NBA: Basketball Legend.

Chapter 234: Chapter 234: Is There Really No Difference Between the Playoffs and the Regular Season?

Chapter 234: Is There Really No Difference Between the Playoffs and the Regular Season?

Far from being discouraged, Allen Iverson looked even more fired up after being singled out by Chen Yan.

On Denver’s next possession, Iverson motioned for the ball at the top of the key. Anthony Carter passed to him and immediately set a screen on Chen Yan. After the switch, Iverson found himself one-on-one with Steve Nash.

This was exactly what coach George Karl had drawn up. The Nuggets’ backcourt—Carter and Iverson—might have been undersized defensively, but the Suns had a weak point too. Nash’s lack of defensive strength was no secret.

Two quick crossovers later, Iverson found his rhythm. He exploded forward, cutting past Nash like a blur. Amar’e Stoudemire stepped up to contest, but Iverson didn’t hesitate.

He rose through contact and finished in midair, drawing the foul. Stoudemire crashed to the floor hard, while Iverson landed lightly and looked down, chest heaving.

This version of Iverson hadn’t been seen in a while—attacking the paint with that fearless aggression. Anthony and Camby rushed over to help him up, but AI waved them off, tapping his chest before walking to the free-throw line.

”Iverson looks determined tonight,” Kenny Smith said from the booth.

”That’s what makes Allen special,” Barkley replied. ”He’s undersized, always hurt, but never afraid. He’s a warrior.”

Iverson sank both free throws. 4–4.

The Suns set up their offense on the next possession. Diaw quickly pulled up from the baseline, but the Nuggets got back in transition, cutting off the fast break.

Nash dribbled past half court, using a Stoudemire screen to shift laterally before swinging the ball to Raja Bell. Seeing no opening, Bell passed to Diaw at the free-throw line. Diaw held the ball high, scanning for options, then spotted Chen Yan beyond the arc.

Whenever the Suns’ offense stalled, it was Chen who stepped up to create.

He caught the ball at a forty-five-degree angle beyond the three-point line, holding it with one hand. The crowd erupted—this was his signature stance.

Almost every NBA player could palm the ball, but few made it look as natural and smooth as Chen Yan. Jordan did it in his prime. McGrady too, though his conditioning had long faded.

Chen waved off the screen. Against Iverson, he didn’t need it.

He lowered his stance and drove hard to the right. No fancy crossovers—Iverson’s hands were lightning fast, and his low center of gravity made it dangerous to over-dribble.

One dribble, two steps, then a sudden stop.

Chen rose into a pull-up jumper, his form effortless. Iverson jumped to contest, but Chen’s elevation was higher, his release quicker.

Swish!

6–4, Suns.

The fans erupted again. That sound—the pure net snap—was addictive.

”Chen Yan’s shot is automatic,” Kenny Smith said. ”His balance, his control—it’s textbook.”

”Iverson’s playing good defense,” Barkley added, ”but Chen’s just on another level right now.”

George Karl wasn’t pleased. He sprang up from the sidelines, waving frantically. ”Allen! Switch off him! Kenyon, you take Chen!”

The adjustment was coming.

Kenyon Martin, though a power forward, was agile for his size and often used as a defensive stopper. George Karl had deployed him to guard Kobe Bryant before—now he wanted him to handle Chen Yan.

Before the game, Karl had considered starting Martin on Chen right away. But that would’ve forced Carmelo Anthony to play inside, something the star forward wasn’t thrilled about.

George Karl couldn’t care less about his star player’s pride. From the sidelines, he could see exactly what was happening—Chen Yan was treating Iverson like an ATM, withdrawing points at will. If Iverson kept guarding him one-on-one, the Nuggets wouldn’t stand a chance.

Denver had to change something.

On their next offensive possession, Anthony Carter brought the ball up the court and handed it off to Iverson. But this time, Iverson didn’t hold onto it for long. He quickly lobbed the ball to Carmelo Anthony, who caught it near the free-throw line at a forty-five-degree angle.

It was Anthony’s first real touch since the game began. Even though Iverson was the initiator, everyone knew this was still Melo’s team. AI had to keep him involved.

Anthony squared up, the ball tight in his hands. He settled into his familiar triple-threat stance—though everyone in the arena knew it was more of a double-threat. Passing wasn’t exactly part of his DNA.

