บท 29: Chapter 28: Try best
The Spurs' substitutes sat on the bench, looking dejected, their heads down like wilted eggplants, avoiding eye contact with Coach Popovich. But instead of lashing out, Popovich remained calm, trying to lift their spirits.
"What are you all so worried about?" Popovich asked. "We just lost a lead, not the finals. Relax."
Though the third quarter had taken him by surprise, Popovich knew now wasn't the time to scold his players. Their confidence had taken a hit, especially the big men, and they needed encouragement more than criticism.
"The fourth quarter's about to start," Popovich continued, calmly issuing instructions. "Dio, you and Duncan are going in. Oden's been great, but he won't last much longer. Your job is to lock down Cousins."
Turning to Kawhi and Green, he added, "You two need to slow down their ball movement on the perimeter. Don't worry about steals—just make every pass tough. Got it?"
One by one, the players nodded as the team fell back into the structured, disciplined rhythm that Popovich had ingrained into them over the years.
On the other side, Mike Malone took a deep breath, watching his players regroup. Oden's incredible third quarter had been a lifeline, but Malone knew the game was now about the core players—where true strength would shine.
As the fourth quarter began, both coaches subbed in their starters. For the Spurs: Parker, Green, Leonard, Dio, and Duncan. The Kings responded with CJ, Ben, Casspi, Gay, and Cousins. Rookies LaVine and Jokic sat on the bench.
Mike Malone couldn't help but sigh as he saw the matchups. Despite the energy and youth on his team, the Kings lacked the battle-hardened foundation the Spurs had. CJ, though talented, was up against Tony Parker—former Finals MVP and the league's one-point-killer. Apart from Cousins, who still had some fight in him, the Kings were largely outclassed.
"This game is more than just Jake's graduation test," Malone thought, glancing at Popovich across the court. "It's my answer to him, too."
Popovich had once helped Malone secure his first assistant coach job with the Cavaliers, a gesture that saved Malone's career when he was nearly out of the league. Popovich's support had been instrumental in Malone's rise, and today, their teams were facing off in a personal duel.
As the fourth quarter got underway, CJ brought the ball up the court, looking to initiate the Kings' offense. Cousins had already muscled his way into a strong position against Duncan, and CJ didn't hesitate to feed him the ball.
With Cousins posting up, Dio briefly glanced at Rudy Gay, positioned in the weak-side corner, then turned his attention to help Duncan. Despite Duncan's legendary status, age had started to catch up with him, and Cousins, in his prime, was more than a handful.
Duncan and Dio were ready to trap Cousins, but the big man made a sudden turn, seemingly preparing to shoot. Duncan barked a low warning: "Double him!"
But just as the Spurs closed in, Cousins pivoted sharply and whipped the ball to the weak side, where Rudy Gay was waiting. Left alone for almost the entire game, Gay caught the pass and, almost lazily, rose for a clean three-pointer.
Swish—the ball sailed through the net.
Gay jogged back on defense, barely looking awake, while the Kings bench and fans erupted in excitement. Gay's sleepy nonchalance and Cousins' fiery intensity were a perfect contrast.
"Just two points now!" Barkley exclaimed in the studio. "The Kings have made this a game again! How many more surprises can they give us tonight?"
On the bench, Jake felt a rush of adrenaline. He activated the team's three-point boost card in his mind, knowing that the Kings needed every advantage they could get for this final push.
Popovich, though stoic as ever, nervously tapped his foot. His composed face betrayed no emotion, but his constantly bouncing leg revealed his anxiety. Catching Buford's eye, the two exchanged wry smiles. Popovich couldn't help but think, "We've created our own problem by sending Jake to Sacramento."
But the game wasn't waiting for anyone's self-reflection. On the court, the Spurs ran a classic play, using Duncan's screen to free him up under the basket for a quick two. But the Kings responded immediately—CJ used Cousins' pick-and-roll to launch a three-pointer.
Splash! The ball found nothing but net.
"Only one point!" shouted the Kings' home DJ, urging the crowd to explode in cheers. The loyal Sacramento fans responded with a deafening roar, the arena shaking as the final minutes approached.
The clock kept ticking. Both teams knew—they were heading into the final battle.
The closing moments of the fourth quarter turned into a brutal battle, like a grinding meat grinder. Despite 2014 being known as the beginning of the small-ball era, inside dominance still reigned supreme in this matchup. Both the Kings and Spurs were engaged in a fierce struggle, and Jake's strategic buff card failed to make a difference this time.
"CJ, Ben, and Casspi are getting locked down out there," Jake muttered, watching Kawhi and Green take turns guarding them with Parker adding pressure. The Kings' shooters, already inconsistent, were finding it nearly impossible to get clean looks.
The game seemed destined to end the old-fashioned way—strangling the paint, focusing on defense, and waiting for a star player to take over. Jake was on the edge of his seat, visibly frustrated as his leg bounced with irritation.
"Cousins doesn't stand a chance against Duncan!" he thought to himself, as he racked his brain for a solution.
As expected, the Spurs began to pull away again, relying on Duncan's positioning and their seamless passing game. Mike Malone, seeing the score slip away, called his second-to-last timeout, hoping to disrupt the Spurs' rhythm. But he knew that without a new plan, the game was slipping away.
