Chapter 537: Galloping
Back in the locker room, Stoudemire came up to him and asked, "Young, are you really going to go on a killing spree in the second half? Or are you just trying to scare them?"
"Of course I'm going to go on a killing spree. A real man, if you're out there, if I said I'd fuck their whole family, I'm going to fuck their whole family. Since I said I'd beat them to a pulp, I must beat them to a pulp." Yang Mo rolled his eyes at Stoudemire and said, "I always keep my word."
"Ahem... uh." Stoudemire was a little embarrassed. His expression was a little unnatural. He said with embarrassment, "I didn't even score 30 points today. I've scored 30 points or more in eleven consecutive games."
When Yang Mo heard what Stoudemire said, he became even more annoyed: "How many points do you have now?"
"Twenty-three."
"Isn't it just seven points? Just wait, it will reach thirty points soon. Do you think I'm a player like Kobe? When I said I want to score, it doesn't mean I have to sacrifice other teammates' shooting rights." Yang Mo patted Stoudemire's shoulder and said very proudly.
Upon hearing Yang Mo's words, Stoudemire's face lit up with joy. He was the second-string player on the team, lacking unlimited shooting rights. Therefore, he could only rely on Yang Mo's passing to score. He was naturally delighted when Yang Mo was willing to pass the ball to him. But if Yang Mo wasn't willing to pass the ball to him, he wouldn't be able to stay up late.
Now, that's his status. Of course, aside from not having unlimited shooting, he's having a very comfortable time with the Knicks. He's at the top of the scoring charts and is now considered the league's best power forward. Similarly, due to the Knicks' excellent record, he, the second-in-command, has been considered for MVP consideration. Although he only finished fifth, it 's still his best finish ever.
However, he was still a little worried. He had heard rumors that the Knicks might trade for Carmelo Anthony. This made him a little nervous. After all... he was currently the second-in-command, and if Carmelo came, his position as the second-in-command would be shattered. After all, Carmelo Anthony's status was slightly higher than his.
Furthermore… he felt that although neither he nor Carmelo Anthony were ball-dominant forwards, their shot opportunities would undoubtedly be significantly reduced. Super Yang would have to feed him the ball as well as himself, and his own scoring would undoubtedly decline.
Stoudemire's concerns are not unreasonable. He now has some incompatibilities in playing style with Michael Beasley. If he meets Beasley, whose playing style is the same as the solid and comprehensive Sakamoto, that is, Carmelo Anthony, he will definitely not be able to integrate with them.
Why!
Stadler couldn't help but sigh, he felt that it would definitely be a trouble in the future.
Yang Mo had no idea what Stoudemire was sighing about. He was concentrating on the defensive playbook, still wanting to tinker with the details of the defense. The pursuit of perfection was the best. After all, offense could handle the splendor of the regular season. Only defense could survive the brutality of the playoffs. How could a team aiming for a championship be completely ineffective on defense?
Soon, the break was over and the game officially began.
At the start of the third quarter, the Heat's point guard was Carlos Arroyo, one of Miami's few capable defenders, while Dwyane Wade was at shooting guard, LeBron James was at small forward, Joe Anthony was at power forward, and Ilgauskas was still at center .
This is a purely defensive lineup. Obviously, what Yang Mo said to Wade in the player tunnel has been conveyed to Spoelstra's ears truthfully. He has responded quickly and played all the good cards he can.
As Carlos Arroyo advanced with the ball, Yang Mo suddenly broke with his usual tactics, sprinting up and pressing directly. As Yang Mo's hard, powerful body pressed against Arroyo, Arroyo was momentarily caught between two opposing sides. He was a tough player, perhaps even ranked in the top ten among point guards under FIBA's rules. But...he was now facing Yang Mo. His toughness was practically the same as an egg; if he dared to collide, Yang Mo would easily knock the yolk out of him.
Bang!
Arroyo's accumulated brute force instantly produced a loud noise, and then the huge force bounced him back.
At this moment, the referee had already picked up the whistle, ready to call a defensive foul on Yang Mo. At the same time, Yang Mo had already stole the ball from Arroyo with lightning speed, and then rushed towards the front court like thunder and lightning.
The steal happened so quickly, even faster than the referee could blow the whistle.
Swish!
Yang Mo rushed to the frontcourt, stopped directly outside the three-point line, and then shot steadily...Swish!
The basketball went into the net, a beautiful three-pointer.
This three-pointer caused some cheers to erupt in the American Airlines Center. They remembered it so vividly. They had calculated that after stealing the ball, Yang Mo had a 65.4% chance of shooting a three-pointer, a mere 30% chance of dunking, and the rest of the time, he passed the ball.
There was no other way. To Yang Mo, a three-pointer was ultimately a more lethal weapon than a dunk. After all, it could cost the opponent three points of health, while a dunk only cost two. Furthermore, a chase-down three-pointer wouldn't necessarily boost the team's morale any less than a dunk.
"Hey, Pat Riley, aren't you the best at coaching the team's defensive lineup?" After Yang Mo made a three-pointer, he turned around and taunted Pat Riley: "How can it be so bad? There's not even anyone defending me. What a failure!"
Although Pat Riley was very unhappy about Yang Mo's ridicule and sarcasm, he still maintained his demeanor on the surface, just like his sleek and shiny slicked-back hairstyle.
"I say, do you think inviting LeBron James and Chris Bosh can fix your mistakes?" Yang Mo continued to sarcastically say, "The facts will prove everything. I will use my championship rings to tell you that LeBron James can't beat me."
With that, Yang Mo strode towards the backcourt. He didn't care about the resentment swirling in Pat Riley's heart. Similarly, he didn't pay attention to the expressions of the board members beside Pat Riley. What these owners wanted was none of his business. Of course, this mattered a lot to Pat Riley; after all, it was his job.
