NBA: Basketball Legend.

Chapter 130: Chapter 130: Shake Off the Defender Without the Ball and Dunk Over Duncan!

Chapter 130: Shake Off the Defender Without the Ball and Dunk Over Duncan!

Gregg Popovich stood on the sideline, clearly frustrated with his team’s performance on both ends of the floor.

Manu Ginobili was struggling, Tony Parker couldn’t find his rhythm, and the Spurs’ offense had completely stalled out.

Defensively? Even worse. Chen Yan was slicing through their defense like it wasn’t even there. The Suns had turned up the pace, executing the kind of run-and-gun transition game that Popovich hated most.

During a dead ball, Popovich finally made the call.

It was time to sub in the big man.

Tim Duncan stood from the bench, his face calm and unreadable. He bumped fists with Matt Bonner as he jogged onto the court.

Spurs possession.

Duncan wasted no time making his presence felt.

Despite being double-teamed by Matt Barnes and Kelenna Azubuike in the paint, he powered through contact and banked in a shot—plus the foul.

”Mine!”

”That’s on me!”

Barnes and Azubuike both raised their hands, taking responsibility for the mistake. Giving up an and-one to Duncan in the paint was unacceptable.

Chen Yan jogged over, giving them a reassuring slap on the back.

”Don’t sweat it. Might end up a 2-for-0. His free throws ain’t exactly automatic these days.”

While Duncan was lauded for his textbook fundamentals, free throws had always been the weakest part of his game. He started his career solid—around 70%—but in recent seasons, his percentage had mysteriously plummeted to the low 60s.

Clang!

Just like Chen predicted, Duncan’s free throw clanked off the front rim. The arc was flat, the touch off.

The Suns secured the rebound and transitioned into a half-court set.

With Duncan now anchoring the paint, the Spurs’ defense immediately tightened up. Their scheme revolved around Duncan as the defensive quarterback, with Bruce Bowen playing the disruptor on the perimeter. Together, they formed a fan-shaped defense—designed to funnel everything toward Duncan, who could clean up mistakes and alter shots.

Chen Yan took the inbound and pushed toward the lane, shifting gears like a sports car hitting a turbo boost. Bowen trailed him step for step, and Duncan was already stationed under the rim, waiting.

They’d built a trap—one on the perimeter, one under the rim.

No shot window. No pass lanes.

Chen didn’t force it. He backed out beyond the arc, reassessing.

Bowen and Duncan weren’t giving him any breathing room. One from the hip, one from the heels—they were pinching him into the corner.

That’s when Chen spotted Grant Hill drifting toward the top of the key.

Bullet pass—top of the arc.

Hill caught it clean, gave Ginobili a pump fake, and took off.

That first step?

Lightning.

Even in the twilight of his career, Grant Hill still had that first step—the one that once made him the most unguardable wing in the league.

Ginobili bit hard and stumbled. Duncan rotated, trying to help, but he was a beat too late.

Hill floated in the lane and laid it in before Duncan could even get off the ground.

Buckets.

Chen was the first to meet him after the play.

”Yo, Grant! How the hell are you still this quick? You got springs in your shoes or what?”

Hill grinned, catching his breath.

”You pulled the defense just enough. Made my job easy.”

”For real though—can you teach me that first step sometime? I need that juice.”

”Chen, your first step is already nasty. But if you wanna talk footwork, I got you anytime.”

The two shared a laugh as they jogged back on defense.

---

A minute later, Suns head coach Mike D’Antoni called a 20-second timeout. Time was winding down in the first half, and he decided to send his starters back in.

The second unit had held their own, but it wasn’t sustainable to match the Spurs’ starters for long.

Steve Nash stepped off the sideline, wiping sweat from his brow with a towel. He looked like he just got up from a nap—not like someone about to steer an NBA offense.

The Suns had a deeper bench this year. That was huge. In previous seasons, they’d relied heavily on a seven-man rotation. This year, they had at least nine guys who could play solid minutes. Nash’s back issues were under control, partly because he didn’t have to play 38+ minutes every night anymore.

Once Nash checked in, the Spurs adjusted immediately.

Bowen left Chen Yan and glued himself to Nash.

Popovich had always believed: Stop Nash, stop the Suns. Simple as that.

And the pressure came instantly.

Bowen hounded Nash at every turn, bodying him on screens, cutting off his angles. The other Spurs players were locked in too, ready to jump passing lanes and clog space.

Nash didn’t like what he saw.

After running through a series of screens, he tried to create space and pulled up for a midrange jumper.

Brick.

Luckily, Boris Diaw read the bounce perfectly and tapped it back out for an offensive board.

Reset.

Nash took it again, regrouping the offense.

Meanwhile, Chen Yan slipped along the baseline, trying to shake his defender—Michael Finley.

Finley bodied up, refusing to let Chen catch the ball.

That’s when Chen stopped on a dime—then cut back the other way.

Finley leaned too hard... and paid the price.

Down he went.

Stumbled backward and hit the hardwood.

The crowd gasped. Even the Spurs bench winced.

”He shook him without even touching the ball!”

”Yo, Finley might end up on Shaqtin’ a Fool for this!”

”That’s an off-ball ankle breaker if I’ve ever seen one. Straight savage.”

While the fans were going crazy, Chen had already caught the rock at the free-throw line.

Nash had seen the cut developing the entire way. His pass hit Chen in stride—like a quarterback hitting a receiver in the numbers.

Two steps. Launch.

Chen exploded off the floor, sprinting straight at the rim.

Duncan saw it coming. He raised both arms instinctively, trying to contest.

Too late.

”BOOM!!!”

Chen Yan hammered it home over Duncan with a thunderous poster dunk.

The arena erupted.

Even the Suns bench lost their minds.

”OH MY GOD!”

”AND-ONE!”

The whistle blew as Chen hung briefly on the rim before landing.

The Suns’ bench charged the court, mobbing him like they just won a playoff game.

Chest bump! Another chest bump!

Popovich stood still, arms crossed, jaw clenched.

He didn’t call a timeout. He couldn’t afford to.

Three timeouts in four minutes? Nah. Game’s still got a long way to go.

Duncan, still expressionless, walked silently to his spot under the basket, waiting for the free throw.

To anyone else, getting dunked on like that might’ve been a soul-crusher.

But for Tim Duncan?

Just another day at the office.

He was a five-time champion. A two-time MVP. A guy who studied psychology and mastered the art of mental warfare.

You dunk on him? Cool. He’ll get you back with 25 and 15 by the end of the night.

Getting put on a poster wasn’t the end of the world.

Duncan had been dunked on before—hell, it happened more often than people realized.

Not because he was bad at defense, but because he always contested. He never gave up on a play. And he never fouled dirty.

Guys like Karl Malone or Bill Laimbeer? They’d have taken Chen out mid-air.

Duncan? He played it clean.

And that’s why he ended up in highlight reels—for better or worse.

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