NBA: Basketball Legend.

Chapter 107: Chapter 107 – Too Easy, It’s Basically a Training Game

Chapter 107 – Too Easy, It’s Basically a Training Game

November 29 – Madison Square Garden

The Phoenix Suns were on the road, facing the New York Knicks. It was the second night of a back-to-back, but the Suns looked relaxed.

Why wouldn’t they be? The Knicks were second-to-last in the Eastern Conference, already eyeing a lottery pick less than a month into the season. To the Suns, this wasn’t a challenge—it was a glorified scrimmage.

On paper, the Knicks didn’t look that bad. The starting lineup featured some big names: Stephon Marbury, Jamal Crawford, Zach Randolph, Quentin Richardson, and Eddy Curry. Off the bench? David Lee, Nate Robinson, and Wilson Chandler—guys with talent and highlights under their belts.

But the locker room was pure chaos.

No one seemed focused. Half the roster was cashing checks and coasting into early retirement. The vibe was toxic—nobody hustled, nobody cared. The dysfunction was legendary.

Fights between teammates? Check. Nate Robinson and Randolph once threw hands on the bench. Marbury had a meltdown, got into it with head coach Isaiah Thomas, and booked a flight home mid-road trip. Nate even slipped Eddy Curry laxatives out of spite, leaving the big man dehydrated and out of sorts.

And it wasn’t just the players. Management was a disaster too.

Isaiah Thomas—serving as both GM and head coach—constantly clashed with the roster. A few months back, he was hit with a sexual harassment lawsuit and accused of firing a female employee illegally.

Bottom line? The entire organization was a mess. A sinking ship with no lifeboats in sight.

Even so, Madison Square Garden was packed. Sold out. That’s the power of New York hoops. No matter how bad the team was, the fans always showed up. It made Chen Yan pause.

So this is the Mecca of Basketball...

He couldn’t help but admire the passion. No wonder owner James Dolan refused to sell the team. Why would he? With ticket sales like this, MSG was a cash cow—bad record or not.

And it wasn’t just the fans. The celebrity row was stacked tonight.

Spike Lee had his usual courtside seat. Jay-Z, Scarlett Johansson, Taylor Swift, and even the Kardashian sisters were in the house. The vibe was electric, even if the team wasn’t.

During warmups, Chen Yan spotted Taylor Swift and walked over.

Taylor had clearly gone all out. Her hair was perfect, makeup flawless, and she wore a throwback Suns jersey—No. 0, Chen Yan’s number.

With a soft smile, she leaned closer and asked, ”Chen, do you notice anything different about me today?”

Chen tilted his head, studying her for a long beat. Then, with a grin, he replied, ”Wow, Taylor... you’re rocking a vintage Suns jersey. Great taste.”

Taylor froze. Blinked twice.

”...Seriously?”

She had never met a guy this dense.

Across the court, Khloe Kardashian noticed the interaction and nudged her sister, smirking.

”Kim, looks like your target’s already got someone’s attention.”

Kim didn’t even look up. She scoffed and puffed out her chest confidently.

”Her? Please. Men don’t go for twigs. They want curves.”

Say what you will about her, Kim was confident—and proud of her figure. In the U.S., curvy was queen, and she knew how to flaunt it.

---

Tip-Off – Game Time!

The crowd roared as the starters took the floor.

Phoenix Suns Starting Five:

PG: Steve Nash

SG: Chen Yan

SF: Raja Bell

PF: Boris Diaw

C: Amar’e Stoudemire

New York Knicks Starting Five:

PG: Stephon Marbury

SG: Jamal Crawford

SF: Quentin Richardson

PF: Zach Randolph

C: Eddy Curry

At center court, Amar’e squared up with Eddy Curry for the tip.

Now, Eddy used to be called ”Baby Shaq.” But these days? He was more Big Mac than Big Man. After securing a fat contract, he’d gone off the rails—too much partying, off-court drama, and no discipline. He’d ballooned in weight and lost a step (or three).

The tip was a joke—Amar’e beat him cleanly, and the Suns took first possession.

They went straight into half-court offense. Nash walked it up, surveyed the floor, and handed it off to Chen Yan on the wing.

Letting Chen go one-on-one was the Suns’ best half-court option. He was efficient, ruthless, and nearly unguardable.

Jamal Crawford drew the assignment.

Now, Crawford had handles for days—flashy, creative, and unpredictable. He was the Knicks’ leading scorer, putting up points in bunches.

But there was a catch: none of his points came in the flow of an offense. He freelanced, isolated, and danced on defenders—but he rarely got his teammates involved.

