game, not the decisive battle for the national championship.
“J.J., let’s play a game—shooting contest, ten three-pointers each from fixed spots, loser buys.” Xu Ling held the ball in one hand and challenged captain Julius Jackson.
Jackson grinned: “Alright, rookie, get your wallet ready.”
The two stood at the corners on either side and started a three-point showdown. Soon the gym filled with successive “swish swish” sounds, drawing glances from the other teammates.
“Does that one count?” Sophomore guard Allen Worskul suddenly chimed in, pointing at Jackson’s last shot, “Foot on the line, right?”
Jackson glared: “Bullshit! That was clean!”
“Lemme check the replay,” Worskul pretended to gesture with his hands, “Yeah, definitely stepped on it—9 to 10, Eli wins, captain’s buying.”
Jackson angrily threw the ball at him, and Worskul dodged laughing.
On the other side, Martin Zeno somehow pulled out a whistle, blew it seriously with a “beep,” then pointed at Xu Ling: “Traveling! Doesn’t count!”
Xu Ling feigned confusion: “Traveling’s a thing here???”
Plevka and Craig were already doubled over laughing, sitting on the floor and mimicking commentators: “Ladies and gentlemen, this is the TTU intra-squad three-point contest! We’re seeing Eli Xu facing black whistle calls! Head referee Martin Zeno has clearly taken a bribe from Julius!”
Meanwhile, at the distant tactical board, Bob Knight and the coaching staff stood quietly.
Son Pat Knight asked softly: “Aren’t these guys too relaxed?”
Knight shook his head, his gaze on the playful players.
“Let them be.” Knight said lightly, “At a time like this, mindset matters more.”
His gaze finally settled on Xu Ling—the Chinese guy had just drained a super-long three, then spun around, shrugging at his mock-protesting teammates with a sly smile full of absolute confidence.
Knight withdrew his gaze and turned to leave.
The night passed uneventfully.
April 2, 2007
2006-07 season NCAA National Championship Game day.
One side was the defending champions with no weaknesses, the other a Cinderella team straight out of a fairy tale.
Whichever side, there were masses of supporters.
The game would start at four p.m.
It was now exactly three o’clock.
The team was about to head to the Georgia Dome, but Texas Tech University’s head coach Bob Knight was in his hotel room, staring blankly at a yellowed note.
His thoughts drifted back to the past, the golden age of college basketball and his peak years.
The year before 1984, Knight was named head coach of the United States Men’s Basketball Team, tasked with defending America’s basketball honor on home soil. It was a great year—college basketball produced remarkable talents: Michael Jordan, Patrick Ewing, Chris Mullin, Charles Barkley, Wayman Tisdale, Sam Perkins, Alvin Robertson. Any pro basketball coach facing that talent pool would have full confidence in winning Olympic gold, especially since the Soviets, retaliating for America’s 1980 boycott, also boycotted the Los Angeles Olympics. From every angle, the path to victory was easier.
Knight could not fail at the Olympics; if he did, he’d be forever mired in shame like Henry Iba in 1972, and it would ruin him.
⑴ Head coach of the United States Men’s Basketball Team at the 1972 Munich Olympics,
To turn this hastily assembled team into a disciplined one like his Indiana University squad, Knight cut Charles “doesn’t know what discipline is” Barkley, yelled at every player, motivated Jordan with “Is that all you’ve got?”, prompting Jordan to swear it was the last time anyone would treat him that way in his career. This all-star team massacred the world’s teams at the Olympics and reached the finals without suspense.
On finals day, things seemed a bit off: Jordan, the team leader, had brought the wrong jersey, and some players forgot their warm-ups, making Knight anxious—he felt these kids weren’t taking the finals seriously, just wanting to finish quick and go home.
Some ineffable nightmare began to approach.
That 1972 team had also never believed they could lose.
Before failure happens, signs of failure appear one after another.
Knight planned to unleash a tirade before the game to focus the players, but when he entered the locker room ready to explode, he saw a note stuck over the blackboard that usually listed the opponent’s starters: “Coach, after all this bullshit, we’re definitely not losing tonight.”
