Chapter 130: Texas Sunset
As the season entered late March, the signals of the regular season’s end became increasingly clear.
The Eastern Conference was still dominated by the Celtics.
Losing to the Grizzlies was big news in March, but in the long term, it was just one loss in the regular season. For the green-clad army expected to win over 60 games, it didn’t require investing too much extra emotion.
The Western Conference, however, still had fierce and brutal playoff competition.
At this stage, the Western Conference’s competitiveness had become exaggerated and extreme.
Even without the Grizzlies led by Xu Ling, this was a division that put immense pressure on all Western Conference teams. Just think about how to make the playoffs in this division, you need 50 wins, and it’s still not guaranteed—this was unprecedented competitive intensity.
Believe me, this was more suffocating than the big belly of Imai Yuta pressing on Suzuki Haru’s heart.
Now, with Xu Ling, this pressure and competition had risen to another level.
The Lakers, who were supposed to rob Memphis for Pau Gasol this year and achieve the Western Conference first record, fell due to the Judgment Dunk. Kobe was traded to the Mavericks, giving birth to a second super team, while the Lakers got consolation prizes like Pau Gasol, Mike Miller, and Devin Harris, but basically had no competitiveness left.
Even before the Kobe trade, they had been on a losing streak, and now they had simply withdrawn from the playoff race.
However, the Grizzlies, who were supposed to finish 22 wins and 60 losses ranking third from the bottom in the Western Conference, were currently at 40 wins and 29 losses, ranking ninth in the Western Conference.
Above them were the 41-win 27-loss Golden State Warriors and the Denver Nuggets. The win-loss outcomes between these three teams would have a profound impact on the Western Conference standings.
On March 22, the Grizzlies welcomed their final matchup of the season against the Sacramento Kings—this seemingly ordinary game became the most symbolic battle of the entire season.
Just the day before, the Denver Nuggets suffered a brutal crushing by the Dallas Mavericks in a back-to-back game. Kobe and Nowitzki combined for a terrifying 94 points, completely routing the Nuggets.
Facing the division leader similarly, but with vastly different outcomes: the Grizzlies defeated the league-first Celtics, while the Nuggets were crushed by the Southwest Division top-seeded Mavericks. In this one win and one loss, the Denver people handed the playoff spot initiative to Memphis.
The current Kings had long shed the glory of that glamorous team from the early 2000s, sliding into another low valley like most of their dark years in team history.
But at this moment, no one knew that this slump would last for many years.
Tonight, they came lightly equipped, only hoping to create some trouble for the Grizzlies who came from afar.
At the start of the season, Ron Artest had once given Xu Ling considerable trouble.
But times had changed, and Xu Ling no longer needed to venture into the dragon’s den alone—he now had reliable teammates by his side.
Josh Howard delivered his best performance in a Grizzlies jersey on this night.
He not only successfully limited Artest on defense, but also became an unsolvable isolation play machine on offense, slashing 32 points for the game.
Xu Ling rarely enjoyed a win-by-lying-down experience, playing a supporting role throughout while still contributing the team’s second-highest 20 points. Jason Kidd then delivered a triple-double with 10 points, 11 rebounds, and 15 assists, perfectly orchestrating the whole team.
When the final whistle blew, the Grizzlies secured a resounding away victory, officially tying the Nuggets in record.
Due to the head-to-head advantage, the Grizzlies instantly surpassed the Nuggets in ranking, returning to the Western Conference playoff picture for the first time since falling out of the top eight two months ago.
“Eli, before you got injured in January, the Grizzlies were Western Conference eighth. Did you think back then that it would take two months to get back into this group?”
That night, 《Memphis Commercial Appeal》 reporter Frank Merto asked Xu Ling this question.
“Just getting back into this group isn’t enough,” Xu Ling replied. “We need to make the playoffs, and we have twelve games left. We don’t want to be the only team in the Southwest Division that doesn’t make the playoffs.”
This statement was the reality the Grizzlies had to face.
They were in a brutal division: Western Conference first Mavericks, Western Conference second Hornets, the Rockets who had just ended a 22-game win streak, defending champion Spurs.
This was definitely the most terrifying competition a single division could produce in NBA history.
Moreover, the Grizzlies, who had just entered Western Conference eighth, still had a tough hurdle to overcome.
They would head to Texas next to face the Rockets and Spurs in a row.
Fortunately, the Nuggets’ schedule at the end of the season was equally unoptimistic, so the opportunity remained equal for both sides.
Just as the Grizzlies departed for Texas and arrived in Houston, Xu Ling got off the plane but heard a piece of news from Roderick Craig.
“Eli, did you hear?” Craig said. “Coach Knight might be retiring.”
This news stunned Xu Ling.
Since entering the NBA, he had rarely paid attention to NCAA matters.
Over the past year, he had spoken with Knight a few times, and Knight had texted him; they had some contact but not frequently.
Xu Ling hadn’t expected Knight to choose retirement at this time.