Crawford might be a solid scorer, but when it comes to playmaking, defense, setting screens, or even off-ball movement—he’s a liability. Players like him aren’t built to lead a team. He’s a sixth man, a spark plug off the bench—plain and simple.

At the right wing, just beyond the arc, Chen Yan had the ball in his hands. Crawford stepped up to defend.

Chen smirked. Time for a highlight.

With a sharp crossover from left to right, Chen caught Crawford leaning.

Perfect timing.

Perfect rhythm.

Punishment delivered.

Chen exploded past him on the first step, slicing into the paint.

Eddy Curry stepped up late to contest, but Chen glided to the rim, used a slick ghost step under the basket, and finished with a smooth reverse layup.

2–0, Suns.

”Chen! Man, you should’ve yammed on him! Just like you did on Valanciunas last game!” Stoudemire jogged over, laughing.

Chen rolled his eyes. ”Hell no. That dude’s built like a damn truck. You wanna dunk on him? Be my guest.”

Stoudemire cracked up and sprinted back on D.

---

Knicks’ possession.

Marbury brought it up and called for a high pick from Zach Randolph.

Randolph lumbered over with zero urgency. He hated this. He wasn’t a screen-setting big. He liked to post up, not babysit guards.

After setting the screen, Randolph just stood there—didn’t roll, didn’t pop. He knew Marbury’s game well enough to know the ball wasn’t coming back anyway.

Sure enough, Marbury forced the switch and went one-on-one against Boris Diaw. Stepback jumper—contested.

Clank.

Stoudemire secured the board, quickly handed it off to Nash, and the Suns hit the turbo.

Nash sprinted to the midcourt logo and slung it to Chen Yan on the wing.

Chen caught it at a 45-degree angle outside the arc. As soon as he squared up, Jason Richardson flew at him.

Instead of forcing it, Chen flicked a smooth pass to Raja Bell in the corner.

Wide open.

Bell rose with confidence.

Splash.

5–0.

Chen and Bell slapped hands hard. That trust? It was real.

Meanwhile, the Knicks looked like five dudes who’d just met on a pickup court. No chemistry.

Marbury walked it back up and called his own number again.

He didn’t care what his teammates thought. Their relationships were already fractured anyway—might as well hoop how he liked.

He drove into the paint, spun, and floated a lob backward over his shoulder.

Roll, roll... rim out.

Diaw scooped the rebound as the Knicks started jogging back.

Too late.

Chen was already across half court.

Diaw spotted him and tossed a rainbow outlet pass right on target.

Chen caught, took a single rhythm dribble, and stopped behind the arc.

No defender in sight.

Pull-up three...

Bang!

8–0.

Chen pointed back at Diaw, giving him props for the dime. Diaw returned the gesture, acknowledging the cold-blooded shot.

From the ESPN studio, Mike Breen chimed in:

”The Knicks’ defense is flat-out nonexistent right now. Phoenix is getting whatever they want in transition.”

Jeff Van Gundy nodded.

”They’re sleepwalking out there. No rotations, no urgency.”

---

Next possession for New York. This time, Crawford took over.

He was dribbling like he was at Rucker Park—crossovers, behind-the-backs, and a filthy hesitation move that nearly broke Raja Bell.

Almost.

Crawford created separation but got off-balance on the release.

Shot floated awkwardly...

Back iron.

Another miss. The Knicks still hadn’t scored.

Diaw cleaned up the rebound and zipped it upcourt.

Chen got it in stride, threading the gap between Richardson and Crawford with a sudden burst.

Then, without looking, he fired a no-look, behind-the-head pass.

[Passing Master Activated]

Stoudemire caught it mid-stride and pulled up from 15 feet.

Money.

10–0.

On the Knicks’ next trip, Marbury tried again. Crawford tried again. Richardson tried again.

Miss, miss, miss.

No rhythm, no teamwork, no hope.

The Suns turned defense into offense again—classic three-lane fast break.

Knicks didn’t even try to get back. Their transition defense was in shambles.

Nash found Chen at the right wing, wide open at the 60-degree mark.

Pull-up midrange.

Cash.

12–0. Suns.

Knicks fans were starting to boo. Looked more like Phoenix’s open practice than a game.

”Damn, you’re in a zone right now, Chen!” Nash smacked Chen on the back.

Chen shrugged, half-joking, ”Man, it’s like no one’s even guarding me.”

Stoudemire nodded behind him. ”For real. This feels like a scrimmage.”

The three of them jogged back, laughing, exchanging high-fives—right past a dejected Crawford.

Crawford looked up at them, his pride bruised.

Did they really just say that... right in front of me?

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