Jake, sensing an opportunity, pushed his way through the crowd and grabbed Malone's hand.
"Mike, what about trying that play we practiced last week?" Jake suggested, loud enough for the whole coaching staff to hear.
Malone's brow furrowed, and Cousins, catching his breath on the bench, widened his eyes in disbelief.
"Coach, I can do it…" Cousins started, but Malone cut him off.
"If that tactic fails, you know what kind of pressure we'll be under," Malone said, looking Jake in the eye. He wasn't wrong.
Jake, unwavering, met his gaze with determination. "Of course I know, but our job is to win."
Malone, no longer hesitant, made the call. "Alright, listen up, boys. We're going to run play No. 4. DeMarcus, I know you want to win this on your own, but we're a team. Let's try two rounds of this, and if it doesn't work, we'll go back."
The timeout ended, and the Kings returned to the court, abandoning their previous strategy. The outside shooters began moving more actively, catching Popovich's sharp eye.
"They're changing tactics," Popovich noted. "What else could they have in their playbook?"
Up until now, the game had unfolded almost exactly as Popovich had anticipated—except for Oden's unexpected performance. But the Kings, undeterred, suddenly switched things up. CJ, stationed on the weak side, darted to the top of the arc. Cousins, positioned just outside the paint, passed him the ball. Parker saw the shift and rushed to cover CJ, but two figures blocked his path—Cousins and Gay, one on each side.
With Parker shut out, CJ had a clear shot from the three-point line. Dio, the closest defender, was still two steps away.
Swish—the ball sailed through the net.
"Good boy!" Popovich exclaimed, jumping from the bench.
It was the elevator door play, a move the Warriors had popularized, and the Kings had adapted it so quickly! They were using CJ in a Curry-like role. But what really surprised Popovich wasn't just the tactic, but what it represented.
Until now, the Kings had been Cousins' team, with Rudy Gay as his second-in-command. CJ, still just a second-year player, was the third option at best. And yet, here they were, running a play where Cousins and Gay were setting picks for CJ to take the shot. It was a profound shift.
"This Mike Malone and Jake are braver than I thought," Popovich mused, folding his arms and watching the Kings bench.
But Popovich wasn't done yet. Without saying a word, he exchanged a glance with Parker. After years of working together, they didn't need words to understand each other. In response, the Spurs made subtle but significant tactical adjustments. Duncan, no longer the finishing point, became a facilitator in the pick-and-roll. This transformed the Spurs into their most dangerous form, with the ball moving fluidly between all five players, each one a potential threat.
The young Kings struggled to keep up with the Spurs' precise rotations. CJ and Ben, both just in their second year, were outmatched, resembling overexcited but inexperienced Huskies chasing a more disciplined opponent.
And even though CJ managed to hit two more three-pointers, his form began to falter. The relentless pressure from the Spurs' defense, combined with his own fatigue, made each shot harder than the last. Even with Jake's buff, the momentum was slipping away.
Dang! The basketball clanked off the front of the rim, bouncing out helplessly. Duncan, firmly positioned under the basket, stretched his long arms and snatched the rebound with ease.
Mike Malone stood on the sidelines, his mind racing, desperately searching for a way to turn the game around. But as he watched the relentless precision of the Spurs, reality set in. Even the Heat, with their star-studded roster, had fallen to this team the previous season.
The last few minutes of the game felt like a formality. Despite their valiant effort throughout the night, the Kings had run out of gas. The Spurs, ever-experienced, left no openings for their younger opponents. The final buzzer sounded, and the scoreboard read 130:118 in favor of the Spurs.
Young CJ stood motionless on the court, staring at the clock, now showing zero. The harsh, bright-red numbers seemed to mock him. This season had been nothing short of a dream. He had gone from an unknown player to the team's primary ball handler and playmaker, and his consistent performances had repaid the trust of his coaches and management. But tonight, in this crucial game, he had fallen short.
He couldn't shake the feeling that he had let everyone down—his coach, his teammates, and most of all, himself. Shame and regret began to wash over him, blurring his vision.
"What's wrong, young man?" a familiar voice broke through his thoughts. Jake, with his usual laid-back, almost playful demeanor, placed a hand on CJ's shoulder. His expression was lighthearted, though there was understanding in his eyes.
"This isn't the end of the world, man," Jake said. "It's not even the playoffs. Just another regular-season game, no need to lose sleep over it."
"But Jake..." CJ started, but Jake waved him off, cutting him short.
"Don't stress about what Coach Malone said. We've only been playing together for a short time. The fact that we went toe-to-toe with the defending champs is something to be proud of. We could open champagne just for that."
Jake leaned in slightly, his voice steady but reassuring. "Listen, don't get too caught up in the ups and downs. We're still young. Keep your fire and competitive edge. There's always next season, and plenty more chances to win."
CJ, still frustrated but now feeling the weight of Jake's words, nodded slowly. There was truth in what Jake was saying. It was only one game in a long season, and while it hurt now, there would be more opportunities—he just had to stay hungry and focused.
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