Chapter 12: Before I Came Here
The day after winning the Pete Newell Invitational Tournament championship, Texas Tech University flew back to Lubbock.
There were still half a month until the Big 12 League Championship began, and during this time, they had a few warm-up games to play, but none were important.
Moreover, some players found that even winning the invitational tournament championship wasn’t that important.
On the plane, Xu Ling’s roommate Roderick Craig complained, “Why did we work so hard to win fifty thousand US Dollars in prize money, only to end up with just a 500 US Dollar student stipend each? Is this fair?”
His teammates around him chimed in one after another, their faces full of injustice and confusion.
“Be content, rookies!” Dora was complaining too, but he turned and wrapped his thick arm around Xu Ling’s neck beside him, grinning, “At least this 500 bucks is enough for us to have a good drink at ‘Double Peak Bar’! Eli, you’re not old enough to drink legally yet, right? Haha, when the time comes, your senior will treat you to juice!”
Xu Ling was choked and struggling to breathe, forcefully prying his arm open a bit: “Daryl, I suggest you save the money.”
“Save money? Why?” Dora had a “you’re crazy” look on his face, “Listen, Eli, when you reach my age—senior year! You’ll understand that the fun of life is in seizing the day! Training, games, then having a drink—that’s college life! Think about those girls screaming for us!”
“Is that why you can average 10 rebounds per game but only grab 6?” Xu Ling asked teasingly.
The smile on Dora’s face froze instantly, then turned into an exaggerated pained expression: “Oh! You hurt me, brother! Your words hurt more than Coach Knight’s roaring!”
But he quickly reverted to his cheerful self, slapping Xu Ling hard on the back: “But you’re right, I should save some money—at least enough to buy a new pair of sneakers, haha!”
Seeing Dora’s carefree attitude, Xu Ling couldn’t help but smile too.
This was Daryl Dora—you could hardly truly get mad at him, nor could you motivate him to give 100% effort. He was like a sponge wrapped in talent, absorbing all the pressure and then effortlessly releasing it, always maintaining a happy, relaxed vibe.
Then, the others continued complaining about the prize money distribution.
Because this wasn’t any kind of subsidy at all—it was outright charity.
Fifty thousand US Dollars was a massive sum for college players still worrying about living expenses, enough to change their situations. It could pay for tuition, ease family burdens, and no matter how it was used, it would make them ecstatic. However, the vast majority of this prize money vanished into thin air, flowing into the depths of the massive, mysterious NCAA machine.
The coach and the school’s management sat in first class, basking in the halo and praise of victory, likely fobbing them off with “bringing glory to the school” and “honor above money.”
But the reality was that their contracts and salaries were the real “honor” in cold, hard cash.
They reaped huge benefits from these young players’ sweat and effort—whether sponsor contracts, television broadcast rights, or ticket revenue—these figures had nothing to do with the players. The players were like the cheapest labor in the NCAA’s massive commercial empire, taking meager “subsidies” while bearing all the risks and pressure of keeping the empire running.
Xu Ling wasn’t very clear on all these ins and outs, but the fact was crystal clear: fifty thousand US Dollars, and what they got was 500 student stipends each. Moreover, the coaching staff explicitly stated it was due to NCAA-related rules.
The team could give at most this amount within the rules; if the players really wanted prize money distributed by effort, that was fine too—the cost would be graduating from college basketball right now, never able to play for the team again.
Of course, no one would give up NCAA eligibility for this “small change.”
But complaining was inevitable.
After returning to Lubbock, Texas Tech University welcomed back captain Julius Jackson; his grades now met the requirements, so he could continue representing the team.
This was undoubtedly a shot in the arm for the Red Raiders.
“Where’s our Michael Jordan?”
Jackson asked about Xu Ling.
Roderick Craig said, “Eli will arrive late today; he has to do an interview with the school newspaper.”
“Not surprising for TTU’s MJ.”
Jackson could only say sourly.
Basketball wasn’t TTU’s strong suit, or rather, basketball at TTU was just in its proper place.
Football was TTU’s core sports program.
TTU sent players to the NFL every few years, while the basketball team hadn’t produced a proper NBA player in a long time.
Unless they achieved historic success, it was hard for basketball players to get attention from the school newspaper.
Xu Ling getting this opportunity wasn’t just because he helped the team win the Pete Newell Invitational Tournament, but also because his “hype” during the invitational was having lasting effects.
Since the mid-20th century, American media liked to portray East Asians as “excellent but quiet” groups—they followed rules, didn’t show off, didn’t cause trouble, sometimes making it hard to tell if they were reserved or cowardly. Bruce Lee briefly shattered this stereotype, his “be like water” philosophy still flowing through history, but he died young and couldn’t build a lasting spiritual legacy for Asians.
Decades passed, and when Yao Ming landed in the NBA with Wembanyama-level expectations, he was outstanding enough but ultimately not great enough to rewrite the narrative. His polished American humor mixed with Eastern humility only gave the old stereotype a smoother patina. And just as Yao Ming was about to reach his peak, another Chinese player publicly declared he would become the modern Jordan—no buildup, no cushion, like dropping a boulder into a calm lake.
Fans would think, who the hell does he think he is?
The media would think, this guy really has the balls to say it!
Then, in the just-ended invitational tournament, Xu Ling not only dared to say it but also had real strength.