But it didn’t seem surprising either.
Knight’s age had reached that point anyway; most veteran coaches put down the whistle at that age, after all, human energy is limited, especially for veterans.
“Has the press conference been called?” Xu Ling asked.
“Not yet.”
“When?”
※※※
Bob Knight stood in front of the mirror, his fingers clumsily adjusting the tie knot. It was a deep red tie, the red of Texas Tech “Red Raiders.”
He rarely dressed this formally; usually, that black sweater with worn cuffs was his full armor.
But today was different.
Today was a funeral. The funeral of his own career.
The tie knot skewed under Knight’s fingers like a defeated drunkard; he muttered a curse and nearly yanked it off to throw it away.
This thing was harder than designing a defense against Michael Jordan in a college game.
Jordan. That name made Knight pause, his thoughts drifting back to 1984, that note saying “Coach, after all this shit, we absolutely won’t lose tonight,” that golden summer that put him at the top.
Back then he was forty-three, had won everything, and thought good things would last forever.
Now, he was sixty-eight, standing here today, ready to tell the world: I’m done.
The door was lightly knocked, and his son Pat poked his head in. “Dad, it’s about time.”
Knight took one last look at the veteran in the mirror.
Sparse white hair, deep bags under his eyes, the dignity in his brow that once silenced the whole team now replaced by a deeper fatigue. He gave up on the tie and simply undid the top button of his shirt.
Screw propriety. He was never a proper person.
“Let’s go.”
The general’s voice was a bit hoarse.
The corridor to the press conference was long and quiet.
Knight could hear the dull thuds of basketballs hitting the floor from the adjacent Wembley Training Hall—that sound used to be his heartbeat.
Now, that heartbeat belonged to someone else.
Not long ago, Texas Tech University had been knocked out in the first round of March Madness.
It was an ugly loss.
The players buzzed like headless flies, and he stood on the sidelines, finding his old tricks of roaring, berating, and smashing the tactical board completely ineffective.
You can’t expect people who won’t fight hard to go all out, nor those with limited talent to create miracles beyond their capacity.
That disappointment strangled Knight’s convictions; they could no longer find a magical rookie to lead them beyond the shackles of talent.
At that moment, Knight knew it was time. This wasn’t some impulsive mid-season resignation, but a complete, dignified—if that word could apply to him—retirement.
At the Texas Tech University press conference site, flashbulbs flickered like a swarm of restless fireflies, the buzzing whispers instantly silencing as Knight walked in.
Knight saw many familiar faces.
The school’s athletics director, longtime friends, and assistant coaches who never left even in his darkest times.
Their eyes were complex, mixing respect and regret, perhaps with a hint of imperceptible relief.
Finally, this old monster was leaving.
Knight sat down and adjusted the microphone.
In front of him was a sea of heads and lenses; he felt like an outdated exhibit.
“I know why you’re here,” Knight began. “For over forty years, I’ve stood on the sidelines, telling a group of kids how to play ball, how to win, how to stand up like a man after losing.”
But the era defined by Knight was over, just like the 20th century that could never return.
The end was a complete end.
“I guess some people think I’m outdated. That my stuff doesn’t work anymore. Maybe they’re right.” Knight almost smirked self-mockingly. “Today’s kids, they think more, they have their own ideas. They’re not like Isiah Thomas, not like you, Pat. They’re not even like Julius Jackson.”
Knight surprisingly mentioned that name, the captain he once angrily accused of “abandoning us,” who later led—or was led by?—the （team?） to a championship. Not “that name.”
“A year ago, we stood on the mountaintop.” Knight’s voice warmed with genuine emotion. “That was one of the most special championships of my life. Not because of the trophy, but because of that team, those kids—they made this old guy believe miracles still happen in college basketball.”
Someone in the audience nodded lightly, eyes gleaming. That was the look only those who shared that fairy-tale season would understand.
“But fairy tales always end.” Knight’s tone turned sharp and cold again. “The champion banner is up, the victory scent has faded, and the ones who should leave have left.”
Knight never mentioned that name. But everyone present knew who he meant.
That Chinese guy. The biggest surprise and brightest shooting star in Bob Knight’s coaching career. The bastard who shut him up with “Wait till I win one,” then actually went and won one. The genius he knew he couldn’t keep but still tried to bind with “leader” responsibility. The unbound one who left decisively after winning everything—he wouldn’t return; that was foreseeable.
This prompted Knight’s final decision.
Because he was old. Because he knew he’d never find a player like that again. Because it was the afterglow of his brilliant career, the last beam of light God gave him before total darkness.
Now the light shone farther away, and it was time for him to go.
“I’ve been thinking, when to stop.” Knight continued. “I came to Texas Tech to prove I could still do it. Prove I could take a mid-tier team to the top. I almost did; last year we were at the top. But then what? Then you find the wind at the top is fierce, you can’t stand steady. You find the era has changed, recruiting is harder than ever, kids no longer fear your roaring, they have their own ideas, their own plans. This team, this program needs a new voice, new energy.”
