score maniac

Chapter 32: Defensive Weaknesses

“That was a great game!” The first game of the Summer League had come to an end. Westphal led the team on a comeback, pulling off a successful turnaround. It seemed as though a glimmer of hope had finally emerged from the dark cloud that had hung over the Sacramento Kings for the past few years. Back at the hotel, the players had just settled into their rooms to rest when, shortly afterward, the enthusiastic head coach called them together for an emergency meeting. “We played really well in the second half of the first quarter. We still have major issues on defense, but the newcomers are gelling well on offense!” Westphal’s first words of praise were directed at the team’s rookies. “De Marcus!” “Present!” Called out by the head coach, Cousins immediately stood up to respond; his towering frame nearly knocked into the chandelier as he stood in the hotel room. “Good job. You’ve won our bet. You’ve already adapted well to the intensity of Summer League-level games. You’ll start in the next game!” “Yes!!!” Cousins felt a surge of satisfaction. His near-double-double performance and devastating offensive play had given the head coach confidence. If he started in the next game, his stats might even take another leap forward—which would be a huge benefit for the upcoming preseason and even the regular season. “Whiteside.” “Mm-hmm.” In contrast, the “Big White,” who had lost most of his playing time to Cousins, wasn’t nearly as pleased; he even seemed somewhat disinterested when the head coach called his name. “Don’t always think about jumping or blocking shots on defense. This isn’t the NCAA, and it’s certainly not high school basketball—every one of your opponents can fly high and soar through the air! You have to approach defense with that mindset if you want to avoid getting into foul trouble!” “Got it…” Westphal’s tone wasn’t harsh, and his comments were quite fair, but the “Big White Edge” still wasn’t really taking it to heart. He gave a slight wave of his hand in response, then immediately turned his head away, sulking as he watched footage of Cousins dominating on the TV news. “Jeter.” “Yes.” Jeter’s performance was also quite solid. As a true “overage rookie,” he played 24 minutes, scoring 8 points, dishing out 6 assists, and adding 2 steals—effectively showcasing his strengths. “You need to figure out how to deal with their high-arcing passes. Otherwise, once we get to the preseason or the regular season, the opposition will target you.” “…Got it!” Jeter nodded vigorously. Having bounced around multiple leagues, he truly didn’t want to keep drifting anymore. Deep down, he silently resolved to train like his life depended on it to develop a defense he could be proud of. “I’d like to give Terrick a stern talking-to.” After the praise, Westphal’s expression darkened, and he glared at Evans with a grim look: “I’m asking you, why are you so stubbornly going one-on-one? Your teammates are wide open—why didn’t you pass?” “I…” “When I put you on the court, was it so that you, as a second-year player, could lead the rookies to victory—or so you could come out and show off?” Before Evans could answer, the veteran coach furrowed his brow and continued, “You’re the Rookie of the Year. If you still need to prove yourself on the Summer League court, I don’t see much room for you to grow.” That was a heavy statement. After the veteran coach finished speaking, the players in the room fell silent one by one, hanging their heads, unsure how to respond. Evans, in particular, turned bright red, clenched his fists, and gritted his teeth, feeling deeply insulted. It’s one thing for the head coach to scold me, but to do it in front of all these rookies? What’s that supposed to mean?? Evans was seething with anger and humiliation, but the reason he’d won Rookie of the Year last season and posted those staggering 20+5+5 stats was largely because Westphal had played into his hands during the final few games. With the team’s record already out of reach, Westphal had given Evans more playing time—which, to some extent, was just a way to “pad his stats.” Evans was well aware of this. After a year together, he knew the old coach’s temperament, so he forced himself to hold back and didn’t say much. After a moment of silence, he nodded firmly and said, “I… I understand…!” “Good.” Having finished both the praise and the scolding, Westphal’s emotions settled, and he pulled out his playbook to outline the general tactical approach for the next game. A voice rang out. “Hey, hey, hey, Coach…” Gu Yu, looking thoroughly displeased, tilted his head to one side, his brows furrowed into a “川” shape, and stared at Westphal. “Is that it?? Isn’t there anything else you want to say??” “Hmm…? No.” Westphal glanced at Gu Yu and shook his head. “Aren’t you going to think it over some more??” Gu Yu furrowed his brow even tighter and leaned in, his face almost touching the old coach’s. “Um… no.” Westphal remained unmoved, shook his head, and picked up his playbook again: “Our next game is against the Bucks. Their perimeter players are known for…” “Wait a minute, wait a minute!” Gu Yu couldn’t take it anymore. He stepped forward, snatched the playbook from the old coach’s hands, and glared at him. “What about me? What about the guy who scored 17 points? Don’t you have anything nice to say?? I scored more than my cousin, you know!” …That’s right! After Gu Yu made that shameless remark, the other players finally caught on. Although his approach was a bit intense, Gu Yu was absolutely right. As a player who was clearly dispensable, he’d scored 17 points in just 12 minutes of playing time—more than even the team’s interior anchor, Cousins. Didn’t that deserve a huge round of praise from the head coach?? “You…?” How could Westphal not know what Gu Yu was thinking? But he still deliberately put on a dismissive expression, a mocking smile playing at the corners of his mouth, as he sized Gu Yu up from head to toe. Finally, he snorted coldly, shook his head, and said, “With your defense, you actually expect me to praise you??” “…Damn it, Wesley Johnson and Ellington combined didn’t even score as much as I did, okay?!” Gu Yu immediately went on the offensive, taking jabs at both of the Timberwolves’ perimeter players. “You’re right, but so what?” Westphal, however, completely ignored Gu Yu’s objections and continued to shake his head. “As a shooting guard, if you can’t even score when you’re on the court, what use are you? Your offense is strong, but on defense, the opponent can target you without restriction. Wesley Johnson and Ellington don’t score much, but how many of the opponent’s scoring opportunities stem from you losing your defensive position? Have you ever counted them yourself??” Well… After the veteran coach finished speaking, Gu Yu was at a loss for words. “And…” Seeing that Gu Yu was beginning to get the point, Westphal pressed his advantage: “Of your 17 points, 2 came from steals off teammates, followed by shots taken from completely impossible angles. Those are lucky shots—not only are they unreliable, but they also disrupt the team’s chemistry. You want me to praise you? You should count yourself lucky I didn’t yell at you!” “Hmph…!” Standing nearby, Evans let out a sigh of relief, crossed his arms over his chest, and shot Gu Yu a vicious glare, as if he were looking at a pile of trash.