Chapter Ninety-Five: Gathering Fury

Base. Bell cursed inwardly, feeding fury points to Sean Elliott as he ran toward the frontcourt.

The Clippers had already set their defense, and the Suns could only work from the half court.

To keep humiliating Bell, Sean Elliott said to Sam Cassell, "Switch. Leave this fringe guy who can only spot up to you."

He nearly shouted it. All ten players, all three referees, and even the nearby spectators heard every word clearly.

Damn it. Bell was almost ready to explode.

When Kobe had tormented him, he had never felt this humiliated.

What made Bell even angrier was that Cassell actually indulged Sean Elliott's nonsense and came over to guard him, while Elliott switched onto Nash.

Bell, having lost his reason, held out his hand for the ball. He wanted to prove he was not a standstill shooter, not some fringe player.

Nash felt a touch of frustration at that, because Bell really was a standstill shooter. Handing him the ball for an isolation was obviously unreasonable.

Still, Nash gave Bell what he wanted.

After all, this was only a regular-season game, only one possession.

In comparison, taking care of a teammate's feelings mattered more.

Bell took the ball and tried to isolate against Cassell.

He looked imposing enough, but the result was brutally realistic.

Cassell feared dribble-penetration guards; against a pure spot-up shooter, he was hardly worried at all.

"Well, well, well. So this is the power of trash talk," Smith remarked.

Everyone knew Sean Elliott was talking trash. Don't listen, don't listen.

But few could actually ignore it.

The Suns got back on defense, and Nash patted Bell on the shoulder. "Don't mind that guy. You came from undrafted and worked your way to where you are now. You're already a model for countless people. Keep playing to your strengths."

"Sorry. I understand now," Bell said, ashamed. He had come back to his senses and realized how foolish he had just been.

On the Clippers' possession, Cassell was caught off guard by Nash's sneak attack and lost control of the dribble.

The ball slipped free and rolled away. Maggette and Marion both dove after it, and chaos erupted.

In the end, the referee blew the whistle and awarded a jump ball between the two big men.

As the players from both teams gathered together, Sean Elliott did not let the moment pass. He said to Cassell, "Sam, want to hear a joke? I'll tell you one."

"Of course."

Cassell did not know what mischief Elliott was up to, but he played along.

"A guy who averages fifteen points a game won the MVP," Elliott said.

He meant that Nash winning the MVP was a joke.

It was a very cold joke, and Cassell grinned when he heard it.

Nash, meanwhile, remained unmoved.

The jump ball went Nash's way.

Amid the scramble, Nash recovered the basketball and immediately pushed in transition.

Bell and Thomas sprinted with him.

Elliott was too late to get back. The Suns had a three-on-two, and it ended with the unguarded Thomas laying it in.

"Your trash talk has no effect on me at all," Nash said coldly to Elliott.

He did not actually enjoy trading barbs with people, but as the team leader, seeing his teammates disturbed by trash talk forced him to respond.

"I believe you, Steve. After all, thick-skinned people really can become immune to my trash talk. By the way, the Suns abandoned you, so how do you still have the face to come back? If it were me, I'd rather retire than go back to eating leftovers," Elliott said.

"........."

Nash had no answer.

Because Elliott was telling the truth. When he was still a rookie, the Suns had discarded him without mercy.

Later, he had not even been all that eager to return to Phoenix. It was just that Cuban refused to give him a big contract. To earn nearly twenty million dollars more, he went back to the Suns.

He did not have much affection for Phoenix. Otherwise, after becoming the Son of the Wind, he would not have still left for the Lakers.

"This is trash talk," Nash reminded himself, then quickly ran away to keep his distance from Elliott.

He was afraid that if he listened to a few more words, even he might crack.

The game went on, and Sean Elliott kept finding gaps to hurl a few more insults while playing.

His main targets were still the players other than Nash. Nash had too strong a mental game; trash talk against him was a poor return on effort.

By the end of the first quarter, the Suns led the Clippers 28 to 23, by five points.

That made Elliott somewhat anxious. He did not want to lose this game.

Although he had not admitted at the press conference that he had said the Suns would absolutely be beaten, if he lost, the ridicule would be unavoidable.

At the start of the second quarter, Elliott chose to enter early.

They had played only two possessions when the Suns immediately called a timeout and Bell returned to the court.

There was no helping it. Eddie House, on the bench, could not guard Elliott at all and had already been eaten alive twice.

Seeing Bell back on the floor, Elliott cursed inwardly.

If he could, he would have liked to stay matched up with House forever.

Although he kept mocking and belittling Bell with his mouth, in truth he was still deeply wary of Bell's defense.

Against Bell's defense, he had to concentrate fully, pour everything into every possession, and even then success was far from guaranteed.

"Maybe I still need to find a way to scramble his mentality," Elliott thought for a moment, then said to Bell, "Bell, first I want to thank you."

"????"

Bell was truly baffled, completely unable to follow Elliott's line of thought.

"Why?" Even though Nash had told him not to pay attention to Elliott, he still could not help asking.

"Because you can help me win the girl. Believe it or not, in a moment Diaz is going to kiss me in front of countless people," Elliott said.

Just now, Diaz had not specified whom she wanted him to dunk over. Now he had decided to dunk over Bell.

"Nutcase. Lunatic. Idiot." Bell shook his head.

He could not, for the life of him, understand what any of this had to do with him.

And he did not believe for a second that Diaz would suddenly kiss Elliott for no reason.

After rising to fame through The Mask, Diaz had once been America's sweetheart, the fantasy of countless men. He was no exception.

She had no need to be so eager or self-abasing.

After one possession ended, Elliott walked over to Cassell and quietly told him to watch his movement; he was going to throw one down.

Cassell chose to indulge the absurd request.

After all, by now he had no desires left in the game.

Then Elliott began running constantly, looking for a chance to cut hard to the rim.

A shot from the perimeter would not produce a dunk.

Seeing this, Bell pursued and harassed him without sparing any effort.

Several times, Elliott never found the opening. Or he found one, but the man in front of him was not Bell.

Helpless, he could only wait patiently.

At last, during a Clippers possession, through his uncanny, erratic off-ball movement, he created the situation he wanted: Bell was under the basket, while he was outside the arc.

Elliott immediately held out his hand for the ball. Once it arrived, he activated the Carter dunk card.

At once, he felt his entire body surge with strength, and everything seemed possible.

If he was going to show off, now was the time.

Elliott charged straight at Bell.