NBA: Basketball Legend.

Chapter 75: Chapter 75: Chen Yan Wants to Poke Anthony

Chapter 75: Chen Yan Wants to Poke Anthony

Chen Yan jogged back to the defensive end with a laid-back look on his face. In his mind, that last move was just a routine shake. He had no idea that the crowd was losing their minds over it.

Meanwhile, the Nuggets were back on offense. Allen Iverson quickly brought the ball across half court, his braided hair bouncing with every step.

Tactically speaking, Denver might’ve played at a fast pace, but they weren’t a true run-and-gun team. Their offense was mostly half-court sets with quick transitions between offense and defense.

Iverson handed the ball off to Carmelo Anthony at the top of the arc before drifting to the weak side.

Under head coach George Karl—an offensive-minded guy—the Nuggets hadn’t really built a cohesive system. Their ”playbook” was essentially Iverson iso, then Melo iso. Rinse and repeat.

The two-man game between the ”Golden Guns” barely existed. They operated in silos, with each taking turns going one-on-one. Sure, you’d see some passes in transition, but even then, they were more for show than substance. It lacked purpose, rhythm.

That might fly in the regular season, but in the playoffs? It’s a different beast. That’s why this flashy duo never truly went far.

The moment Anthony touched the ball, the rest of the Nuggets stopped moving. Their off-ball movement? Nonexistent.

Melo had elite scoring skills, no doubt—but his shot selection? Questionable at best. Nine out of ten times, he was gonna take matters into his own hands. Ball movement died in his hands like a black hole.

Raja Bell was draped all over him, bodying up hard. Anthony, undeterred, tried to bully his way inside using his strength. Even though he was listed as a small forward, Melo played like a bruising power forward.

As soon as he muscled Bell off and spun inside, whoosh—Chen Yan came flying in from the blind side!

[God-Level Steal: Activated!]

”Snap!”

A clean, surgical swipe—the ball was gone before Melo even realized what happened.

As Anthony blinked in confusion, the Suns were already pushing the break.

Phoenix lived and breathed fast breaks. Run-and-gun wasn’t just a tactic—it was in their DNA.

Chen Yan took one hard dribble and dished it to Steve Nash, who was already shifting gears. Nobody orchestrated a break better than Nash—his vision turned chaos into poetry.

Stoudemire sprinted right down the lane, and Chen Yan veered to the left wing, cutting hard off the ball.

Anthony? He didn’t even bother to chase. That’s just how his defense always was—lazy, disengaged.

Only Iverson hustled back. Even with age catching up to him, AI still had wheels.

Chen Yan reached the left-wing three-point area and suddenly slowed down, then cut hard diagonally!

Nash read it in real time. No hesitation. He flicked a sharp one-handed pass, threading the needle right to Chen Yan.

Chen caught it mid-stride and took a hard right-foot step toward the paint.

Iverson stayed glued to him, not giving an inch.

Chen responded by floating the ball just over AI’s head, taking a long left step... then slowed everything down.

He didn’t pull out any of his signature phantom footwork this time—just a smooth, controlled three-step finish.

Bucket.

52–44.

That play? Pure IQ. Chen knew exactly how to exploit Iverson’s biggest weakness—height.

AI had lost a step or two over the years, and his physical decline made his size disadvantage even more glaring.

One of the Nuggets’ stars couldn’t defend, and the other didn’t want to defend.

With both of them on the floor, Denver’s defense was Swiss cheese—and this possession proved it.

Back the other way, Anthony demanded the ball again.

He wasn’t gonna let that steal slide.

Same spot: right side, 45-degree angle. But this time, he didn’t force his way inside.

He took a couple of jab steps, sized up Raja Bell, then rose up for a mid-range jumper.

”Swish!”

Melo still had that soft touch. 52–46.

Boris Diaw quickly inbounded, and just like that, the Suns’ ”7 Seconds or Less” offense roared back into action.

As soon as they crossed half court, Nash fired a long hit-ahead pass to—you guessed it—Chen Yan.

In this run-and-gun system, Chen was always the first man up the floor. He was Nash’s go-to target on fast breaks.

Chen caught the pass and turned to attack—but Linas Kleiza was already in front of him.

Kleiza wasn’t the most athletic, but he had solid instincts and a strong frame. He bodied up Chen, refusing to give him any room to build speed.

