Chapter 137: The Creed of the Grizzlies.
The game wasn't over yet.
Han Sen's confident three-pointer gave the Grizzlies a crucial lead, but it also left the Thunder with 5.8 seconds—enough time for a potential counter-killer.
Victory or defeat hinged on this final play.
Hollins mapped out a defensive strategy, focusing on double-teaming Durant—a tactic he was well-versed in. As the Thunder emerged from their timeout, Brooks subbed in Daequan Cook for Perkins.
The Thunder's final lineup: Westbrook, Harden, Cook, Durant, and Ibaka.
It looked like an extra shooter had been added, but Han Sen noticed something and grabbed Conley before returning to the court. Their frequent communication paid off; they exchanged a few crucial words in seconds.
Thunder possession. Harden inbounded from the sideline.
Durant, using an Ibaka screen, cut out—standard motion.
But instead of receiving the pass, Durant set a screen for Westbrook, who drove hard to the basket.
Harden, faking a pass to Durant, quickly redirected the ball toward the hoop.
It was a clever, unexpected play—prioritizing an inside shot over a high-risk three-pointer.
Given Westbrook's form and their two-point deficit, it made sense. A successful drive would force overtime, with Westbrook's power almost guaranteeing a foul and a shot at the line.
But the ball never reached Westbrook. Conley intercepted the pass!
Conley read the play and executed a perfect steal. He instantly saw Han Sen already dashing beyond the three-point line and hurled the ball forward. Han Sen sprinted, not for a fast break, but to evade the Thunder's last-gasp pursuit.
The steal happened so quickly that the Thunder players were momentarily stunned. By the time they reacted, it was too late. The best-chasing option, Westbrook, had been on a hard cut and had to brake to turn around.
As the buzzer sounded, the Grizzlies defeated the Thunder 105-103 in overtime, securing their first home victory in franchise playoff history!
Han Sen tossed the ball into the air and ran to the scorer's table. Seeing this, Barkley jumped to his feet in the commentary booth.
"Here we go, it's coming—the Scorer's Table King!"
Han Sen leaped onto the table, pointing down at the court, shouting:
"This is our house!"
The arena erupted. Unlike his Cleveland days when he said "my," this time he said "our." Tonight wasn't just his victory—it was a triumph of team basketball.
The crowd at FedExForum began to chant in unison:
"Whoop that trick!"
With the fans' chants echoing and Han Sen raising his fists triumphantly, it was a victory that belonged to the people of Memphis.
---
Press Conference:
Han Sen and Conley sat down together at the post-game press conference. Han Sen had scored 35 points, with 4 rebounds, 2 assists, and 2 steals. Conley contributed 18 points and 8 assists.
A reporter broke the silence: "You passed up the final shot in Game 1, but tonight you nailed clutch threes in both regulation and overtime. What changed?"
Han Sen glanced at the NBC reporter and thought about having them kicked out next time for these dumb questions. As a team leader, given a chance to win the game, who wouldn't take it?
"I'm not LeBron, and I'm not Kobe," Han answered, leaning into controversy.
The room buzzed with murmurs—Han's response took shots at both.
Another question: "The Grizzlies started off slow but turned it around. Did the coaching staff make adjustments?"
Han Sen shot a look that said, "You should ask Hollins." He signaled the clueless reporter to sit down.
TNT's reporter chimed in, "We noticed you exchanged words with Conley before the last play. What did you discuss?"
"Mike made an unbelievable read. He might be the smartest guy on the court," Han said, effortlessly shifting the praise.
Conley, a bit embarrassed, leaned into the mic. "Actually, Han saw the play coming. I just did what I could."
Han Sen had suggested Brooks might design a play for Westbrook to cut in, given the substitution of Perkins. Conley agreed, realizing that dropping a key rebounder hinted at creating space inside.
Han's compliment wasn't far off; Conley not only intercepted the pass cleanly but also launched the ball without giving the Thunder a chance to foul.
"Han said he'd lead us to victory, and you saw what happened," Conley added, prompting the reporters to scramble for their notes.
"Westbrook scored 40 points tonight. How do you rate his performance?" the next reporter asked.
Han Sen's eyes lit up.
"Man, I see Russell differently," he said with a sly grin. "People think this is KD's team, but I think Russell is underestimated. He can energize his teammates and lead a franchise."
The press lapped up Han's comments, and Khalil capitalized on the momentum, launching a PR blitz.
---
Postgame Headlines:
"Han Sen Strucks Down the Thunder Twice!"
"No. 77 Shines, KD in the Shadows!"
"I'll Lead You to Victory!"
"God Wore Number 0, Then Han Sen Beat Him."
