Chapter 31: Let Me Help You Talk Trash!

The Miami Heat, as they stand today, are in the nascent stages of their first golden era. This past offseason, they lured the power-hungry "Godfather" Pat Riley away from New York. Owner Micky Arison immediately granted Riley immense authority, naming him both team president and head coach—effectively handing over the entire management of the franchise to him.

Riley did not disappoint Arison’s trust. His first order of business was to poach Alonzo Mourning, the franchise cornerstone center for the Charlotte Hornets and a man widely regarded as the fifth-best center of the 1990s. Mourning is not only known as the league’s toughest man, but his skill set is truly top-tier; whether it is his signature defense, shot-blocking, and rebounding, or his offensive prowess, he is elite in every category.

Unfortunately, he was born into an era of centers, living under the insurmountable shadow of the "Four Great Centers." If a player as formidable as Patrick Ewing could finish fourth in MVP voting and still fail to make an All-NBA team, what hope was there for Mourning? Throughout his career, despite seasons where he could reliably deliver 20 points, 10 rebounds, and 3 blocks while leading his team to respectable records, Mourning only made the All-NBA team twice. There was simply no helping it; the other men in his position were absolute monsters. Of course, this is only Mourning's fourth professional season, and he is yet to realize that his entire career will remain trapped in the shadow of those four legends.

Bringing in Mourning was clearly only the first phase of Riley's recruitment plan. Everyone knows that this shrewd, tactically brilliant, and ruthless old man is scouring the league, searching for an perimeter player to pair with Mourning, forming his own Miami duo to mount a championship run. That is precisely why, when rumors of internal strife emerged from the Bulls' training camp, Riley called Jerry Krause—even knowing full well it would lead to nothing. He was truly desperate for talent. He wanted to build a championship-level team as quickly as possible, and he was even more eager to show the powers in New York and Los Angeles—who had refused to grant him personnel control—exactly what kind of manager they had let slip away.

However, the Heat, currently shouldered solely by Mourning, clearly lacked depth. Their goal for the year was still just to make the playoffs. After all, outside of Mourning, their starting lineup—featuring Chris Gatling, Billy Owens, and Rex Chapman—consisted of nothing more than average rotation players, light-years away from being stars. With such a roster, relying only on Mourning, they were naturally ill-equipped to contend with the Bulls.

As the first quarter began, Jordan took the lead, firing away and hitting shots in succession. While Mourning provided some response for the Heat, repeatedly schooling Ron Harper and Luc Longley whenever they tried to score over him in the paint, the Heat were quickly left behind. By the end of the first quarter, Jordan had racked up 10 points for the period, and the Bulls held a 9-point lead.

Facing a double-digit deficit, Riley played a desperate card. At the start of the second quarter, he sent Mourning back onto the floor, even though he had just played 11 full minutes and hadn't caught his breath. He wanted to narrow the gap while Jordan and Rodman were resting.

On the Bulls' side, the lineup featured Lin Tian, Steve Kerr, Scottie Pippen, Toni Kukoč, and Bill Wennington. The man matched up against Lin Tian was Bimbo Coles, an unremarkable, short-statured point guard.

"Kid! I watched the tape of your last game. You’ve got speed!" Coles, despite his size, immediately began a full-court press and a barrage of trash talk the moment he faced Lin. "But it’s useless! I’m faster than you! I, the great Coles, am known as the 'Speed Demon of Miami'!"

Clearly, the guy had pegged Lin Tian as a rookie pushover.

"Right, I’ve got it, Mr. Charles. Can I start my offense now?"

"It's Coles!"

"Charles?"

"Coles!"

"Coris?"

"Coles! Cut it out!"

Lin Tian was chatting happily with Coles in the backcourt when he suddenly accelerated, flashing past Coles in a single step and bolting to the frontcourt.

"Kid, is sneaking up on people all you can do? It’s useless! I can still catch you!"

Coles chased him with everything he had, finally catching up to Lin Tian just outside the three-point line. This feat confirmed to him that while Lin Tian was fast, he was nowhere near his level.

"You think you can catch me because you're fast?" Lin Tian chuckled. He really couldn't be bothered to talk to a small fry whose name he couldn't even remember, but he had no choice; he only knew two people on the entire Heat roster: Mourning and Riley. He couldn't exactly shout across the court to trash-talk Riley, could he?

As for Riley... if that old man dared to step onto the court, Lin Tian would ensure he broke his knees. The virtue of respecting the elderly was something Lin Tian simply did not possess.

"You caught up to me not because you're good, but because I let you!" With that, Lin Tian accelerated again. This time he went full throttle, turning into a bolt of lightning as he flashed past Coles and drove straight into the heart of the Heat's interior.

Mourning lived up to his reputation as one of the league's best defensive centers. Before Lin Tian could even penetrate the paint, Mourning had already shifted over to block his path. His raised arms perfectly covered the passing lanes, preventing Lin Tian from dishing the ball to Longley under the rim.

"Rookie, come on! Let me give you a block!" Mourning clearly didn't think much of Lin.

*Whoosh!*

Even with his new skills, Lin Tian knew his own limits. He would never do something as foolish as driving headlong into Mourning. Seeing no path for a shot, he surveyed the floor and delivered a crisp bounce pass to Pippen, who was cutting to the rim.

"Scott, dunk on this softie!" Lin Tian shouted as he released the ball.

Pippen, already at full speed, didn't care if it was Mourning or anyone else in his way. He extended his body, met Mourning in mid-air, and slammed the ball down with force.

*Boom!*

With a thunderous explosion, Pippen completed a spectacular poster dunk, right over the head of the elite defender Mourning.

"That one's for your grandmother, Alonzo! I hope she doesn't cry for you!" After the basket, Lin Tian roared at Mourning. "You look the part, but you're a softie! I represent the people of Charlotte in despising you!"

"Scott, are you a mute, you bastard? Do you need a rookie to do your trash-talking for you?" Mourning, incensed by Lin Tian's taunts, turned his fury on Pippen.

"You aren't worth my time," Pippen retorted, a veteran of trash talk himself, while secretly flipping Mourning the middle finger.