Basketball Legend: When Pride Still Matters

Yu Fenglin sat in one of the most conspicuous spots in the Bradley Center, her side accompanied by Yu Fei's high school best friend, Lin Kaiwen, and Assistant Alex Clark.

Compared to most people in the crowd, Yu Fenglin didn't grasp the significance of winning a championship to the fans and the city. She watched the game too, but she wasn't the type to scream, shout, or even cry over a match.

If she cried tonight, there was only one reason: she was proud of her son.

From the start of the game, Clark kept telling Yu Fenglin how much he loved sports, how a true sports fan would follow their team's draft day, buy jerseys, plan their vacations around games, and then hope that at the end of the season, they would see the rainbow.

It was a paradox, for not every team could show their fans the rainbow.

Sometimes you might never see it. That was the greatest fear in the hearts of fans. All those years of energy expended in vain, never released, never satisfied, nothing. Season after season, no championship... then you die as a fan, laden with regrets.

That's why, when Yu Fei surged forward in the final moments and executed that slam dunk, many people in the Bradley Center shouted out with tears streaming down their faces. In that instant, Yu Fei dispelled the people's fears. The void left by the era of Lou Alcindor seemed as though it could be filled tonight—when everything came together in that moment, 32 years of waiting, generations of anticipation, were all given value—Bucks 82, Spurs 79, the Milwaukee Bucks are the 2002-03 season champions!

The moment the game ended, an old grey-haired fan told local media, "After tonight, my life as a Bucks fan is complete. I mean, I can die without regrets."

The crowd went wild, the Bucks players ran onto the court to celebrate, and Yu Fenglin hugged Clark, Lin Kaiwen, as well as an unfamiliar fan in a state of shock.

Yu Fenglin roughly knew one thing.

Her son, once Seattle's child, not long ago Washington's rejected son, but from today onwards, he was Milwaukee's Chosen One.

He had won it all!

On the court, Spurs players looked on like walking corpses as the Bucks celebrated wildly.

Tim Duncan felt a ringing in his ears.

He could clearly hear his own breathing and heartbeat, but he couldn't hear the crowd's screams, the boasting of the Bucks players, not even some teammates telling him, "See you next year."

He had failed again.

The failure was so painful that Duncan couldn't fully accept it even now.

Duncan glanced down at the court. David Robinson was wiping away his tears, probably blaming himself—if he hadn't fouled out, maybe...

Robinson's tears brought a torrent of memories flooding back to Duncan. He thought of when he first joined the league, the championship in his sophomore year, and how people belittled that championship trophy.

Phil Jackson had put an asterisk on it.

Shaquille O'Neal proclaimed after his championship that "what really matters is the trophy in June," yes, he was mocking Duncan who was still toiling for regular honors. He had the right, didn't he? He had won three consecutive championships, while Duncan had only the asterisked championship.

After each failure, Duncan heard people say, maybe next time?

Now, he had finally overcome the OK Lakers, only to be stopped from the summit again by a young man not yet 21 years old.

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The despondent Duncan showed an eternal stillness as he silently walked forward to face his opponent, wishing he had the courage to pay his respects.

"Congratulations," Duncan whispered as he gently hugged Yu Fei, "See you next year."

That was the last of his decorum.

"Thank you," said Yu Fei, "you guys were great too."

Duncan moved off the court silently, without a word.

And the celebration on the court continued.

The most uncomposed was George Karl, dancing on the court like a drunken fool. Anthony Mason could barely stand the flashing lights, so he picked up a bucket of drinks and poured them over him.

"That's it! Keep going! Today I don't give a damn how you rascals mess with me!" Karl epitomized what it meant to enjoy the best moments of life.

He had always thought that Phil Jackson had all those championships simply because he coached Jordan and OK.

But, without a championship, he had no right to comment.

Because of ring culture, professionals had to face the trial of "what kind of champion are you." If they couldn't pass, they were no champion, no matter how eloquent, it wasn't worth listening to.

Now, he had entered the "Champions Club," from today on, the world would have to get used to his loudmouth.

The Bucks players first returned to the locker room to put on championship T-shirts, then returned to the scene to go on the podium.

David Stern announced the Bucks as this season's champions to a chorus of boos from the audience.

Then, the Bucks' owner, Herb Kohl, excitedly held the O'Brien Trophy, his face full of happiness and satisfaction. Although the fans in the audience couldn't stand on that podium, every fan could understand that feeling.

This feeling was supposed to be inexplicable, but Karl expressed it with a chaotic string of words, "Every year I watch them give this trophy to someone... now... they've given it to me... oh no, I'm sorry, to us, Baby! It's us!!!!!! Yayayayayayayayayayayayayaya!!!!!!"