Back at home, Han video-called Swift, who was busy with her new single. As they chatted, the Hater System fed him a steady stream of +1.5 hate points. He checked social media and found plenty of new haters attacking him:
"You don't get it! KD's selflessness is supporting his teammates!"
"People don't appreciate KD's greatness. You're just obsessed with his mistakes."
"Han is not on KD's level. One-on-one, KD would crush him—he's just got better teammates."
Han Sen scrolled through the comments and couldn't help but chuckle.
All he did was make a little remark in a press conference, and Durant lost his cool like that? Classic.
But this kind of reaction was exactly what he was hoping for.
Although the Grizzlies held a 2-1 lead, the two teams were so evenly matched that any internal drama could tip the scales.
Two days later, the Grizzlies hosted the Thunder again.
It was another nail-biter. But in crunch time, the little details became game-changers.
Durant decided to go one-on-one in the final moments, but after getting hounded by Tony Allen and Shane Battier all night, his efficiency took a hit.
Han Sen's attempt to stir things up between Durant and Westbrook wasn't enough to cause outright drama, but it definitely left a mark.
Especially with Durant's tendency to be so *real*, those burner account comments reflected his true feelings, affecting his decision-making when it mattered most.
On the other side, the Grizzlies kept playing their team-first style of basketball.
Han Sen wasn't shooting well, so he stayed on the weak side, drawing attention and creating opportunities for Randolph and Marc Gasol down low.
In the end, Randolph and Gasol combined for a monster game: 50 points and 31 boards. The Grizzlies took the win, 101-93, going up 3-1 and looking good to advance.
Earlier that day, the Hawks had edged out the Magic 88-85 to take a 3-1 lead in their series as well. Upsets were brewing in both conferences, and Coach Stan was getting some serious praise.
The next game would be in Oklahoma City, but before that, the Grizzlies held a routine practice back in Memphis.
The focus was the same as always: working on low-post sets. The only difference was Rudy Gay doing some light biking on the sidelines.
Even though he couldn't play, he needed to stay in shape. And with his recovery going well, he was doing some off-ball drills too.
Midway through practice, they took a break, and Gay hopped off the bike to walk over to Han Sen.
"Why are we still drilling this stuff when we never play this way?" Gay grumbled.
Han Sen was about to respond when they both heard a cough.
Coach Hollins had been sitting behind them the whole time.
"Man, you're really riding a thin line here," Han Sen whispered, giving Gay a light pat on the shoulder. "Maybe just stick to the bike, huh?"
Two days later, the Thunder, backs against the wall, took Game 5 at home, beating the Grizzlies 111-102.
Durant only took 17 shots, making 11 and finishing with 26 points. It wasn't an overly aggressive game from him, but Westbrook and Harden both dropped 20+ points, and even Ibaka chipped in 15.
Thunder had been playing iso-heavy all series, but in this game, they played team basketball and it worked.
That result also exposed the nonsense behind Durant's burner account rant—because when it came to depth, the only team that could outmatch these Thunder were the Heat.
Game 6 shifted back to Memphis. The Grizzlies still held the series lead, but with the Thunder holding home-court advantage, losing at home would push them into a tough Game 7 in OKC.
Coach Hollins had a choice to make, and he doubled down on his instincts: pound the ball inside.
Ignoring the players' reactions, he even tried a Popovich-style full lineup change to send a message.
It backfired.
The Grizzlies put up their worst performance of the series, like trying to hammer through a steel wall, and ended up losing 71-99.
Now, it was Game 7, and the Grizzlies' spirits had hit rock bottom after such a crushing defeat.
This was clear the next day on the team's flight to Oklahoma City. Despite the GM Chris Wallace flying with them, the plane was eerily silent.
When they landed, Hollins tried to inject urgency by immediately organizing a practice. But he soon noticed Han Sen was absent.
He was about to blow up when Assistant Coach Joerger quickly intervened, whispering that Han Sen had already reported feeling unwell and had cleared it with him.
"Why didn't anyone come to me?" Hollins barked, feeling disrespected.
"Should I check in with him?" Joerger asked cautiously.
"Forget it. Let's just start practice," Hollins snapped, turning his attention back to the court.
Not long after, Hollins' phone rang. After a brief call, he handed the reins to Joerger and took a cab back to the hotel.
It was Wallace on the line, and when Hollins opened the door to his room, he found not just Wallace, but Han Sen too—looking anything but sick.
Hollins had seen this coming.
Before he could lay into Han Sen, Wallace jumped in. "Lionel, I think it's time you two have an honest conversation."
Han Sen wasn't physically sick. He just wasn't willing to go down like this against the Thunder.
