Chương 67: Chapter 67: Getting Angry
Andrew was livid. In all the NBA games he had witnessed, so many teams had been reversed because they took their opponents lightly. Now, as an NBA head coach, he couldn't believe it was happening to his team—the Rockets. What stung even more was the reality: in history, they had been the 13th team to suffer a 2-0 reversal.
As the Mavericks and Warriors stood tied at 1-1, it was déjà vu from his previous life. If the Rockets got complacent now, the results would be identical—another heartbreak like last time.
"No, coach," Yao Ming spoke up, his deep voice resonating through the room. He had experienced the pain of a 2-0 reversal two years ago. He wasn't going to let it happen again.
"No, coach!" echoed the rest of the players, realizing that Andrew wasn't joking.
"Sorry, coach," Alston added, his face solemn.
Seeing that the team had truly understood the gravity of the situation, Andrew's tense expression eased slightly.
"Our goal is to win a championship, but every champion earns their title by fighting tooth and nail. There are no exceptions. No one ever stumbles into glory. Now tell me, do you really want to win?" Andrew's voice was cold but commanding.
"Yes, coach!" the team yelled, but Andrew wasn't satisfied.
"Louder. I can't hear you!"
"YES, COACH!" This time, the shout reverberated through the practice hall.
Just then, McGrady and Millsap walked in, hearing the intense rallying cry. They exchanged confused glances, clearly wondering what they had missed. Their casual attitude didn't sit well with Andrew, who beckoned them to join the group.
"Salt Lake City is the toughest road game there is," Andrew warned the team. "The Jazz are used to dominating at home, and they'll be more adapted to the conditions than we are. So I'll be extending the rotation next game—giving the bench more time to step up."
That sparked excitement among the role players, who saw this as their moment to shine.
"But don't get too comfortable," Andrew continued, his voice dropping an octave. "These next two games are going to be much tougher than the first two. I expect every one of you to fight for every second you're on that court. Understood?"
"UNDERSTOOD!" The team's morale soared as Andrew's words hit home.
Andrew turned to Thibodeau. "Tom, go over the specific tactics with them. Paul, come with me," he said, motioning to Millsap, who immediately felt a knot form in his stomach.
As they walked toward the coach's office, Millsap hastily spoke up, guilt dripping from his voice. "Coach, I messed up. I shouldn't have been late for practice."
Andrew gave a nonchalant nod, lighting a cigarette. "What were you and T-Mac doing?" he asked, his tone casual but piercing.
Millsap hesitated, his throat drying up.
Andrew's eyes narrowed, his expression turning cold as ice. "Spit it out, Paul."
Just then, a knock came at the door.
"Coach," McGrady's voice came from the hallway.
Andrew gestured for Millsap to leave. Once McGrady stepped in, Andrew didn't waste any time. "Tracey, sit."
McGrady grinned sheepishly. "Coach, this is on me. I dragged Paul out to check out a new car. I'm getting a new ride and thought I'd help him with the down payment."
Andrew took a drag of his cigarette and exhaled slowly. "T-Mac, helping out a teammate is great. But timing, Tracey. Timing is everything."
"Yeah, you're right, coach," McGrady replied with a smirk still lingering on his face.
But Andrew wasn't smiling. "Tracey," he said, dropping the familiar nickname for emphasis.
McGrady's smile faded, and he gave Andrew a confused look.
"Don't tell me you've forgotten what happened four years ago?" Andrew's voice was sharp, cutting through the air like a blade. "Or maybe you forgot that you still haven't made it past the first round of the playoffs?"
McGrady's face tensed immediately, the words hitting a raw nerve. Andrew was bringing up McGrady's infamous 3-1 lead collapse with the Pistons, where he celebrated prematurely, only to have his team lose 3-4. That memory was still a sore spot for him.
Andrew pressed on, undeterred by McGrady's discomfort. "You're a future Hall of Famer, Tracey. Do you really want to be remembered as the guy who could never get out of the first round?"
McGrady's eyes darkened with emotion, his playful demeanor completely gone. He stared at Andrew, realizing this wasn't about scolding—it was about pushing him to be better.
"Yeah, I get it, coach. I won't let you down," McGrady said, his tone now serious, his face hard.
Andrew nodded, satisfied. "Good. Now go call Paul back in."
When Millsap returned, Andrew wasn't as harsh with him. After all, he was still a rookie, and keeping his confidence high was important. A few firm words were all that was needed to get him back on track.
The third game against the Jazz was just two days away. In that time, Andrew had his team preparing relentlessly. His earlier speech had lit a fire under everyone, but McGrady's transformation was the most striking. He stayed late for extra practices, working harder than anyone else.
Andrew watched him push himself to the limit, beads of sweat dripping down his face. He had reminded McGrady of his painful experience four years ago, and it was clearly fueling him now.
Andrew smirked, feeling a strange sense of anticipation. Fans in the future would debate about "peak McGrady" the same way they did about "peak LeBron" or "peak Kobe." He hadn't seen it yet, but something told him he was about to witness it soon.
As the Rockets boarded the plane to Salt Lake City, the media buzzed with worry about the upcoming games. The Jazz's home court was notoriously difficult, and no one knew if the Rockets could pull off a win. Yet, the players themselves weren't concerned.
Unlike the anxious fans, the Rockets were filled with an electric sense of confidence. Andrew could see it in their eyes—they were ready for war.
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