He jab-stepped once. Then again. Then a third time, rocking his defender back with those rhythmic feints.

Suddenly, Melo rose up, fluid and balanced, for his signature mid-range jumper.

The form was perfect. The result wasn’t.

Clank! The ball rattled off the rim.

Stoudemire snagged the rebound and immediately fired the outlet to Nash.

The Suns were on the move.

Nash sprinted up the floor with Bell and Chen Yan flanking him on both sides—a textbook Phoenix fast break forming a V-shaped attack.

Only Iverson and Carter were back for Denver.

Three-on-two. And both defenders were undersized.

Nash crossed half court, eyes scanning. From the free-throw line, he flicked the ball high into the air.

Chen Yan timed his run perfectly, took off, and caught it midflight.

BOOM!

He hammered home the alley-oop with both hands, his body soaring above the rim. Iverson and Carter could only stare, frozen.

8–4, Suns.

”Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhh!”

The entire arena erupted. The dunk was monstrous, the kind that made highlight reels before the night was over.

”Unbelievable! What a slam by Chen Yan!” the TNT commentator shouted. ”That’s what playoff basketball is all about!”

Barkley laughed, half in disbelief. ”I’m telling you, that kid jumps as high as Nash throws!”

The Suns’ bench leapt up, and the cheerleaders spun into rhythm with the roaring crowd.

Even Iverson and Carter exchanged a look—they’d seen it all in their careers, but this? This was different. The Suns’ energy was suffocating.

Still, George Karl didn’t call for a timeout. He gestured wildly from the sideline, signaling his players to adjust on the fly.

Denver pushed the ball up again, this time clearing out the strong side to let Anthony go to work in isolation.

Melo faced up Raja Bell, pounding the ball with intent. This time, he didn’t settle for a jumper.

He spun hard into the lane, backing Bell down and powering toward the rim.

Bell tried to hold his ground, but Melo’s strength was too much.

Bang!

Anthony drew contact and threw up a high-arcing shot—but it rimmed out again.

”Foul! That’s a foul!” Anthony shouted, glaring at the official and slapping his forearm.

The referee ignored him. Playoff whistles were tighter, and this was Phoenix’s home court—there wasn’t much sympathy to be found here.

While Melo argued, the Suns wasted no time. Nash grabbed the rebound and darted down the left wing.

This time, the Nuggets hustled back fast—Carter, Iverson, and Kenyon Martin sprinted to get set.

Nash slowed for a moment, reading the defense. Then, just as Iverson and Carter closed in, he flicked his wrist and sent a lightning-quick pass across the court.

It hit Chen Yan perfectly in rhythm, sixty degrees beyond the right three-point line.

The pass was so sharp, Chen didn’t even need to adjust his stance.

Kenyon Martin lunged toward him, desperate to contest.

Chen simply raised his eyes, faked a step forward, and watched as Martin flew right past him like a gust of wind.

The crowd laughed as Martin stumbled forward, nearly colliding with the baseline cameraman. Somewhere in the background, the sound of ”I Believe I Can Fly” practically played in everyone’s head.

Chen waited a beat, the arena holding its breath.

Then—release.

Swish!

11–4, Suns.

Chen’s first three-pointer of the playoffs. First shot, first make.

The roar that followed was deafening.

George Karl had seen enough. ”Timeout!” he shouted, waving furiously.

The Nuggets trudged back to the bench, faces grim.

Meanwhile, the broadcast booth was alive with excitement.

”Chen Yan just went on a personal 9-0 run!” Kenny Smith said, half-shouting over the crowd noise.

”Man, this is wild,” Barkley added, shaking his head. ”He’s scoring like it’s a Sunday pickup game. There’s no hesitation, no pressure—he’s completely in control.”

”This is supposed to be the playoffs,” Kenny said, laughing. ”But right now, it looks like just another regular season night for him!”

The camera panned to the Suns’ bench—players laughing, high-fiving, while the fans chanted Chen’s name.

From the first block on Iverson to the alley-oop and the three-pointer, Chen Yan was on fire.

And as the TNT commentary summed it up perfectly:

”Is there really any difference between the playoffs and the regular season for this kid?”

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