Chen didn’t force the issue. He backed out, retreating a few steps to create space.

Kleiza hesitated, afraid of getting blown by.

That was all Chen Yan needed...

The very next second, Chen Yan looked up, held the ball, planted his feet, and raised his center of gravity.

Seeing the setup, Linas Kleiza immediately read the move—jump shot incoming. Without hesitation, he extended his right hand and lunged forward.

But right as Kleiza closed the distance, Chen Yan pushed the ball forward and to the side. With a low bow of his body, he slid past Kleiza with ease!

It was a rare move from Chen Yan—not because he couldn’t do it, but because he rarely needed to. With a ball-handling attribute of [90], he had the control to pull off any dribble move in the book. It was just a matter of style versus necessity.

”Wow! That was filthy! Man, that’s one of the cleanest crossovers I’ve seen all night!” Barkley exploded in commentary, clearly hyped.

”If Kleiza hadn’t bit on the fake, Chen would’ve pulled up and drained that jumper. Either way, it was a bucket waiting to happen,” Kenny Smith added, shaking his head like a seasoned vet who’d seen it all.

Back on the floor, after breezing past Kleiza, Chen Yan drove into the paint.

Waiting for him was Marcus Camby.

Camby, the reigning block champ for two straight seasons and last year’s Defensive Player of the Year, stood his ground like a seasoned wall of iron. He wasn’t backing down—his rim protection was his pride.

Just outside the restricted area, Chen Yan hit him with a sudden change of direction—one hard step to the right, then lift-off for a slick layup.

Smooth. Stylish. Cold.

Camby was caught leaning, and by the time he reacted, it was too late. The ball kissed off the glass and dropped through.

Before the Suns could even celebrate, the Nuggets were already pushing the pace.

Fast breaks? The Suns weren’t the only ones who knew how to run.

Allen Iverson snatched the inbound and exploded up the floor, blazing past half-court in seconds.

In the paint, Steve Nash anticipated the drive and planted himself just inside the restricted area.

BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!

The whistle shrieked as Iverson and Nash collided and both hit the hardwood.

Offensive foul!

The home crowd erupted. It was textbook Nash.

Say what you want about his defense—yeah, he’s a liability one-on-one—but Nash was elite at drawing charges. Dude turned flopping into an art form.

Smart and calculated, Nash knew his wiry frame wasn’t built for battling in the post. So, he leaned fully into baiting the refs and sacrificing his body.

Iverson got up, visibly frustrated.

”Man, c’mon! He wasn’t even set!” he muttered, glaring at the nearest ref.

That glare cost him.

Technical foul.

No hesitation from the official.

Iverson looked stunned, hands spread as if to say, ”For real?” But before he could argue further, his teammates pulled him away. Everyone in the league knew—Iverson got no love from the refs. Never did.

Back in his Sixers days, there were even rumors that referees held pregame meetings just to strategize how to ”humble” him. Unofficial policy. Official results.

George Karl didn’t want things to spiral, so he pulled Iverson out for a breather.

The game resumed.

Off the restart, Nash ran a high screen and passed to the corner—Raja Bell for three!

Clank. No good.

Boris Diaw hustled in and tipped the ball into the air.

Players from both sides scrambled near the top of the arc.

Chen Yan came out on top—quick reflexes, suction-cup hands. He secured the ball and scanned the floor.

Mismatch alert.

Standing in front of him now... Carmelo Anthony.

Boom! Boom!

Chen found his rhythm and hit Melo with a nasty step-back, followed by a quick hip switch.

He’d already shaken Iverson earlier. Then shook Kleiza. But Anthony?

No dice.

Because Carmelo never even moved.

You can’t shake a man who doesn’t play defense.

Chen paused mid-dribble, blinking in disbelief.

Bro was just watching him go through the motions like he was a spectator.

One step outside the paint, Chen pulled up.

Quick stop. Smooth jumper.

Splash.

Camby tried to contest, but he was a step too late—again.

As the ball swished through the net, Camby shot a side-eye at Melo. Wanted to say something. Didn’t.

What’s there to say? Melo was the face of the Nuggets. The franchise player. You don’t call out the boss in front of everyone, even if he’s playing matador defense.

Chen Yan noticed too.

People say Melo’s got a million offensive moves and zero defensive ones. Tonight, Chen was starting to believe it—and was tempted to expose every single crack in Melo’s defense...

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