Champion Creed

Camby is the same, everything is no different from usual.

In the head coach's office, Erik Spoelstra sighed, "I really hope Marcus won't blow up the locker room."

"No, no, no, I think he won't be a problem anymore," Hubie Brown replied with a laugh.

After understanding why Camby became like this, Hubie Brown could actually understand him quite well.

A super genius in the spotlight, harboring irreconcilable hatred between reality and ideals. He hates that his efforts are always ignored, and he loses himself in this hatred. But just earlier, the hatred came into the spotlight.

"So, are you really going to let him into the rotation in the next game?"

"Of course, Erik, didn't you hear him? He wants to play, he wants to compete. As a head coach, the last thing you should do is to stifle a young person's passion."

Spoelstra clearly disagreed. "Even if he wants to, we'd better let him play another game. Next game, our opponent is the San Antonio Spurs! Counting last season, we've already lost three games in a row against the Spurs! If Marcus is still playing recklessly just for stats, playing him will be self-destructive! We can't afford to lose to the Spurs again, absolutely not!"

"I don't see anything wrong with letting him play the next game; in fact, I think facing the Spurs is just right. I'm sure Roger thinks the same."

Hubie Brown looked at the black team logo of the Spurs on the schedule and drew a cross over it.

This time, it should end!

The next day, game day.

Amar'e Stoudemire was the first player to arrive at the Oracle Training Center today.

Even though his defense has improved significantly this season, and fewer and fewer people are criticizing his defense, even Charles Barkley has shut up.

But he still didn't relax.

He would come to warm up alone every day, and then wait for the trainer to give him extra sessions.

As he was starting to stretch his legs, he heard the training ground door being pushed open.

Stoudemire thought it was the trainer coming and spoke without looking up, "Morning, Daniel."

"Ahem... it's Marcus."

Surprised by the response, Stoudemire looked up to see Marcus Camby, who had shaved his head and looked more spirited.

This guy, who almost never spoke with teammates and coaches before, waved to Stoudemire, "Didn't disturb you, did I?"

"Of course not."

"I want to come to training earlier too, Amar'e. I noticed last season that you always train extra. I'm really envious, you're a smart guy, smarter than me."

"But the media all says I'm an idiot."

"Forget that crap, hey, don't you want to see Tim Duncan down for once?"

"Of course!" Stoudemire gritted his teeth, since last season until now, he has been suppressed by Duncan, finding it hard to breathe.

"I'll help you out, tonight, Tim Duncan will end up crying in San Antonio."

"You're quite confident, Marcus."

"Of course, I beat him in college," Camby laughed, the first genuine laugh on the training ground since transferring to the Warriors.

That night, the Oakland Arena reached a climax before the game even started.

The fan who was taken away last time for stripping and dancing appeared again, when the Spurs players came out, he suddenly stood up, took off his clothes, and shook his flab once more.

The front of his torso still read "Roger is the eternal king," but when he turned around, another sentence was written on his back: "Gary Payton is a mangy dog begging for a championship."

Amid all the gasps from the crowd, the camera found him and everyone cheered for his antics.

Payton, who had previously boasted about dominating the Warriors, angrily argued with the referee, "How long are you going to let this disruptive idiot stay here!?"

Soon, security personnel showed up, and this daring guy was once again taken away, once again earning cheers from the other fans.

Roger went to the sidelines and waved to Spoelstra, "Erik, get the staff to find out his name and tell him I want to take a photo with him after the game."

This little episode had already set the whole place alight, igniting the tension.

When both teams' starters were in position, Roger couldn't help but tease Payton, "I have to say, Gary, he was totally right."

"What!?"

"Any problem? You know you can't win a title yourself, so you run off to San Antonio to cling to Tim and David's legs, what else is that but begging?"

"Heh, then by that logic, Dom was begging when he was by your side back then too?"

"Are you even supposed to say that? Dom had faded out of the NBA and played as a maid for a year in Europe before joining the Hawks; he's just a role player. And you? Last season, you still averaged 20+4+8, made the All-Star. Then this summer, you took a contract far below your worth, and that's the difference between you and Dom.

Honestly, there's nothing shameful about that. What's truly shameful is someone clearly having the advantage yet still trying to gild the lily for themselves. Clearly, Tim is the one who decides everything, but you're talking about creating your era. If you lose, are you going to say again that you never partnered with a superstar?"

"Shut up, Roger, shut up, you're the one begging for victory, say your crap after you beat us!"