Chapter 65: Chapter 65: The Hang
"Stay sharp! The Jazz are going to focus their offense on Williams in the next play," Andrew barked out instructions, his eyes laser-focused. "Sean, stay quick on your feet. Everyone else, stick to the usual defense."
Andrew's game plan was direct, yet lethal. He knew the Jazz well—they'd rely heavily on Deron Williams, their trump card, a point guard who was wreaking havoc in the league. His aggressive playstyle had taken down even giants like Chris Paul. But Andrew wasn't fazed. He'd studied the Jazz, dissected them down to the core. It was time to execute.
As soon as the time-out ended, the Jazz adjusted. Instead of their usual ball pick-and-roll, they switched to an off-ball play. Deron, slick and quick, dropped down to the low post after releasing the ball.
Fisher, glued to him, tried to keep up. But Deron was built like a tank—he didn't seem like a guard anymore, more like a mini-big man bulldozing into the paint. The Jazz players moved, setting screens everywhere.
Blake tried to stand his ground, but Deron's sheer power was too much. Battier saw the mismatch and sprinted to help. Deron, sensing the double-team, swiftly passed the ball to Kirilenko, who was waiting in the open.
Kirilenko had a clear shot but instead chose to drive inside. Battier, always the defensive hawk, pivoted and cut him off just in time. Kirilenko panicked, sent the ball back to Deron, who now had to organize another play. But the shot clock was down to its final ticks.
Brin, watching from the commentary box, couldn't believe his eyes. "Incredible! Look at how the Rockets shut down the Jazz's tactics! Andrew saw through Sloan's game plan like it was child's play."
Mark Jackson chimed in, his voice dripping with awe. "This kid is 23, coaching against legends like Sloan, and he's making it look effortless! The way the Rockets read the Jazz's every move—it's unreal!"
The cameras panned to Jerry Sloan on the sidelines, his face a storm of frustration. He knew something was wrong. His meticulously crafted play had been torn apart like a cheap puzzle, and it felt like the Rockets had an ear in the Jazz's locker room.
Deron tried to salvage the possession with a desperate pass to Boozer, but the big man's mid-range jumper clanged off the rim. The Jazz had nothing to show for their efforts.
Blake secured the rebound and charged down the court, the Rockets' offense igniting. The ball found its way to Yao Ming at the free-throw line, where he orchestrated the play. He spotted Battier, wide open, and delivered a crisp pass. Battier's three-pointer hit nothing but net, sending the Toyota Center into a frenzy.
The Jazz were in free fall. In just three minutes, the Rockets went on a 10-0 run, completely reversing the game's momentum.
Kirilenko, desperate to make something happen, attempted a three-pointer of his own. It was a brick, just like the others. Boozer, fighting tooth and nail, managed to grab the offensive board, but as he turned to go back up, Battier stepped in front, arms raised.
Boozer didn't hold back. His elbow came crashing into Battier's face as he made his move, knocking him to the ground. The whistle blew.
The arena erupted in hisses. Battier, blood streaming from his brow, pointed furiously to the floor, showing that he was outside the restricted area.
"Offensive foul!" Thibodeau jumped from the bench, screaming at the referee.
The crowd backed him up, their boos deafening. But the referees wouldn't budge. They signaled a blocking foul on Battier, sending Boozer to the line.
As the team doctor rushed to tend to Battier's bleeding forehead, the crowd finally saw the extent of the injury on the jumbotron. A hush fell over the arena, concern replacing the earlier jeers.
Andrew, now pacing the sidelines, quickly subbed in Alston for Battier, opting for a dual point guard lineup. He needed to keep the momentum going.
The game resumed, and the Rockets' offense, still fueled by Yao at the free-throw line, hummed like a well-oiled machine. This time, it was Blake who found himself wide open in the corner. But as Deron scrambled to cover him, Yao faked the pass and kicked it out to Alston at the top of the key.
Without hesitation, Alston drained the three-pointer.
"Wow! Alston has been sitting quietly on the bench, and now he's draining threes like it's nothing!" Brin exclaimed, his voice filled with excitement. "Let's not forget, Alston has been the Rockets' starting point guard for years! And now, they've got this depth, thanks to Andrew's insane roster building."
Jackson nodded in agreement. "You can't overlook what Andrew has done here. Millsap? Blake? These weren't just lucky picks. Andrew insisted on these trades. He's building this team like a master architect."
As the commentators marveled at the young coach's prowess, the Jazz continued to flounder. Their usual offensive schemes fell apart, and the Rockets took advantage at every turn. By the end of the quarter, they'd put up a dominant 30-16 run, leaving the Jazz reeling.
Sloan, visibly frustrated, yanked his starters early in the second quarter. His players were tied up, frustrated, and even starting to get physical in their desperation.
The Rockets, however, thrived under Andrew's cool leadership. Each time the Jazz tried to claw back, the Rockets answered with swift, precise execution. The Jazz couldn't keep up, and it was starting to show.
Andrew stood tall on the sideline, his calm demeanor masking the fire inside. The game was far from over, but right now, the Rockets were in complete control, and he was just getting started.
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