And he knew Hollins wouldn't change his approach, so if Shane Battier's attempts to mediate didn't work, he had to go for a more direct strategy.
Hollins was the head coach, but he wasn't LeBron-level influential, someone who could shape front-office decisions.
This fact had become painfully obvious after Game 3.
Reluctantly, Hollins took a seat across from Han Sen, even though it was clear he wasn't happy about it.
"Before we start," Wallace said, "let's keep this civil. I don't want to see any shouting. That's pointless."
Wallace didn't leave after that, but took a seat in the middle, like a referee in a boxing ring.
"Sticking to this inside-only strategy isn't going to beat the Thunder," Han Sen said bluntly. "Game 1 was an outlier. Game 2, Game 3, even Game 6 proved the point."
"We lost Game 5 too," Hollins shot back.
"Yes, and credit to the Thunder for playing well in Game 5. But it was just one game. Games 3 and 4 proved that only a balanced attack can win."
"Can you guarantee a win in Game 7?" Hollins retorted.
"No one can guarantee victory. But I do know that sticking to your plan gives us zero chance."
"Why do you think you're in a position to say that? I've been in this league for 20 years," Hollins said, growing irritated.
"Only the weak lean on their resumes," Han Sen replied, fed up with Hollins' tough-on-players, soft-on-opponents style.
"Watch your mouth!" Hollins yelled, slamming his hand on the table.
"No, you watch yours," Han Sen shot back, standing up to face him. "Blowing a 3-1 lead in the first round? If that happens, do you really think you're keeping your job?"
"Lionel!" Wallace cut in, shooting Hollins a warning glance.
Hollins turned bright red but grudgingly sat back down.
"Han, you need to be respectful," Wallace cautioned. "Lionel is still the head coach."
Trading for Han Sen had come with a fair warning from Danny Ferry about Han's strong-willed personality. And now Wallace was seeing it firsthand.
Hollins stayed silent, knowing Han Sen had hit a nerve. A 52-win season, breaking the Grizzlies' playoff curse—those were all feathers in his cap. But blowing a 3-1 lead would erase it all.
He wasn't Doc Rivers, with a championship to shield him from the fallout.
"I've never believed we were worse than the Thunder. Even without Rudy, we took a 3-1 lead. Even with Game 7 on the road, I still believe we can win."
Seeing that Hollins wasn't responding, Han Sen added a bold suggestion:
"If you're afraid of losing Game 7, you can always claim you're feeling unwell and let Dave coach the game."
Hollins' face turned beet red, understanding exactly why Han Sen had skipped practice and what he was implying now.
He glanced at Wallace, expecting him to shut Han Sen down, but Wallace seemed intrigued by the idea.
"I'm not sick!" Hollins finally blurted out. "And I'm not going to sit out and watch someone else take credit!"
If the team won without him, how could he stay in Memphis? Winning isn't the problem—winning without him is!
"Then change the strategy," Han Sen replied with a shrug. "It's your call."
Hollins, cornered, begrudgingly agreed. "Fine. We'll go back to the balanced attack."
Han Sen gave a satisfied nod, having expected this outcome. Hollins, as tough as he looked, was only tough on the surface.
After Han Sen left, Hollins lingered to chat with Wallace.
"Chris, why are you backing a player who won't follow orders?" Hollins asked, frustrated.
Han had only been with the team for a season, but he and Lionel had worked together for over three years now—they were old friends.
"Lionel, Han just wants to win," Wallace said.
Lionel furrowed his brow. This was the third person to tell him that—first Battier, then Joerger, and now Wallace.
"He's actually been cutting you some slack," Wallace continued, realizing just how rough Lionel was at handling relationships.
"Cutting me slack?" Lionel thought he misheard.
"By Game 3, he already had the locker room behind him. If he really wanted to go against you, he could've turned this into players vs. coach, but he didn't. Not because he couldn't, but because he knew it would break the team, and the season would be over."
In these tight series, even a hint of internal conflict could be fatal. OKC's Game 4 already proved that.
Lionel still looked unconvinced. "Why are you so sure he can pull it off?" he asked, unable to let go of the loss in Game 5.
Wallace chuckled. "You know, I asked him that same question when he came to me."
Lionel stared, waiting for the answer.
"He said, 'When two warriors meet on a narrow path, it's the fearless who rise. Even when the odds seem stacked against you, you draw your sword anyway— because even if you fall you make damn sure your ghost will haunt them every step of their lives.'"
Wallace turned, half-smiling. "What do you think? Should we put that on the wall of the locker room, like San Antonio's '101 Strikes'?"
But Lionel wasn't listening. He was frozen, replaying Han's words in his mind.
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