NBA: Basketball Legend.

Chapter 325: Chapter 325: Postgame Fire, Chen Yan Snaps at a Reporter

Chapter 325: Postgame Fire, Chen Yan Snaps at a Reporter

The final buzzer hit, and the Suns erupted.

Guys wrapped each other up in hard hugs, shouting over the noise, the kind of relief and joy that only exists when you steal a playoff game on the road. D Antoni was grinning so wide he looked like he had forgotten what stress was. He even popped 2 buttons loose on his dress shirt and started high fiving players like he was part of the rotation.

This win meant more than a box score. Phoenix had ripped home court advantage straight out of Los Angeles.

And if D Antoni was being honest with himself, he had not expected it to happen like this.

Because the Suns did not win with balance tonight. They won with a flamethrower.

Chen Yan.

He did exactly what the coaching staff demanded before the game, he turned off everything except scoring. No extra thinking, no extra hesitation, just a relentless focus on the rim.

Chen Yan took 44 shots.

He made 21, hit 6 of 11 from 3, and went 4 of 6 at the line.

52 points.

2 assists, 2 rebounds, 1 steal, 1 block, 6 turnovers.

The Lakers defense, especially Kobe, leaned on him every possession. The pressure was constant, the contact was nonstop, and the mistakes were unavoidable. Turnovers were the tax you paid when the game felt like a wrestling match in sneakers.

But the flaws did not bury the brilliance. Phoenix won this game on Chen Yan’s back, and everyone in the building knew it.

Some people tried to get cute afterward, saying his 50 plus was empty, padded by volume, built on missed shots. He missed 23, so the argument was convenient.

It was also ridiculous.

Anybody who watched the game could see it. There were no free points to collect in that environment. Every shot came with a body attached to it, every drive was a struggle, every bucket was earned the hard way.

Even as the Suns disappeared into the tunnel, Staples kept howling.

”F**k Chen!”

The chant followed him like a siren that refused to die.

Los Angeles fans felt like they had been beaten by 1 man.

Chen Yan did not care. He had already been a villain in that city during the regular season. Tonight just made the hatred official.

...

In the visitors locker room, after the showers, the interviews started.

Diaw was in such a good mood he brewed coffee like it was a lazy Sunday morning.

Asked about Chen Yan’s performance, the Frenchman took a sip and smiled.

”In my opinion, nobody can do better than him, because he took scoring to the extreme.”

Stoudemire got asked about that final and 1 and just shook his head, laughing.

”Incredible. It didn’t even look like it could go in. His waist was twisted like a pretzel.”

The locker room cracked up.

Most of the media crowd was packed around Chen Yan’s stall. It was becoming routine, even in the Western Conference Finals. If he did something loud enough, the room moved toward him like gravity.

”Chen, what does it feel like to hit that clutch shot?”

”It feels great,” Chen Yan said, smiling. ”Like warmth from the inside out. It made everything we did tonight feel worth it.”

”Chen, what does it feel like to score 50 plus at Staples?”

”This isn’t my first 50,” he said. ”And it isn’t my first playoff 50. I care more about the win than my number.”

A reporter brought up the moment he dropped Fisher twice.

”Chen, you shook Fisher off his feet two times tonight. What was going through your mind?”

Chen Yan did not bother with modesty.

”I feel like a beast. One step back, one crossover, and guys end up with front row seats.”

Then came the obvious question, the chant, the city wide hostility.

”How did it feel hearing that chant all night?”

Chen Yan laughed like it was a compliment.

”I never expected an entire city to lock onto me,” he said. ”It’s interesting. Booing and cursing takes energy. If they’re spending that much on me, they must care.”

And then a local reporter from Los Angeles decided he still wanted a win, even if it was only in the media scrum.

”Chen, you kept calling for pick and rolls to isolate Fisher. Is that because you’re afraid to face Posey or Kobe straight up?”

Chen Yan’s smile faded into something sharper.

”Whose head did I score that final and 1 over?” he fired back. ”Help me remember.”

Nobody answered, because everyone already knew.

It was over Kobe.

The same reporter tried again, reaching for another angle.

”You only had 2 assists and 2 rebounds. Does that mean you detached from the team tonight?”

Chen Yan stared at him like the question had insulted basic math.

”If being selfish helps the team win,” he said, voice flat, ”then I’ll choose to be selfish every night.”

That ended it.

The reporter had nowhere to go.

Chen Yan wanted victories on the court, and he wanted them off the court too.

...

Across the hall in the home locker room, the mood was darker.

A reporter walked up to Fisher.

”Derek, Chen kept hunting you tonight, and he scored again and again. Did you expect that? How do you counter it next game?”

Fisher’s face tightened for a moment, pain flickering across it.

Tonight, he was one of the main reasons the Lakers lost. A big chunk of those 52 came at his expense.

”I’ll help the team in my own way,” Fisher said, keeping it vague and moving on.

Nearby, Garnett spoke with controlled force.

”Tough game,” he said. ”Tough process, tough result. But it won’t break us. Losing is part of basketball. We just have to win the next one.”

Most of the reporters, of course, crowded Kobe.

He had 51 points, but Chen Yan had 52, and more importantly, Chen Yan had the win.

Kobe kept his tone steady.

”I’ll admit Chen won the scoring battle tonight. But the series isn’t over. Our goal is clear, a championship. We’re going to fight until we get it.”

Asked why they lost, Kobe did not dance around it.

”We missed too many chances. If you don’t take opportunities in competitive sports, you get punished.”

Then he walked out of the locker room.

Not toward the parking lot.

Back toward the court.

Because the moment the game ended, Kobe already knew how his night was going to go. Extra shots, then the replay, then sleep, if sleep would even allow him.

If he didn’t do it after a loss like this, he would not rest.

...

The headlines came fast.

The Associated Press went with: Chen Yan’s Rampage, Suns Get One Back.

The league site was even more direct: Deadly 2 plus 1, Chen Yan Steals a Tooth from the Tiger’s Mouth and Lifts the Suns.

ESPN framed it from the Lakers side: The Lakers Beat Themselves, Kobe’s Late Surge Not Enough.

They pointed at the missed chances, the poor execution, and a brutal detail from the stripe. Los Angeles shot only 8 of 19 on free throws.

Phoenix led most of the night, forcing Kobe to try and rescue the game late. He hit 2 huge 3s in under 2 minutes, but Chen Yan’s cold finish at the end snapped the comeback clean in half.

Game 3 was 3 days away.

The Suns flew back to Phoenix overnight, confident and loud in their belief.

Now the math was simple. Protect home.

Win 2 at home, and the series tilts into their hands.

And in the history of the Western Conference Finals, coming back from 1 to 3 was almost mythical.

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