He recognized Michael Jordan’s handwriting, took the note down, pocketed it, and said nothing more.
That night, America’s finals opponents probably didn’t last five minutes, final score 101 to 68.
When it all ended, Knight had his golden moment, the highest peak he’d ever climbed in life.
From that moment, Robert Montgomery Knight had won all the supreme honors in amateur basketball. His Indiana University Mountain Men went 63-1 from 1974-1976, and the 1976 Mountain Men were the last team in college basketball history to go undefeated and win the championship. This elevated Knight’s Indiana University above UCLA as the greatest college basketball program of the era. Five years later, Indiana won again, further cementing Knight as the best active college basketball coach.
Olympic champion, Pan American Games champion, two NCAA national championships—43-year-old Knight stood at the pinnacle of amateur basketball. He never imagined good things pass in a flash; twenty-two years later, he’d won another NCAA title in that time, but everything else had changed.
Knight put the historic note back in the box and took a deep breath.
Why am I still coaching?
Knight couldn’t help thinking of his great mentor Red Auerbach, who at 49 chose to step away from coaching for behind-the-scenes work.
Because Auerbach knew his achievements were unreplicable.
But he lacked the wisdom and resolve to know when to stop.
Yet last year, he knew there might be no need to go further.
Knight arrived at Texas Tech University with great ambitions, hoping to win a championship here and prove to the world he could still take a mid-tier program to the top. But in this era where a Michael Jordan wouldn’t stay in college for three years, his recruiting had little success.
The 2005 recruiting class was a success; Knight got almost everyone he targeted, believing he could build around them to keep the team competitive after the fourth-year seniors retired.
But that year’s TTU was like a disaster movie set.
Knight didn’t gel with the freshmen, the freshmen didn’t gel with the seniors, no team chemistry, coaching staff dysfunction—they had a failed season, TTU’s second since the Knight era without making March Madness.
The worse blow came after the season, when most freshmen transferred.
Keep in mind, this wasn’t like over a decade later when NCAA players could sign endorsements and transfer unlimited times. Back then, players were utterly powerless. Forget income—if they fell for a recruiter’s promises only to find the school wasn’t what they expected, most endured silently, since transferring meant sitting out a year.
Under those rules, coaches’ authority was king-like and unquestionable. Yet the highly touted 2005 freshmen transferred en masse after the season like escaping prison, leaving only two behind. This hit Knight hard, damaging his reputation amid endless criticism and crippling the team’s team building.
Half a year ago, Knight was in despair, feeling his TTU career was becoming a joke.
Every day walking into the training hall reminded him of his failures. Knight considered quitting more than once, even drafting several resignation letters.
Then, that Chinese guy appeared like a savior.
Miraculously, TTU started winning. First beating Kansas for the Big 12 title, then slashing through March Madness—Duke, North Carolina, Ohio State, these powerhouses fell one after another.
Knight stood at the hotel window, the distant Georgia Dome gleaming in the sunlight. Twenty years later, he was back on the championship stage.
This team everyone dismissed, supposed to implode at the season’s start, now needed just one more win to make history.
“Coach, are you spacing out?”
Knight snapped back and saw Xu Ling leaning on the doorframe with a mischievous smile.
“The whole team’s on the bus betting whether you’ve finally decided to retire.”
“Is that so?” Knight snorted.
“I told them the great Coach Bob Knight must be studying some earth-shattering tactic.” Xu Ling said, “But Craig insists you’re probably just lost on what clothes to wear.”
“Ten-plus years ago, players wouldn’t dare talk to coaches like that.”
“But you’re late now.” Xu Ling winked, “Everyone’s waiting.”
Knight silently checked his things, closed his bag, and walked past Xu Ling.
“Let’s go, genius. Championships don’t deliver themselves.”
Thanks to lenx for the alliance leader reward, and also to no one knows and Mi family fanfic for the rewards. Seeking follows, collections, votes.
