Chapter 310: Revenge On Horry
"The Phoenix Suns have completely emptied the tank tonight, and they put the San Antonio Spurs in a brutal spot by halftime."
"At this point, if San Antonio loses this one, they lose the series. They have to adjust, both in tactics and personnel, and they have to do it fast."
At the break, Mike Breen and Jeff Van Gundy tried to make sense of what everyone was watching.
Everyone in the arena knew the same thing.
The Spurs had to change something.
Saying "adjust" was easy. Finding an answer against this Phoenix offense was not.
The fans at ATT Center had lost that early roar.
Down 21 at home at halftime, nobody could really accept what they were seeing.
If Game 5 had felt like a heavyweight fight, momentum swinging back and forth, then Game 6 looked more like Phoenix pounding away at a heavy bag that could not swing back.
Spurs fans had no idea what had happened to their team.
The simplest explanation was also the ugliest one.
The Suns' offense was just too efficient.
...
To start the second half, San Antonio sent out Tony Parker, Manu Ginobili, Bruce Bowen, Fabricio Oberto, and Tim Duncan.
Phoenix answered with Steve Nash, Chen Yan, Raja Bell, Boris Diaw, and Amar'e Stoudemire.
Best versus best. No more holding back.
The Spurs tried to revisit their Game 5 card.
Hit first. Run. See if Phoenix blinked.
Parker pushed the pace, blew down the floor, and finished a quick layup for 2.
Spurs 2, Suns 0 for the half.
On the next possession, Nash brought the ball up and suddenly swung it to Chen.
Chen caught, instantly shifted gears, and split into the lane before the defense could fully react, then fired a kick out to Diaw in the midrange.
Back to back hard drives twisted San Antonio's shell out of shape, leaving Diaw completely alone.
Diaw hesitated for a beat, then pulled up.
Clang.
The ball hit the rim and bounced away.
That tiny pause had broken his rhythm.
Oberto secured the rebound and immediately launched a long outlet to Parker.
Parker hit turbo.
After a burst, he hopped into the paint, showed the ball, and got Raja Bell to leave his feet.
Just as Parker went up for what looked like an easy jumper, Chen arrived like a blur.
Like a fox trailing a rabbit, never seen until the last second, he launched.
He pinned Parker's shot clean off the glass with a violent chase down block.
"Wow! He just went up and took that!"
"Shaking off Raja doesn't mean you're safe. Chen Yan is waiting for you in the air."
"Monster block!"
"That wasn't just a block, that was plucking the ball out of the sky."
The play was violent and beautiful all at once, and fans immediately lost their minds.
Chen landed, gathered himself, and took off the other way before Parker could even recover.
One long stride after another, he pushed out in front of everyone and finished with a soft layup at the rim.
4 points in a single sequence.
He erased a sure 2 for San Antonio and turned it into 2 for Phoenix.
The Spurs' attempt to speed up did not catch the Suns off guard.
It fed straight into their veins.
In the third quarter, Phoenix looked completely at home in that tempo.
2 or 3 passes, a lane appeared, and somebody in orange was flying in for a dunk or a layup.
They rolled out a classic run and gun barrage.
On the court and on the bench, Suns players were pounding their chests and roaring at each other.
If you only heard the energy, you would have sworn this was Phoenix, not San Antonio.
They were completely unleashed.
When the third quarter horn sounded, the scoreboard read 82 to 57.
Phoenix by 25.
The game had taken on the smell of a blowout.
Through 3 quarters, Chen sat at 23 points, 8 rebounds, and 5 assists.
He had dialed back his own shots because his teammates were lighting it up.
Stoudemire was the leading scorer on the floor with 31 points in 3 quarters.
He had always gotten up for San Antonio, and that 37 point average in the 2005 Western Conference Finals was the proof.
He had been bottled up for most of this series.
All that pressure finally exploded tonight.
And it was not just the offense.
On the defensive end, Stoudemire had taken real steps.
He was never going to be Duncan, never going to be the anchor of a defense, but this season he had turned himself from a turnstile into a guy who could at least hold his own and, at times, cover for others.
That, too, was a major pillar in Phoenix's title chase.
...
In the fourth quarter, Popovich kept his starters on the court.
Normally, Spurs basketball was about the long view. Conservation over exhaustion. Minutes managed like a bank account.
Not tonight.
This was an elimination game. There was no tomorrow to save legs for.
And for a few minutes, the gamble worked.
Duncan's steady post game and Parker's bursts of speed brought the margin back under 20.
Then the Argentine dagger went to work.
Ginobili found his rhythm and splashed 3 straight three point shots, chopping the lead down and pulling the difference to around 10.
The arena woke up again.
ATT Center, which had been half quiet, suddenly shook like it had at tip off.
Fans started to let themselves believe.
Maybe, just maybe, someone in silver and black could write their own miracle, the way Chen Yan had in the last game.
