NBA: Basketball Legend.

Chapter 132: Chapter 132: Shoot the Spurs to Death and Stun Bowen!

Chapter 132: Shoot the Spurs to Death and Stun Bowen!

”Timeout!”

When Chen Yan make his shot, Popovich decisively called for a timeout.

Pop was famous for cutting off an opponent’s hot hand with timely timeouts, and this one was no exception.

The coaches quickly huddled their players, sketching tactics on the whiteboard. The 20-second short timeout ended in a flash, and both sides returned to the court.

The Spurs had possession, and this was a crucial offensive possession.

After several quick passes, the ball landed in Duncan’s hands.

Duncan didn’t hesitate. He attacked the paint with power, only for Stoudemire to wrap him up with both arms and send him to the free-throw line.

Duncan calmly stepped up—swish on the first, clang on the second.

88–86.

Nash brought the ball across half court and swung it to Chen Yan.

The Suns cleared out, giving him an isolation.

This wasn’t about hierarchy. Everyone on the team knew Chen Yan was their most reliable closer in the half-court set.

The Spurs countered by sending their defensive ace—Bruce Bowen.

Bowen pressed up hard, determined not to allow Chen Yan any daylight for a three.

Chen Yan caught the ball, took two hard steps forward, then stopped on a dime and pulled back.

Bowen stayed with him, his defense tight and disciplined. Chen Yan kept probing, rocking left and right, searching for the slightest crack.

The clock ticked down—eight seconds left.

Chen Yan made his move.

A smooth between-the-legs dribble, then a sudden crossover.

It wasn’t flashy—no exaggerated speed or wide motion. It was bait.

Bowen bit. He lunged in, thinking he could poke the ball free. Too late—Chen Yan slid sideways, and the collision came. Bowen took full responsibility, unable to recover in time.

The whistle blew just as Chen Yan floated into his jumper.

”Swish!”

The shot dropped.

And with it—an and-one!

The arena erupted in boos, but Chen Yan stood unfazed at the line. He calmly sank the free throw.

91–86. The Suns extended the lead to five with 1:39 remaining.

During the stoppage, Popovich made his gamble—he subbed in Robert Horry.

Big Shot Rob.

The man who had buried clutch threes across eras—saving the Rockets in ’95, nearly killing the 76ers’ momentum in ’01, and breaking the Pistons’ hearts in ’05.

If anyone could swing this game with a single shot, it was him.

The Spurs set up. Parker pushed across half court and fed Ginóbili.

The ”Manu Magic” blade unsheathed—Ginóbili slashed into the paint, drawing defenders, then kicked it to Horry on the wing.

A clean look. 45 degrees. Horry rose and fired.

The arc was perfect... but the ball clanged off the rim!

The home crowd groaned in unison. Even luck had abandoned San Antonio tonight.

Chen Yan snatched the rebound and immediately secured it, passing to Nash.

Nash slowed the tempo, dribbling with poise as he directed traffic. Crossing midcourt, he fed Chen Yan once again.

At this stage, there were no elaborate sets. The Suns had one plan: let Chen Yan close.

Bowen pressed tight, locking onto him like glue, an arm across Chen Yan’s waist.

This time, Chen Yan called for a pick. Diaw stepped up at the top of the arc, setting a sturdy screen.

The Spurs switched.

Horry stepped in front of Chen Yan while Bowen fought his way around Diaw. In an instant, the Spurs trapped him with a double-team.

Without hesitation, Chen Yan planted his foot on the three-point line and rose straight into his jumper.

Both defenders leapt, arms extended to smother the shot. Chen Yan, unfazed, forced it up against their outstretched hands.

”Swish!”

Nothing but net.

Four straight mid-range daggers—each one cutting deeper into the Spurs’ hearts.

”Damn! How does he dare to shoot that?”

”Even against a double-team, he makes it look wide open!”

”This is insane—he’s living in the mid-range tonight!”

”We’re watching him shoot the Spurs to death!”

On livestreams back home, Chinese fans hammered their keyboards in excitement.

93–86. The lead stretched to seven, with only 1:11 remaining. Victory was tipping heavily toward Phoenix.

As the shot fell, Nash jogged over and slapped Chen Yan’s hand in celebration. 𝒻𝘳ℯℯ𝑤ℯ𝒷𝘯ℴ𝓋ℯ𝘭.𝑐ℴ𝑚

Nash’s own line was modest—11 points, six assists, shooting under 40 percent. But he didn’t care. Winning was winning. Personal stats meant nothing compared to the scoreboard.

On the sideline, Coach D’Antoni punched the air. Critics had long accused him of freezing in crunch time, unable to adapt. But with Chen Yan on the floor, there was no overthinking—just give him the ball and let him work.

Across the court, Popovich stood in silence. No yelling, no frantic adjustments. Just a helpless stare at Chen Yan’s back.

If only a player like this could wear black and silver...

The Spurs wasted no time. Quick baseline inbound—Parker sprinted into the frontcourt at full throttle.

Nash stepped up, cutting off his path.

Parker had every reason to look for a three, but the chance to attack Nash head-on was too tempting. He lowered his shoulder and drove.

That was exactly what Phoenix wanted.

”Bang!”

Chen Yan exploded from the weak side, blindsiding Parker with a vicious chase-down block off the glass.

”Beautiful!”

”What a night—he’s unstoppable on both ends!”

Commentators Zhang Weiping and Yu Jia nearly shouted over each other, voices breaking with excitement. Chen Yan was completely owning the game.

Snatching the ball after the block, Chen Yan sprinted into transition. He fed Nash, then burst up the floor.

On the break, Nash swung it back—Chen Yan caught it beyond the arc, rose in rhythm, and let it fly.

This was the kill shot. A dagger three to slam the coffin shut on San Antonio.

Bowen lunged from the side, desperate, reckless. His feet slid directly under Chen Yan’s landing spot.

Chen Yan had seen this coming. Bowen’s dirty footwork had been lurking all night—but this time, it was blatant.

Rather than fall into the trap, Chen Yan made his adjustment mid-air.

The ball caromed off the rim—”Bang!”—and the crowd erupted in relief, sensing a slim chance of survival.

But their celebration was cut short by a piercing scream.

Bowen was down, clutching his crotch in agony, his face contorted in pain.

Slow-motion replays told the story. As Chen Yan lifted for the three, his trailing leg swung deliberately—catching Bowen squarely in the groin.

The precision was brutal. Fans worldwide swore they could hear the sound through the broadcast.

Chen Yan glanced down at the writhing defender. His expression cold, almost casual.

A kick before you could even step under me.

The referee’s whistle cut through the chaos. The game halted as Bowen rolled on the hardwood, his teammates gathering around.

Ginóbili stormed over, furious, demanding an explanation.

Raja Bell saw the approach and misread it. Believing Ginóbili meant to start a fight, he lunged from behind and locked him up by the neck.

That was all it took.

Horry, the old fox, immediately rushed in to protect Manu.

From the Suns’ bench, Barnes, Azubuike, and Barea threw their towels aside and bolted onto the court.

In seconds, the hardwood became a battlefield. Tempers flared, bodies collided, and the game teetered on the edge of all-out brawl.

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