章節 139: 【Ding!】
"Huh? Headache? Dizziness?"
"Just a mere 1,300 meters above sea level and you get 'altitude sickness'? Rookie is just a rookie after all, your adaptability is worrisome. Carlos... I suggest you roll back to Phoenix quickly; my great Salt Lake City is no place for you."
"Trash!"
"Heh, think you can win and go home happily tonight at our 'devil's home court'? With a season's 20-game winning streak, undefeated so far? Carlos... tonight we Utah end all that for you."
"Headache? Tonight we'll make sure you suffer more than just a headache, but a real pain, heartache, and all-over body ache."
"Go back to Phoenix!"
"Uh..." Inside the arena...
The fervent Jazz fans, upon learning of Carlos's discomfort, began barraging him with harsh trash talk and booing as soon as the game started.
Attempting to disrupt his mindset.
Carlos was doing alright, but still, some of the trash talk wasn't pleasant to hear, raising the tension between the two teams even before the game began.
Soon...
The warm-ups ended, and the starting lineups took the floor.
Utah Jazz starters: 191 cm tall point guard Deron Williams, 196 cm shooting guard Raja Bell, 203 cm power forward Paul Millsap, 206 cm power forward Andrei Kirilenko, and 208 cm center Al Jefferson.
Phoenix Suns starters: 191 cm point guard Steve Nash, 191 cm shooting guard Stephen Curry, 198 cm shooting guard Vince Carter, 211 cm power forward Channing Frye, and 215 cm center Carlos.
Jump ball!
The tip-off between Al and Carlos.
With his height of 215 cm, augmented by Iverson's leaping ability, if he wants to, he can win the tip-off against anyone in the center position.
In fact...
In the previous 19 games, Carlos had indeed won every tip-off.
Tonight... was no exception.
"Snap!"
Carlos, beating Al to the punch, tipped the basketball into the air, with Curry receiving the ball and proceeding with the usual advance, initiating the Suns' first offense of the game.
"Whoosh!"
Acceleration on the left wing, followed by a behind-the-back pass to Nash cutting to the free-throw line, pushing the pace to the paint. After drawing Millsap's help defense, he swung the ball laterally.
"Snap!"
Carlos, positioned in the right corner, caught the ball and hoisted up a three-pointer. Kirilenko lunged to block, but it barely affected Carlos's shot.
But...
"Clang!"
The shot didn't go in.
However, Frye tipped the rebound back out, and it landed right where Nash was. Without stopping, Nash passed the ball back to Carlos in the right corner.
Still open...
"Swish!"
Carlos tried another three-pointer.
"Clang!"
It missed again.
"Carlos, two open three-pointers missed?"
At the commentator's table...
Mike Breen looked surprised, while Van Gundy shook his head, saying, "It seems... although Carlos is on the court, the 'altitude sickness' is affecting him. The continuous away games plus a headache. Carlos's form is declining."
Al secured the rebound and passed it to Deron to advance, who looked for Nash at the top of the arc.
Eating, sleeping, and playing against Paul had become routine for Deron; facing Nash was almost a given crossover acceleration, shaking him off.
"Stomp!"
Carter, knowing his teammate well, slid over to help defend against Deron.
"Rush!"
Deron looked at Carter on the left wing, passed the ball to the right—misdirection—and the basketball was fed to Kirilenko in the low post on the right. He took the ball and released a mid-range jumper.
"Thud!"
Carlos hesitated for a moment before jumping to contest. Although he managed to interfere, Kirilenko still hit the semi-hook.
"Ay..."
Van Gundy shook his head, "Carlos is really affected by the headache. It's not just his shooting touch that's off; his focus is also declining. If this had been before,
with his reflexes and talent, Kirilenko's half-beat-late shot would have been blocked, not merely contested and allowed to score."
"I totally agree," Mike Breen nodded in agreement, "Tonight, Carlos is different from before!"
On the court...
Carlos, clearly feeling his attention wasn't entirely focused, furrowed his brows, "Even though it's just a slight headache, it seems to be having an effect. No good... I must adjust quickly. I'm here to help the team win, not... to drag them down."
Carlos was aware of his issues but realized that adjustment might not be something that could be resolved in just a couple of offensive plays or in a minute or two.
3 minutes and 11 seconds into the game.
"Whistle!"
Not having adjusted yet and performing poorly, Carlos took a seat to rest. He didn't want to stay on in the first quarter, opting to give himself more time to adjust and rest.
"Ha ha ha!"
"Ah? That's it? You're leaving the court already, 'monster rookie'? 'Epoch-making center'? 'Youngest ever to score 60 points'? Defeated by an altitude of 1,300 meters."
"Man, what a wimp!"
"Just stay on the bench, cover up your last shred of dignity, and don't embarrass yourself anymore."
"Uh..." Even as Carlos left the court to rest, the feverish Jazz fans continued their trash talk, transforming the Jazz's home court into a 'devil's home court' that bombarded players' mental states.
Resting with his eyes closed...
Carlos ignored everything while adjusting.
Suffering from 'altitude sickness', he felt a headache and was not in good shape.
On the court, even his teammates who weren't affected by 'altitude sickness' were performing poorly due to the strain of consecutive away games and the 'devil's home court' atmosphere.
"Clang!"
Curry's three-pointer missed.
"Clang!"
Curry's layup was a blunder.
"Swish!"
Curry couldn't keep up in defense.
Before the game, Curry had confidently vowed to score for the team, but his offense was quite sluggish tonight.
Carter and Frye weren't in good form either. Tonight, of the Suns' starting five, only Nash seemed somewhat effective in offense. Even so, after one drive that drew a foul...
"As one of the top five point guards in the league, how come our Deron gets past you as if he's walking through an empty street in the early morning? Steve Nash? The son of the wind? No, you're old now. You no longer deserve that title."
"Without defense, you don't deserve to stand in the NBA."
"The one who defends reigns supreme; only defense can win championships, 'Son of the Wind' Nash, I think you should understand by now why you retire without a championship."
"Please retire already!"
"Eh—"
"Uh..." Amidst the insane booing from the home fans, the well-conditioned Nash missed both free throws. This was the terror of the Jazz's 'devil's home court'.
End of the first quarter.
Jazz (35): Suns (14).
With Carlos and Curry, the Suns' two leading players, collectively off their game and engulfed in the Jazz's 'devil's home court', the Suns trailed by 21 points after a single quarter, falling into an abyss.
During the break...
The Suns bench was filled with gloom, collectively in a slump, Carlos with a headache, reduced concentration, Curry with a cold streak, fatigue from the consecutive away games, and a horrific 21-point deficit.
A hellish start to the game!
It made everyone feel that tonight might indeed be the night they fall, especially Curry. His slump made him feel powerless and extremely frustrated, yet there was nothing he could do about it.
His complexion was very poor.
"Snort!"
Carlos snorted lightly, feeling the pressure of a potential loss so early for the first time, his complexion also darkening a bit.
[Ding!]
And just then, the sound of the system alert suddenly rang in his mind.
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