Fans wanted to know about him but had no channels; the media’s nature to chase traffic meant they would hype this up big time.
ESPN college basketball expert Andy Katz（Andy Katz） decisively ate up this traffic; he not only dug into Xu Ling’s news but traced his past, and unexpectedly learned that this out-of-nowhere star had played inside before coming to the United States, yet his fundamentals at the guard position were unusually solid.
Katz wrote in his feature article on Xu Ling: “We can almost be certain that Eli will be Coach Knight’s first NBA player produced at TTU. If he continues progressing, his future will be far beyond just a first round pick.”
The earliest to eat this traffic, draft expert Chuck Ford, wasn’t one to back down; in his signature preview article—”Top 100 Draft”—he ranked Xu Ling at 29th.
This made Xu Ling a campus celebrity.
Teachers became more lenient toward him, classmates were full of enthusiasm—especially the female classmates, who were happy to give Xu Ling chances to come to their dorms to fix things.
Model student, perfect classmate, and top priority dating option on campus—these unexpected gains didn’t blind Xu Ling.
After handling the school newspaper interview, Xu Ling hurried back to Wembley Gymnasium.
“Yo, our superstar is back!” As soon as Xu Ling entered the training hall, Knight shouted, “I thought after winning MVP at the Pete Newell Invitational Tournament, you figured you didn’t need these stupid training sessions anymore!”
Xu Ling explained, “I just had to handle the school newspaper’s invitation.”
“It better be that way!” After yesterday’s “heart-to-heart,” Knight seemed even more annoyed with Xu Ling, “Don’t think you’re such a big deal! Let me tell you, John Roberson（John Roberson PG） has agreed to come to TTU! He’s better than you! More responsible, he’ll do everything you can’t! He’s insanely great!”
Xu Ling rolled his eyes: “Oh, really?”
Poor John Roberson didn’t know that Knight had personally planted a silent landmine for him. When he arrived at Texas Tech University, he’d be mercilessly mocked by the upperclassmen who’d played with Xu Ling: “John, you really do everything Eli won’t—you can’t offense, you can’t defense!”
Knight was famous for whipping players’ self-esteem and insulting their character to temper their spirit; in the past, he’d seize every mistake in training to attack, but since coming to TTU, he’d toned it down a lot.
Xu Ling had reignited Knight’s desire to “be himself.”
But what annoyed Knight was that Xu Ling gave him no opportunity.
No one in Wembley Gymnasium took their training more seriously than Xu Ling.
Whether team conditioning or tactical drills, he executed them meticulously.
Today, something happened that perfectly illustrated his training attitude: after conditioning and tactical training ended, with everyone else resting, Xu Ling called on classmate Charlie Burgess to keep practicing shooting back-to-back.
His reason was that this physically and mentally exhausted state best reflected the reliability of muscle memory.
Burgess’s shooting percentage was abysmal, while Xu Ling made 29 of 30 shots from anywhere beyond the three-point line, but he had to redo it.
Because his goal was 30 for 30.
“Eli, you can train every day; a little flaw won’t change anything,” Burgess told him.
But Xu Ling said, “If I don’t reshoot, I’ll keep thinking about that missed shot; I have to save my mind from the abyss of internal consumption.”
Burgess was dumbfounded.
Though Xu Ling spoke English, he just couldn’t comprehend it and could only comply.
Knight, who originally wanted to give Xu Ling a piece of his mind, watched the training and was left silent.
Xu Ling wasn’t like those kids accepting his tests at all.
Hard to believe, but after months together, Knight found Xu Ling’s maturity astonishing—a mentally mature, extremely disciplined, and supremely talented player. Why? Why wouldn’t he settle down in college to hone his skills like the great players in history?
Knight refused to face the darkness in his heart.
That was his selfishness.
He wanted to coach a truly great player again at the end of his career.
This was an ordinary day for Texas Tech University before the Big 12 League Championship started.
In the following half month, aside from a few irrelevant warm-up games, the rest was the most painful part of the college basketball world—the passion and excitement faded, training became dull and boring. No truly valuable games to prepare for or get excited about, no crowds providing energy or support, just day after day of training—the same faces, same coach, same drills, same teammates.
It was the same in Lubbock. Winter’s cold approached rapidly, days biting, dry, with fierce winds. These weren’t intermittent breezes but bone-chilling, relentless, suffocating gales howling with dust. For this team, the weather and boredom were just part of the difficulty. Beside this glaring winter sunlight loomed a darker shadow.
The shadow of last season.
Every time training performance was poor, the head coach of Texas Tech University Red Raiders would bring up last season.
“If you think I was a terrible bastard last year, you haven’t seen terrible yet,” Knight, somehow reignited with coaching passion, said angrily the next day. “You’d better think about that!”
The team fell silent, only the wind howling outside the gymnasium.
Then, Xu Ling’s voice broke the silence, flat as ever: “Oh.”
He paused, as if just realizing the reason, and added: “That’s because I wasn’t here last year.”
Several teammates ducked their heads sharply, stifling laughter that almost burst out.
Knight’s face instantly turned pig-liver red.
Thanks to I’m Runner-up, Calm Waters, and reader20180205004706851 for the rewards. Formula begs for follows to read, collections, votes—thanks everyone!!