Chen ended that fantasy himself.
D'Antoni signaled for a timeout, and when play resumed, Chen was back on the floor.
First possession, he used a screen, snaked his dribble into a pocket of space, rose up, and knocked down a smooth long 2 over Duncan's late contest.
The ball climbed over Tim's outstretched hand and fell clean through.
Next trip, Diaw hit him with a long outlet.
Chen pushed in transition, absorbed contact at the rim, and finished a tough layup through the crowd.
San Antonio's transition defense had clearly lost a step from earlier in the game.
That was the tab they had to pay for squeezing every drop of energy out of their core.
Old soldiers do not just disappear. They simply slow down.
In the NBA, stamina is the foundation under every scheme.
Without legs, even the smartest plan collapses.
Phoenix sensed it and just kept running.
Wave after wave of fast breaks followed, and the lead ballooned back beyond 15.
On the sideline, Popovich finally broke his stone still posture.
Time for one last card.
His eyes drifted down the bench to Robert Horry.
He motioned.
Your turn.
Before Horry checked in, Pop leaned in close and spoke softly.
Horry nodded, then walked to the scorer's table.
After he entered the game, he ran a couple of trips with the group, waiting.
The opportunity finally came on the third possession.
Ginobili missed a midrange jumper. Stoudemire controlled the rebound and immediately looked upcourt for Chen.
Chen caught near the sideline and exploded forward, pushing the ball hard in transition.
That was when Horry suddenly slid into his path, one hand subtly dropping toward his groin as he set up.
On the surface, it looked like a routine screen.
In reality, his body was fully braced, ready to deliver a hit to a player flying full speed.
San Antonio was down 15 with a little under 7 minutes left.
Popovich's calculation was simple and cold.
If Chen Yan went down here, the Spurs might still have a path back.
If things got chaotic, maybe a suspension or two landed on Phoenix as well.
In that scenario, stealing the series was not impossible.
That was the mission he had handed Horry.
Horry locked his eyes on Chen.
What he did not realize was that Chen was staring right back.
Chen had felt something off the moment Horry checked into the game.
Robert Horry was a legend in his own way.
Big shots in Houston. Big shots next to Shaq and Kobe for 3 straight titles. Big shots again with Duncan, Ginobili, and Parker for another ring in 2005.
He was tough, no doubt.
The problem was that the toughness did not always come from clean plays.
Horry had made a career of doing exactly what was needed at exactly the right time, and that included fouls that pushed every boundary and enraged opponents.
Now, late in the 2006 to 07 season, he was an aging veteran on his farewell tour. His form had fallen off a cliff.
In this series, he was averaging 9.7 minutes, and his three point percentage sat at a miserable 22 percent.
Chen did not believe Pop suddenly needed him for spacing.
And there was history.
Horry had gone after Nash before. His reputation was already stained in Phoenix.
So when Horry stepped into the lane this time, Chen was already fully alert.
Instead of pulling up, Chen dug in and accelerated harder.
"Bang!"
He lowered his shoulder, and the 2 bodies collided with a sickening thud.
Both men went down.
The difference was simple.
Chen was selling the pain.
Horry was actually feeling it.
The Suns' bench all jumped to their feet, but this time they stayed behind the line, grabbing each other instead of storming the floor.
Once bitten, twice shy.
They were not going to repeat last year's mistake and gift San Antonio free suspensions.
Players from both sides crowded around the scene, and the medical staff waited at the edge of the scrum.
After a few seconds, Chen pushed himself up and signaled to his teammates and the trainers that he was fine.
Horry, though, was still rolling on the hardwood, his face twisted in agony.
The replay hit the jumbotron.
It showed exactly what had happened.
Chen had dropped his shoulder and, in the same motion, his elbow had caught Horry flush in a sensitive area.
Fans did not hold back.
"Oh man, that is brutal."
"Is Horry done for the family tree?"
"Play dirty, get paid back. He picked the wrong guy this time."
"As long as Chen is okay, everything else is background noise."
Most of the home viewers were riding with Phoenix, and the reaction online was completely one sided.
After reviewing the play, the officials whistled Horry for a blocking foul.
From their perspective, he had never established legal position.
The contact, and its unfortunate target, were nothing more than a consequence of that.
An accident.
Horry was helped off the floor toward the locker room for treatment.
Less than 1 minute after checking in, his night was over.
If the Spurs ended up eliminated, this might very well be the final game of his career.
Going out like this, on the wrong end of a collision, was a bitter way to close a long run.
On the bench, Popovich's face was frozen.
His high risk, high reward plan had just exploded in his own hands.
He had lost the gamble and taken the foul on top of it.
It was the worst possible trade.
As for Chen, he felt no guilt at all.
If he had not hit first, he might have been the one lying on the floor.
What he did was not dirty.
At worst, it was simply returning the favor and letting an old specialist taste his own medicine.
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