Knight took a deep breath, ready to say the line he’d practiced many times.
“So today, I decide”
At that moment, the side door of the press conference was gently pushed open. A figure walked in against the light.
His posture was upright, his steps composed, clashing with the somewhat outdated sports atmosphere in the room.
The crowd stirred with murmurs rippling like water waves.
Flashbulbs flashed wildly again, but this time, the focus wasn’t on Knight onstage, but on the uninvited guest.
Knight’s words caught in his throat. He narrowed his eyes, adjusting to the light, then he saw that face clearly.
It was Eli Xu.
He looked different.
No longer the freshman sweating in the training hall with provocative and smug eyes.
He was leaner, with sharper muscle lines, his face carrying composure and confidence.
He was an All-Star starter, the hope of the Memphis Grizzlies, a star fighting on the Western Conference playoff edge, the one who ended the Lakers’ season, the one who shook his finger at LeBron James, the NBA’s next superstar—how could he be here? At this time, shouldn’t he be preparing for tonight’s game or on a plane to the next away game?
Xu Ling ignored the surrounding commotion, walked straight to the front row of the press conference, found an empty seat and sat down, then raised his head to meet Knight’s shocked gaze. His face showed no smile, no arrogant posture, just calm observation.
In that moment, all the surging emotions in Knight’s heart—resentment at being discarded by the era, unwillingness at the passing golden years, nostalgia for past glory—suddenly and strangely calmed.
This kid. This kid he once wanted to strangle but couldn’t help being proud of. He came. At this moment when everyone came to his funeral, he flew over from that higher, shinier league in his busy schedule.
Knight felt his throat tighten. He cleared it and finished the interrupted words in a gentle yet firm tone: “I decide, effective today, to formally end my career as head coach of the Texas Tech University men’s basketball team. Retiring from the basketball world.”
Bob Knight’s era thus came to a close.
Some reporters wanted to interview Xu Ling on the spot, but Xu Ling declined interviews.
Some reporters learned that the Grizzlies were currently in Texas preparing for an away game, so Xu Ling could make the time.
Now, Knight’s retirement announcement was made, the press conference ended, and outsiders needed to leave.
Xu Ling went with Knight and others from Texas Tech University to the Wembley Training Hall.
Above the arena hung the 2007 NCAA national champion banner and the Final Four MOP jersey.
“Look who came,” Knight’s voice regained its old gruffness, but with an odd warmth. “A damn NBA All-Star player, not properly preparing for games, but running over to an old guy’s retirement press conference.”
Some people laughed, but more held back out of respect for Knight’s dignity.
“Coach,” Xu Ling said, “I just wanted to hear firsthand how you’d curse me in your retirement speech.”
More people laughed, even Knight couldn’t help grinning.
“Curse you?” Knight snorted. “I can’t curse you anymore now. You’re an NBA All-Star worth tens of millions; if I cursed you like before, your fans would tear this old bone apart.”
Knight paused, his gaze sweeping the room again, finally settling on Xu Ling. In that moment, all the complex emotions in his eyes turned to undisguised pride.
“But listen up, kid.” Knight looked at him, just like countless times in the training hall before. “I’m retired, doesn’t mean I’m dead. I’ll be watching you on TV. If you shame us TTU out there, I’ll buy a ticket, fly to Memphis, and curse you in front of everyone! I mean it!”
Xu Ling stood there, his smile deepening; he nodded.
“Waiting anytime, coach.”
Today Xu Ling met old teammates and some new freshmen he hadn’t seen; after the greetings, Xu Ling followed Knight to his office, where the owner was about to change to Knight’s son Pat Knight.
Knight gently stroked the desk and said to Xu Ling, “You shouldn’t have come.”
There was no blame in Knight’s tone.
“I know,” Xu Ling replied. “But I had to.”
“Your game…”
“There’s time.”
Knight looked at the young man before him, the “period” of his coaching career and the final exclamation point he left to the basketball world. He suddenly recalled that insolent thing Xu Ling once said: “Now I finally understand. This is why Larry Bird would never play for you no matter what.”
Now, he sort of got it. It wasn’t that his way was completely wrong, but some people, like Bird, like Xu Ling, their souls could never be fully tamed. They needed a broader sky. And he, perhaps once tried to clip their wings, but ultimately pushed them into the heights himself.
Was this another form of success?
Knight extended his hand, not for a handshake, but to clap Xu Ling heavily on the shoulder.
“Go,” Knight said. “Do what you’re supposed to do.”
Xu Ling had delivered his sentiment; he knew some things didn’t need more words.
“Take care, coach.”
Xu Ling turned and left, as suddenly as he came.
Knight stood there, watching him disappear through the door.
A moment later, Pat Knight came over and softly asked, “Dad, you okay?”
Knight didn’t answer. He turned and looked out the window; Lubbock’s sun was still scorching.
“That’s it,” he said to his son. “I’m going home.”
